do. But you don’t want to turn your back on love. You don’t want to miss the chance to have a great love. I believe there’s one great love for everyone.”
Samantha nodded. “And George was yours.”
“He was everything,” Helen said. “I was so lucky to find him. We shared so much. That’s what I want to remember forever. How much we shared. How much we mattered to each other. I’ll never find that again.”
Samantha wondered if that was true. Helen was still a relatively young woman. And a beautiful one. Samantha had a feeling there was at least one other great love in her friend’s life. As for herself, she wasn’t interested in trying. Not when she’d been burned so badly.
“Speaking of men,” Helen said. “What’s it like working with Jack?”
“Good. He’s very efficient and gives me all the room I need.”
Helen raised her eyebrows. “And?”
Samantha shrugged. “And what?”
“Are there sparks? I remember there were sparks when you were in grad school with him. I remember long discussions about whether or not you should risk getting involved with him. I also remember saying you should, but you ignored me.”
“He’s not my type,” she said, sidestepping the sparks question. Mostly because she didn’t want to admit they were still there and starting fires every time she and Jack were in the same room.
“Type doesn’t always enter into it,” Helen said. “Some men simply turn us on.”
“If you say so.”
Her friend stared at her. “Jack isn’t like Vance. He’s honest and he’s been hurt.”
Samantha drew back. She was beginning to think all men were like Vance. “Are you matchmaking? If so, stop right now. It’s so not allowed.”
“I’m not. I’m making a point. Jack’s a great guy.”
“For someone else.”
“If you say so.”
Jack’s last meeting finished at four. He returned to his office and found several empty boxes by the wall.
Mrs. Wycliff, efficient as ever, had delivered them while he’d been out. He planned to pack up a lot of his father’s things and have them put in storage until his brothers showed up. Then the three of them could sit down with Helen and figure out who wanted what and what to do with anything left over.
He headed for the bookcase first. There were several out-of-date directories and registries. He dropped those into boxes without a second glance, then slowed when he came to the pictures of his father with various clients, city leaders and employees.
“No pictures of family,” Jack murmured. No graduation shots, no informal photos taken on vacation or over holidays. Probably because they’d never much traveled as a family and, after his mother’s death, holidays had been grim, dutiful affairs at best.
It should have been different, he thought. He knew guys with brothers and they were all tight. Why hadn’t he, Evan and Andrew connected? Why weren’t they close? They were all dealing with the death of their father. Wouldn’t they do it better together?
“Did it matter? I don’t even know where they are.”
What did that say about the relationship? That he had no idea where to find either of his brothers? Nothing good.
He finished with the bookcase and started on the credenza. He needed room to store reports, quarterly statements and the like. The credenza was perfect. He pulled out old files and glanced through them. Some of them were over a decade old. Was that what had gone wrong with the company? Had his father been unable to stay focused on the present?
Jack had a feeling he would never get those questions answered. He and his father had never been close and any opportunity for that had been lost years ago. What made the situation even worse was Jack could barely feel regret about the circumstances.
He filled more boxes with papers, files and bound reports. When the credenza was empty, he reached for the quarterly reports and started to slide them in place. But the shelf wasn’t high enough.
“That doesn’t make sense,” he said as he looked at the credenza. “They should fit.”
He reached inside and poked around, only to realize the base of the shelf was too thick by a couple of inches. What the hell?
After a little more prodding, he felt a narrow piece of metal, almost like a lever. When he pushed on it, the shelf popped up revealing a long, shallow recessed space and a set of leather books.
Jack’s first thought was that his father had kept a diary. He was surprised to find himself anxious to read the older man’s thoughts. But when he picked up the first book and flipped through it, there weren’t any personal notes. Instead he stared at rows and rows of numbers.
His world was the law and it took him a second to realize he was looking at a detailed income statement. He glanced at the date and felt his stomach clench. This was for the previous year. He’d just spent the better part of the morning looking at the income statement for the past year. He was familiar with those numbers and they weren’t anything like these.
Even though he already knew, he still found the first statement and compared it to the one his father had kept hidden. All the entry titles were the same but the amounts were different, and not for the better.
Anger filled him. Anger and a growing sense of betrayal. George Hanson had kept the truth from everyone. Jack didn’t know how he’d done it, but the proof was here in the second set of books he’d hidden away.
Not only was the company close to bankruptcy, but his father’s concealment had been criminal and premeditated. The company was totally screwed—and so was Jack.
Chapter Four
Jack carefully went through the books, hoping to find something to show that he’d been wrong—that his father hadn’t defrauded employees, stockholders and his family. But with every column, every total, the truth became more impossible to avoid.
He stood and crossed to the window where the night sky of Chicago stretched out before him. He could feel the walls closing in and fought against the sense of being trapped. With news like this, the board would pressure him to stay longer. They would insist that a three-month commitment to get things straightened out simply wasn’t enough. In their position, he would do the same.
He heard someone knock on his office door, then push it open. He turned toward the sound.
“You’re working late,” Samantha said as she walked toward him. “I had a feeling you would still be here. You executive types—always going the extra mile. Doesn’t being so conscientious get—” She stopped in mid-stride and stared at him. “What’s wrong?”
So much for a poker face, he thought grimly. There was no point in keeping the truth from her. He would be calling an emergency board meeting first thing in the morning. Time was critical. The financial information would
