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Cattle Point, San Juan Island – off the Washington coast
For a lighthouse, the tall young man thought as he strolled carelessly down the track past it, it was remarkably short and stubby – scarcely taller than a two-story house. Then again, it was something of a match for the point of land on which it stood. There was no jutting clifftop, with the attendant two-hundred-foot drop into churning surf. Rather, an almost gentle slope rolled down fifty-odd feet to a narrow, rocky point where one could stand looking out at the San Juan Channel (to the east) or the Strait of Juan de Fuca (to the south).
There was, he saw as he reached the edge of the hilltop, someone else doing just that. She was close to his own height, but where his hair was short and dark, hers was long and honey-pale, swirling out behind her in the light breeze blowing off the water. Her jeans were sturdy but weathered – in both, he judged, the fashion-designer sense and that of being well-used – and the unbuttoned tail of a lightweight white cardigan sweater swung free at her waist. A bright red beret clung firmly to her head despite the wind, no doubt pinned or clipped in place.
Drawn by both the water and the girl, he walked down the hillside with smooth but casual steps, careful to be neither too quiet nor deliberately noisy. Her head turned as he approached, but only for a moment, her attention shifting back to the open water.
The brief glance, though, was enough. The two of them stood silently for several moments, side by side, before he spoke.
“Not much use, is it? I mean, what kind of a lighthouse doesn’t have somewhere to leap dramatically off of and end it all?”
The young woman – probably, he thought, about his own age – looked at him sharply. “That wasn’t—“
He wagged a finger at her. “It isn’t now, maybe. But you were thinking about it before you got here. I’ve been there.”
She scowled at him. “You couldn’t possibly—“
He cut her off, though not unkindly, and gave her a quick, searching glance. “I bet we’re more alike than you think. Let’s see – grew up rich, did the boarding-school routine, saw lots of the world but not much of home. Probably...” he paused, then nodded. “Yeah, I bet you lost your mother like I did, and your dad went all business after that.”
“You—“ She glared at him, her expression a mixture of shock and outrage, then took a breath and eyed him thoughtfully. “All right, not bad for a Sherlock Holmes riff. But those are straight-off-the-rack Dockers,” she said, flicking a hand at his pants. “And you’re not wearing anybody’s class ring.”
“Touché,” he said, chuckling. “Okay, we’re not quite the same. You graduated from Brilliantmont, I got kicked out of about five different places – Beau Soleil and Hotchkiss, to name two. I kind of gave up the clothes-horse thing a couple of years ago when Pop and I were on the outs, but part of his business is in high fashion, so I still have the eye. And yes, I do have a locket with Mom’s picture in it, but we both know how ridiculous I’d look wearing it.”
A quick laugh escaped her lips. “Point taken,” she said. Then she frowned, studying him carefully for a moment. “Hm, high fashion – that wouldn’t be Vincent Stanton Gray, would it?”
He sucked in a startled breath, then sketched an amused half-bow that almost sent him skidding off the slippery rocks. “Whoa,” he said, recovering. “Now who’s playing Sherlock Holmes? Zachary Gray, at your service.”
“Kali Cutter,” she replied. “Mostly it’s just a good memory for faces. I used to hostess my father’s business parties, and I’m sure I met your father a couple of times.”
“No doubt. I, of course, was never invited. Black sheep of the family, that’s me.” Zachary paused, frowning slightly. “Used to hostess, as in he fired you?”
Kali’s face flushed. “I had...an accident, a few years ago. The recovery took a long time, and afterward – we weren’t close any more. And now—“ She broke off, her composure visibly slipping away. Cautiously, conscious of both the rocky footing and that the two of them had only just met, Zachary took one step and then a second. His arms went around Kali in a light, tentative grip, one he was fully prepared for her to break...
...but instead, she leaned forward, her own arms circling his body in a tighter hold, her head coming to rest on his shoulder, tears streaming to soak his long-sleeved polo shirt.
They stood for some minutes in near-silence, punctuated only by Kali’s quiet weeping. Eventually, she took a deeper breath, stretched, and pulled free from Zachary’s arms. She reached into a small shoulder bag, produced a handkerchief and a compact, and set about restoring her streaked face.
“I’m sorry,” Zachary said. “I take it something’s happened to your father recently.”
“Two weeks,” Kali answered, nodding. “Helicopter accident, up in Alaska. No survivors.”
Zachary flashed her a sympathetic look. “Ouch. Not a good way to—wait, did that make the TV news when it happened?”
She nodded again. “The Aleutian Drifter story. That’s – that was one of my father’s properties.”
“So he was into hotels, real estate, like that?”
Kali gave him a sourly amused look. “Into? He used to say if he could put all his holdings together, he’d have a medium-sized country – say, Spain – and that that would be a lot easier to manage than thousands of companies and developments scattered from here to China and back.”
Zachary whistled. “No kidding. And now I suppose the vultures are circling, trying to pick off bits and pieces while the dust settles.”
“Trying, yes. There’s an insanely enormous trust, and my father did his best to make it vulture-proof.”
“I can hear the but in there.”
Kali shrugged. “The trust itself is pretty secure. It’s what’s in it that worries me. Someone has to manage the assets – not just the money, but all the businesses that bring it in. God knows that won’t be me,” she said, tapping her school signet ring. “I can talk Renaissance art or recite Greek tragedies in my sleep, but business management? Even if I’d wanted to learn – which I didn’t – I’m not sure Daddy would’ve let me.”
“And that means all the executives who used to be under his thumb will be doing their best to wiggle out from under yours.” Zachary’s grin was as sour as hers had been. “I suppose that explains why you were scouting lighthouses.”
She sighed. “If anything happens to me, the whole kit and caboodle goes to – let’s call her an anti-vulture, who’ll probably sell it all and give away the money. And part of me thinks that’s a better idea than letting Daddy’s minions fight over it.”
“Heaven forfend,” Zachary said promptly. “I vote against both the minions and the anti-vulture. Not that I’m entirely opposed to philanthropy these days – though don’t ever tell Pop you heard me say that. Are you allowed to sell off maybe half the assets and give away the proceeds?”
Kali’s lips pursed. “I’m not sure; I’m still wading through the paperwork. And even half the trust would be way beyond anything I could take care of.”
“Right,” said Zachary. “That would only get you down to a small-sized country – say, New Zealand. Still, if it’s a trust there must be a trustee. Did your dad give you someone who could handle the job?”
“I don’t know,” Kali said, her tone uncertain. “Daddy was being creative, or maybe devious. For a long time, my father and the man he picked were, well, enemies. Then things changed – sort of – but we haven’t been in touch for ages. And evidently he wasn’t told when my father chose him as trustee, so he found out at the same time I did. We’re supposed to meet tomorrow, back in Seattle.”
Zachary blinked. “Good grief. That sounds like the plot for a legal thriller.”
To his surprise, Kali laughed aloud. “That would almost be tame,” she said, “compared to the last time we met. Did I mention he’s a priest?”
“Now that,” said Zachary, “is purely baroque.” He was silent for a moment, then regarded Kali thoughtfully. “Look, I’m no more a business whiz than you are, and you’ve got no reason to trust me. But I do have a fair notion of who on this coast Pop does and doesn’t trust with his money – and why. If you like, I can tag along to your meeting tomorrow and maybe give you some idea of how sharp this priest of yours is.”
Kali opened her mouth and closed it again, then folded her arms over her chest and stared at him for two full minutes. “You’re right,” she said at last. “There’s absolutely no reason I should trust you. But it isn’t like I have anyone else around to ask – and nothing says I actually have to take your advice.”
“You wound me,” Zachary told her, clutching dramatically at his chest, then dropped – again, taking care not to slip on the rocks – to his knees. “Truly, I am your loyal servant to command.”
She looked him squarely in the eye, then reached down and took hold of his hand. “In that case, let’s get moving. I’d like to be back in Seattle by dinnertime.”
#
downtown Seattle, the next morning
When Zachary woke, he was alone in someone else’s bed.
This was, he found, cause for both great relief and no small confusion. On one hand, the bed belonged to Kali Cutter in every possible sense of the word – she owned the hotel, she was staying in the suite, and she had in fact been using the bed herself. Moreover, she had clearly and unequivocally invited him into it.
And they had slept. No more, no less. He had taken her into his arms, much as he had on the island. She had clung to him, her own grip surprisingly strong yet not confining. Then, curled against one another, they had simply fallen asleep. It was a situation entirely outside Zachary’s experience.
Sex was not outside his experience. There were always attractive women, young and not so young, interested in someone with his wealth and roguish good looks, and he had been happy to return that interest when it suited him. But he had never mistaken that sort of sex for true intimacy.
Intimacy, though, was clearly what Kali was looking for. It had been implicit in every invitation she’d made – on the island, at dinner, in the hotel lobby, and finally here in her suite.
Zachary was certain she had foreseen – and would have welcomed – sex as a consequence of that last invitation. For at least a few moments, he’d expected it himself. And yet the moment they touched one another, he had known that intimacy in its pure form would be not merely enough, but better.
Unexpectedly, a line from Dr. Seuss leapt into his head: ...the Grinch’s small heart grew three sizes that day. He chuckled softly to himself, then blinked. Yes, well, better watch out. If that’s the script for today, I’m going to need the strength of ten Grinches plus two before it’s over.
Before he could take that thought any further, the bedroom door opened and Kali walked in, two steaming mugs in hand. “Let me guess,” she said, handing him one. “You used to sleep through fire drills. It’s almost nine o’clock.”
He eyed her crisply pressed black slacks, flame-red silk shirt, and neatly tied-back hairstyle. “And you,” he fired back between gulps of coffee, “are obviously a morning person. This does not bode well for the future.”
Kali laughed. “You’ll survive. But we only have an hour and a half before we need to meet Canon Tallis. If you need to pick anything up from your hotel....”
Zachary reached for the bedside phone. “Better idea. I’ll call my concierge and have him send my stuff over here. By the time it shows up, I’ll have booked a room for your concierge to put it in.”
“You have a room. That one, if you need—“ Kali waved vaguely toward the other end of the suite, which featured a mirror-image of her own bedroom.
“Call it a backup,” Zachary told her. “I’m here, and I mean right here, for as long as you want and/or need me. But just in case, I ought to have a space with my own name on it, at least as a message drop. If I need to vet money guys for you....”
Reluctantly, Kali nodded. “Point. But remember your promise.”
Zachary nodded back. “Scout’s honor,” he said aloud – but the phrase echoing in his head was still ‘ten Grinches plus two’.
#
It was exactly 10:24 when Zachary and Kali walked through a side entrance into the church building, an imposing stone structure more than a century old. “Remind me again why we’re meeting on his turf,” he whispered to his companion. “Churches and I don’t usually get along.”
Kali flashed him a warning glance. “Because it is his turf. Less chance of bugs,” she told him tersely. Then she turned to a young woman emerging from an inner door. “We’re here to see Canon Tallis.”
The girl nodded. “Both of you? Father Tallis said—“
“He’s – consulting,” Kali said, as Zachary gave their greeter his best airy I belong here smile. “Local expertise.”
“Right through here, then.” Their guide led them through a different door, down a short hall, and showed them into a room lined from floor to ceiling with bookshelves. As they entered, a middle-aged, sturdily built man dressed in informal clerical garb rose from a well-cushioned armchair in one corner.
“Kali,” he said, his voice at once firm yet gentle. “I regret that it’s taken so long – and such difficult circumstances – to bring us together again. Nearly six years, I think?”
“Close enough – my last week on Gaea.” Kali’s tone was wary, even as she accepted the handshake. There was a moment of awkward silence before she continued. “You’ll want to meet my...advisor. Canon Tallis, this is Zachary Gray; Zachary, Canon John Tallis.”
The canon’s arm stopped in mid-stretch as Kali spoke Zachary’s name, and his pale skin went almost pure white – all the more unsettling given his smooth head, bare even of eyebrows or any trace of facial hair. “Zachary Gray?” he repeated, studying Zachary’s face and features with startling intensity. “Just what sort of advice are you offering Miss Cutter, young man?”
Zachary’s own eyes darkened, but he forced himself to take a calming breath. “Only what a friend might give, sir – if she cares to take it,” he said, unable to keep a degree of stiffness out of his voice. “My family does a lot of banking on the West Coast, and she’s going to need finance people she can trust. That lets more than a few of Pop’s – my father’s bankers right out. Sir.“
Canon Tallis’ frown grew even fiercer for a moment, then receded as he murmured a phrase so softly that Zachary barely heard it. “The more impossible the coincidence....” Then he addressed Zachary in a more normal tone. “How much has Kali told you about the particulars of the trust her late father established?”
Kali interrupted at once. “I don’t see—“
“I’m not certain I do, either,” Tallis told her. “But it may be important. Mr. Gray?”
“That would be P—my father,” Zachary said, his tone still cool. “To answer your question: not much. Mostly that her father went way outside the box when he set it up. That you and he used to be enemies, and if anything happens to her, it all goes to – an ‘anti-vulture’, not to anyone on the inside.”
The canon stared at him with an odd expression. “Anti-vulture,” he repeated. “I suppose that’s accurate, as far as it goes. I take it she hasn’t mentioned a name.”
Zachary returned the stare evenly. “No – not that I’d be likely to recognize it.”
“Looking at it mathematically, no,” said Tallis, his air of coolness abruptly falling away. He gestured toward another pair of armchairs. “Please, sit down. I knew this was going to be an awkward business, but it’s just become – words fail me.”
Kali’s head whipped so sharply toward the canon that her hair flew free from its clip, sweeping outward like a golden cape. “Impossible! You of all people at a loss for words?”
Zachary caught the flying hair-clip, tossing it to Kali as they sat down. “Enough with the setup,” he said, his voice half amused and half impatient. “Will one of you please feed me the punchline?”
“Very well,” Canon Tallis said, clearing his throat, “but brace yourself. The alternate beneficiary for Typhon Cutter’s trust is my god-daughter – Polly O’Keefe. Her parents and I are friends of very long standing.”
Polly.
The name struck Zachary with the impact of a physical blow; for several moments, he was too stunned even to breathe. Even when his lungs began working again – after a fashion – his mind was too preoccupied with the implications to make speech a possibility. He’s her godfather? No wonder he gave me the cold shoulder. He probably thinks I’m the worst dozen things that ever happened to her – depending, I suppose, on how much she’s told him about me. Obviously she’s told him something; he knew my name right off the bat. But what’s the connection to the Cutters?
“Zachary! Are you all right?”
He opened his eyes – when did I close them? – to find Kali out of her chair and kneeling next to his. Her right hand was at his wrist, fingertips checking his pulse; her left lay against his chest.
He captured her left hand in both his own, careful not to squeeze too tightly – at least, he noted, his physical reflexes were still working properly. “More or less. For which thank Polly O’Keefe, without whom I would absolutely have had a heart attack just now.”
“What??” Canon Tallis and Kali spoke in unison, looking equally bewildered.
Zachary summoned up a weak grin. “Long story which even I wouldn’t believe if I hadn’t been there. The nickel version: I was stupid on a cosmic scale last summer, and Polly bailed me out to the tune of a genuine two hundred proof miracle. Sir,” he added to Canon Tallis, “if you know Bishop Colubra in Connecticut, he can tell you exactly how much trouble I caused, how lucky I am not to be dead thrice over – and how much I deserve to be. But you’d better ask in person. Trust me on that one.”
The canon nodded slowly. “I do, I will, and – God help me – I believe I can.”
Zachary turned his head toward Kali’s, and found her eyes glistening with moisture. “You were in love,” she said softly, the phrase a statement rather than a question.
“I’d have said so at the time – times, actually,” he told her, forcing himself to meet her gaze. “But mostly I was just looking for it, and Polly? Gives off love like stars radiate energy. So does the rest of her family, but they do it on battery power and she’s a nuclear plant. I was in awe, and hope, and lots and lots of denial.”
Canon Tallis cleared his throat again. “That,” he said, sounding distinctly surprised, “is a remarkably perceptive description.”
“It really is,” Kali agreed. “Polly is – memorable that way. Only when people like us stand too close, we burn – like going without sunscreen at the beach, or as if we’re allergic.”
“Not like us,” Zachary corrected. “Like me, maybe. But you’re more like Polly than you think.” The words fell unbidden from his lips, but he found himself utterly and unexpectedly certain of their truth.
Kali stared at him, making a token effort to pull her hand away. “Me, like Polly? That’s – not possible.”
Zachary shook his head. “Trust me,” he said, “the potential’s there. Don’t ask how I can tell – it’s like I just now woke up with a Spidey-sense. But I promise it’s real.”
“I would agree,” said Canon Tallis, causing them both to look toward the older man. “I can’t claim any sort of ‘Spidey-sense’ with which to measure it, but the capacity for giving love is within all of us. Yes, even you,” he added before Zachary could object. “In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re demonstrating it now.”
“But—“ Zachary began, then stopped himself and said softly, “The Grinch’s small heart....”
Canon Tallis gave him an odd look. “Indeed. A subject worth pursuing, perhaps, at another time. Just now, I believe we have a more practical challenge before us.”
Kali – reluctantly, now – rose, returning to her own armchair. “Daddy’s trust.”
“Yes,” said the canon. “Or more accurately his corporate and financial empire, wrapped in the framework of a trust. Which is, to say the least, inconveniently large and unwieldy.”
“Is there a CEO?” Zachary asked.
The laugh Canon Tallis gave was more than a little dry. “At present, that would nominally be me. There is a master holding corporation with a sitting board of directors – and in strict hierarchical terms, I am now the person to whom that board reports. Its chairman, one Yves Saint-Damien, was Typhon Cutter’s right-hand man and is now for all practical purposes in operational charge of the entire enterprise.”
Kali scowled. “I remember him. He’s – oily.”
“You’re too kind,” Tallis told her. “He’s a snake of the first water, and left to his own devices, he’ll have a third of the assets in his own hands within a year. Another third would be parceled out to the rest of the board in return for signing off on his plans. That would,” he added, “still leave you an extremely wealthy woman. But it would be theft nonetheless, and the uses Saint-Damien would make of what he took....”
Zachary and Kali exchanged a rueful glance. “No wonder you were scouting lighthouses,” said Zachary. “That’s not one snake, it’s a whole bucket. But dumping that bucket in Polly’s lap is absolutely not an option.”
“Indeed not.” Canon Tallis’ grim expression clearly showed what he thought of that prospect. “Nor, I fear, am I able to personally invest the time and effort necessary to forestall Saint-Damien’s plans. That will require a full-time CEO and a small army of independent auditors.”
“But who—?“ Kali sounded more than a little desperate.
The canon gave her a reassuring look. “I can appoint a proper CEO, and I have a few prospects in mind both for that job and the subsequent series of audits. But their work will require guidance from one or both of us – and a choice from you regarding the direction of their efforts.”
Kali’s face clouded. “But I’m not—“
“I think I see,” Zachary interjected. “It’s the Spain versus New Zealand question – does she hold onto the whole pie, or spin pieces off to a better class of buyer than M’seur Snake would sell to?”
“Precisely,” said Tallis, “if colorfully framed. Personally, I’d favor the latter approach. Even given trustworthy management, owning a business network as large as Typhon Cutter’s is a time-consuming proposition – and I suspect Kali’s interests lie in directions other than that of corporate oversight.”
“Definitely New Zealand,” Kali put in, at last shaking off her dark mood. “Maybe even Liechtenstein. Or Grand Fenwick.”
Zachary grinned at her. “No need to think too small. What about Monaco? Fast cars, old-school royalty?”
The canon held up a cautioning hand. “The transition will take time – two or three years, I should say, depending on the specific goals established. And it won’t be effortless. The people we install will do the heavy work, but they’ll need backing from us to make it stick. Nor will Saint-Damien back down without a fight.”
Kali took a deep breath, looking from Zachary to Canon Tallis and back to Zachary. “I can’t do this by myself,” she said.
“Nor will you,” said Canon Tallis firmly. “I stand with you by choice, not merely duty.”
Zachary was silent for a long moment, then cast his eyes upward and laughed to himself. Ten Grinches plus two it is. “Count me in for the duration,” he said. “And the roast beast afterward.”
# # #