street from the construction zone. He had no idea how long he’d been standing, but when he sipped his coffee, it was lukewarm, leaning toward cold. The sign on the chain-link fence was as familiar to him as the sound of the cranes and earthmovers. Brenner & Gill. Even after he’d inherited half of the firm, the Brenner referred to his father, not himself. And in about fifteen minutes, he would be meeting with Albert Gill, his father’s partner.
Nate had known Albert most of his life. Yet he didn’t know Gill well. The basics, yes. His wife was Patty and he had two daughters, Melody and Harper. There had been Christmas dinners, because the Gills celebrated, and a couple of times they’d had Hanukkah dinners instead, even though Nate’s family were barely observant. But the families had never been friends. His father hadn’t had a gift for friendship, either. It was something of a miracle that he’d gotten married at all, given he preferred to be alone.
That’s how they’d found him. Slumped over his drafting table on a Monday morning. He’d died the Friday before sometime between seven and midnight. According to the coroner’s office, he’d gone quickly, hadn’t felt a thing.
Nate had come back for the funeral, but he hadn’t stuck around. It was a quiet business, and he’d been surprised to find that his mother and Leah had sat shivah for the whole week. Nate had worn a yarmulke, although he’d left it in the box by the door when he’d gone back to his hotel. His mother had made sure his old bedroom was left open for him, but he’d felt no need to stay.
And while he’d mourned his father, it wasn’t what he’d been led to believe was normal. Frank Brenner had been more of an idea than a dad. He showed up at the important events, paid for most of Nate’s college education, but their relationship had been about expectations and conditions. Since Nate had stopped even trying to be his father’s ideal son after graduation, there’d been very little left.
Now he would meet with Albert over lunch, and they’d have an awkward half hour when they tried to reminisce. Nate hoped their meal would be delivered quickly. Food would be an essential distraction until they got to the heart of the matter.
Albert wanted out. It was the details Nate didn’t know, the considerations. He wanted to read Albert as he spoke, figure out what he could before Nate met with his attorney.
There was a lot of money at stake. Building commercial crap paid well. The firm had a great reputation. But it wasn’t going to be close to a handshake deal. Albert had run the business. He’d made the deals, set the terms, got the financing. Nate’s father had designed the buildings, coordinated the construction plans. Albert had many, many friends. He was good with people and he was smart. No doubt he wanted a sizable amount.
What he’d get was his fair share. Nate headed to the restaurant, four blocks from the construction site, prepared to be read in return. He was up for it. He wasn’t afraid of much these days. Too much time spent facing reality.
He had to admit, though, he was looking forward to the game. He’d always liked chess.
4
DESPITE THE HORRIBLE DAY, as Shannon reached the entrance to Molly’s Pub, her pulse and breathing quickened. Nate was there already. He’d texted her ten minutes ago, which was a good thing, as she’d been so caught up in looking at the receivables she’d lost track of time.
He’d said not to worry, he was relaxing with a pint. She glanced at the window that announced with green lettering that this was Molly’s Shebeen before she opened the heavy wooden door.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, and there was Nate, sitting three booths from the wood-burning fireplace that was fed and stoked all winter. She hung up her coat, then went toward him, her excitement mounting.
It would be fun to talk to him, was all. She wasn’t even thinking about how he’d looked in that towel this morning. Okay, she was thinking a little about that, but she wasn’t dwelling. That would be wrong. Foolish. The minute she started truly contemplating Nate as more than a friend, things got uncomfortable. He was family, and while it wasn’t technically inappropriate, it was close enough to make her squirm.
His grin, however, made her light up. “Finally. I’m starving to death.”
“Why didn’t you order something, then?” she asked as she slid into the seat across from him.
“Because I’m polite.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re only polite when you want something. Is Danny coming?”
“Nope.” Nate took a swallow from his half-empty Guinness. “It’s just you and me.”
She picked up the menu although she didn’t need to look at it. Molly’s was literally just down the street from her house, and she’d been coming here long before she’d been legal. Not that they’d let her sit with the customers. She’d been escorted to the back room, where she’d been fed and given cold milk with her dinner, and no matter how she’d explained that in Ireland even kids got to drink beer, she was denied the pleasure until she’d hit her twenty-first birthday. Or so she’d have her family believe.
“How was your day?” she asked, content to listen to Nate all evening.
“Interesting.” He pulled out the New York Times classified section where he’d circled a bunch of listings. “It’s never not going to be insanely expensive to live in this city.”
“You’re right,” she said as she noticed Ellen coming over with two beers on a tray.
“How are you, Shannon?”
“Good, thanks.”
Ellen put a perfectly chilled and poured Guinness in front of her, then gave Nate another. “You two want food?”
“God, yes,” Nate said. “Cheeseburger with blue for me.”
Shannon started to order her regular spinach salad, but said, “The same for me, please,” instead.
Nate’s brow rose first, then Ellen’s.
“I’ve had a bad day. I’m hungry. So you can both be quiet.”
Ellen left, and Nate leaned forward, elbows on the table. “What happened?”
“Don’t want to talk about it. Tell me what you’ve found in the paper.”
“Ah,” he said, frowning at the real-estate section. “Everyone told me this is the best time to buy, because everything’s going for rock-bottom prices. Rock bottom of what? I can’t find a decent two-bedroom town house with an on-site manager for less than a million and a half.”
“It’s still Manhattan,” she said. “People keep coming, and they keep paying.”
“Crazy is what it is.” He looked up at her with wide eyes, and even in the dim amber light, she could feel his interest. In the conversation, of course. “Your house has got to be worth many millions. You could sell that sucker and retire tomorrow, all of you. Move somewhere, pretty much anywhere but London or Paris, and live like kings for the rest of your life. And if you sold the plant, too?”
“Yeah, well, that’s not going to happen. The house has been with us for generations. We’re not about to let it go. Not the plant, either, dammit.”
His
