When he'd died following a heart attack, he'd left her almost a billion dollars in his will, as well as his title of president and CEO of the Hall Foundation. The money was hers to keep as soon as the estate went through probate. Her ownership of the titles was proving less absolute. The job was hers by birthright but also one she'd been training for since she'd started interning at the Foundation while in college. Unfortunately, Cornelius's intent had been clear only on paper and others had a different idea of who should be sitting on the throne.
Grace was up to the task of leading the Foundation. She knew the employees, the mission, the strategy for its future. She knew what needed to get done both on the business side and with the social set that poured millions into its coffers-every year. She also knew there were those who thought she couldn't handle the job. That she was too young and inexperienced. That a change of guard might be a good thing.
Some of the older dissidents even objected because she was a woman. That particular criticism really got her steamed. As if wearing pants was somehow a prerequisite for success.
The nexus of her naysayers was a tight-knit group of directors, led by Charles Bainbridge, the board's chair. They were all older men who had respected her father but weren't content to have him rule from the grave if they thought Cornelius was wrong about something. They were men she had grown up around, who had come to the Hall family's Christmas parties and Fourth of July fetes. Some of them had probably seen her in diapers and still remembered her with braces.
She could understand why it would be difficult for them to view her as anything other than young and decorative and she was determined to bring them around. She just hoped she had enough time before they pushed her aside into some figurehead position and let Lou Lamont run the place.
The door to the office swung open and Katherine Focerelli came into the room. Kat was in her mid-twenties and working her way through law school at night. Grace had hired her the day after her father's death, when she'd moved into the office. In a matter of weeks, Kat already seemed to know the ins and outs of the Foundation and didn't seem that impressed with Lou Lamont.
The latter was a huge seller in Grace's mind.
The young woman was also a welcome replacement for the gray-haired ball buster who had served for years as Cornelius's secretary. Getting rid of that old battle-ax had been one of the first things Grace had done when she'd taken over.
"Here are the documents for the Randolph dig," Kat said, a dimple showing in one cheek as she smiled.
Grace leafed through the pages, checking that the changes she'd made had been incorporated correctly. They had.
As she scrawled her name, she said, "So what's Lament up to now?"
"He said he needed ten minutes, but wouldn't tell me why. I put him on the calendar only because you told me never to turn him away. By the way, your five o'clock got bumped and the mayor wants you to call him at six thirty. Oh, and is it okay if I leave early tonight? I'm going on a blind date."
"Only if you fill me in on what happens tomorrow," Grace said, passing the papers back across the desk.
"Can't be worse than the last one."
"The one who wanted you to get in touch with your inner artist?"
"No, the last one was the guy with the Peter Pan fixation. The one who wanted me to body paint him with my lipstick was two dates ago."
"Hard to keep track."
"Hard to keep a straight face, too. God, when am I going to meet a real man? "
An image of Smith came to mind as Kat bustled out.
Grace dug her heels into the carpeting and pushed back the chair. The office was on the top floor of the Hall Building and took up the whole northeast corner. The windows and the view they offered were one of the space's greatest assets.
She looked out at the majestic New York skyline, a chorus of buildings rising from the earth, silver and iron gray and black. With the sun just dropping over the horizon, a peach glow was growing in the sky.
She was having a terrible time forgetting about Smith. The man had been lingering in her mind, like an impulse she couldn't shrug, since he'd turned away from her for the second time. She wondered again if she should call him and knew only one thing for sure. If she did, she better have made up her mind to hire him. He wasn't the type to tolerate having his time wasted again.
The intercom buzzed. "Mr. Lamont to see you."
Grace went back to the desk. "Tell him I'll be right there."
She crossed over the deep red oriental rug and pushed back a pocket door to reveal her father's private bathroom. In the gilded mirrors, she checked her chignon and her makeup. Everything was holding up well. She looked elegant and composed, just like a Hall should be.
Good thing no one knew the truth.
She had indigestion, thanks to having eaten tic tacs and three old Fig Newtons for lunch. The beginning of a headache was digging in at her temples, her left foot had a blister on it from the new pair of Jimmy Choos she was wearing, and her bra had a little rough spot under the clasp in back that was irritating her no end.
She was coming out of the bathroom when her cell phone rang. Rushing behind the desk, she answered it curtly. When she heard Lieutenant Marks's hoarse voice on the phone, her blood ran cold.
"We've found another body," he said.
Grace gripped the phone, the plastic cutting into her skin. "Who?"
"Suzanna van der Lyden. Early this morning."
A wave of dizziness crashed over her and she fell backward into her father's chair. She'd seen Suzanna two nights before at a prominent museum's annual fundraiser. The woman had chaired the event for the past few years.
"Where did it... happen?"
"At her home."
"Do you have any idea who.. .” She couldn't finish.
"We're still going through the crime scene. We found her late last night when her husband, who was traveling, called us when he couldn't reach her. Listen, I'd like to assign a detail to you.”
"A detail?"
"A couple of my men. So you're protected."
Her first impulse was to say yes, but then she pictured a photo of herself surrounded by cops showing up on the front page of some tabloid.
"Don't worry," Marks said, obviously guessing what she was thinking, "they'll be in plainclothes."
"I'd like some time to think about it."
Marks hesitated. "Okay. You know where to find me."
When Marks hung up, she sat frozen in the chair, her phone in her hand.
She should do something, she thought. Call someone. Go somewhere safe.
Except there was no one to go to and nowhere to hide. Her mother was hardly the place for solace and good advice. She'd already leaned on Carter enough. And she'd rather be by herself than with Ranulf.
She was totally alone.
And how ironic, considering she'd spent the morning culling a list of the city's top five hundred luminaries.
When the intercom buzzed, her head snapped around.
"Mr. Lamont says he needs to go to another meeting."
"Right. I'm coming," Grace answered.
But in reality she was going nowhere. Her mind was clogged, her body unresponsive. Abruptly, she felt her chest tighten, as if she'd inhaled something toxic, and she bolted to her feet. She knew what was coming next.
The anxiety attack came on fast and hard, bringing with it a crushing sensation of suffocation. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't—there was no... No breath in her lungs.
Opening her mouth, she tried to reassure herself that she was in fact drawing in air. She felt it passing over her lips and her tongue but it seemed to travel no farther. As her body ran away from her mind, she braced herself on the desk and broke out in a cold sweat. Quick breaths went in and out of her. Frantically, she brought a hand up and wiped off her forehead. Hell of a lot of good that did. Her fingers were numb now and all they did was tangle in her hair.