was his. Until then, he played the game, and that meant sharing office space with an old and crabby ghost.
There was a quick knock on his door, then the heavy carved wood swung open.
“Good morning, Mr. Whitefield,” his assistant said.
Riley shook his head. “I’ve told you it’s not necessary to knock. You are never going to find me doing anything secret or suspicious.”
Diane Evans, a sixty-something woman who had worked all her life, barely blinked.
“Of course, sir,” she said in a voice that told him she would continue to knock until the last minute of the last day of her employment.
Riley knew he wasn’t in a position to complain.
Diane was efficient, quiet and knew everything about running the bank. If it hadn’t been for her counsel, he would have floundered more than once. He might be able to sniff out oil in the middle of a typhoon in the South China Sea, but the world of financial institutions was new to him.
Diane had guided him through the past seven months without mussing a single strand of her short, graying hair.
“There was a call about the children’s wing of the hospital again,” she said evenly. Not by a flicker of a lash did she let on they’d had this conversation at least three times before and each time he’d not only refused to donate, but he’d instructed her not to mention it to him again.
He motioned for her to come in and take a seat on the far side of the desk. She moved quietly on her sensible shoes, then perched on the edge of the leather and wood chair, her back perfectly straight, her shoulders squared, her tweed suit covering her like an ugly coat of armor.
“You did promise to think about it, sir,” she said.
“Funny. My recollection is that I told you hell would freeze over before I gave them a penny to build the Donovan Whitefield memorial children’s wing.”
A pad of paper materialized in her hand, along with a pen. “Perhaps if I explained the needs of community again,” she began.
“Perhaps if you got off me about this,” he said.
She looked at him. Nothing about her serene expression changed. No eyebrow raised, no corner of her mouth turned down. Still he felt her disapproval all the way to his bones.
“It’s for children, Mr. Whitefield,” she said. “Local children who shouldn’t have to go into Los Angeles to get the care they need.”
He figured he owed her. She’d stayed late every time he’d asked, she’d saved his ass over and over and she’d never once thrown the memory of his grandfather in his face.
“I’ll think about it,” he said slowly. “On the condition you stop knocking and stop calling me Mr. Whitefield.”
Diane rose to her feet. “Very well...” She hesitated, then pressed her lips together before saying, “Riley. I’ll let the committee know you’re considering a donation. In the meantime I have those reports your requested and Mr. Bridges is here to see you.”
Despite the fact that the donation would cost him about fifteen million dollars if he did it, Riley still felt a measure of victory. Who knew he had it in him to negotiate with his secretary and win?
Zeke Bridges strolled in three minutes later. Tall, personable, with an air of trustworthiness about him that made you want to buy insurance from him, he’d been Riley’s first choice to run his campaign for mayor. Zeke wasn’t just well liked by most folks in the town, he had experience.
“The numbers are up,” Zeke said as he slumped into the chair Diane had vacated. “Way up. We’re gaining on Yardley every day. Those newspaper ads really made a difference. The old guy has to be running scared, which means we’re going to have to watch for some kind of counterplay, but I’ll keep on the polls so we’ll know if he starts to creep back up in the numbers.”
Riley grinned. “You’re polling people? Zeke, it’s Los Lobos and I’m running for mayor, not president.”
“Sure. Make fun of me. But the truth is campaigning is all about the right information. We have to get it and use it to our advantage.”
“If you say so. You’re the expert and that’s why I pay you the big bucks.”
“Just remember that. We’re only a few weeks away from the election. Every event is crucial. Sure we’re ahead, but it wouldn’t take much to derail the whole campaign. Yardley’s a popular incumbent and people usually don’t like change.”
“I promise to remain cooperative,” Riley said. He had to win this election, and for ninety-seven million reasons Zeke knew nothing about.
Zeke took him over the schedule for the next couple of weeks. There would be a few public appearances and some ads on local cable. When Riley had approved everything, he leaned back in his chair.
“There’s just one more thing.”
“Sure. What?”
“What you do on your own time is your own business, right up until it impacts my campaign.”
Zeke frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“Your secret life. You’re disappearing at all hours and not telling your wife where you are, which is your business, but she came looking at my place because that’s where you told her you were going to be, which makes it my business.”
Zeke swallowed hard. “Look, Riley, I’m sorry but I—”
Riley cut him off with a quick shake of his head. “There’s no sorry. There’s only the campaign. I’m only going to ask you this once. Are you doing anything that could have a negative impact on my bid for mayor? Before you answer, let me remind you that Los Lobos is a small town and people finding out that the head of my campaign is screwing around on his wife would be a big negative.”
Zeke pushed to his feet. “I’m not cheating on Alexis. I would never do that. I love her.” He turned away. “It’s not that. It’s not anything that matters to you or the campaign.”
“Then what is it?”
Zeke turned back to him. “I don’t have to tell you that.”
“What if the information is a requirement of your continued employment with me?”
The other man looked him square in the eye. “Then you’re going to have to fire me because I’m not going to tell you what I’m doing. It’s not about you and it’s not about Alexis. That’s as much as I can say. Is it enough?”
Riley didn’t want to be dealing with this right now, not with the election only a few weeks away. While he could replace Zeke, he didn’t want to.
“If you’re not going to tell me, you should at least tell your wife,” Riley said. “She’s worried. Making her think you’re running around isn’t the best way to prove you love her.”
“Agreed. I’ll explain things to her.”
“By
