“Hi, Harry.”
Every eye in the room fell upon her, but Gracie didn’t care. Let them think she was a lunatic, talking to someone on a TV screen. In that moment, it felt as if Harry were right there with her. And it had been a long time since she’d been able to talk to him.
“And if you’re watching this,” he continued, “it also means you know the truth about who I really am, and that you’re having to share a room with members of my original tribe. I know from experience what a pain in the ass that can be, so I’ll keep this as brief as I can. Here’s the deal, kiddo. I hope it didn’t scare the hell out of you when you heard how much I left you. I’m sorry I never told you the truth about myself when I was alive. But by the time I met you, I was way more Harry Sagalowsky than I was Harrison Sage, so I wasn’t really lying. You wouldn’t have liked Harrison, anyway. He was a prick.”
At this, Gracie laughed out loud. It was just such a Harry thing to say. When she felt eyes on her again, she bit her lip to stifle any further inappropriate outbursts. Inappropriate to those in the room, anyway. Harry wouldn’t have minded her reaction at all.
He continued, “That’s why I wanted to stop being Harrison. One day, I realized just how far I’d gotten from my roots, and how much of myself I’d lost along the way. People love rags-to-riches stories like mine, but those stories never mention all the sacrifices you have to make while you’re clawing for those riches, and how a lot of those sacrifices are of your morals, your ethics and your character.”
Gracie sobered at that. She’d never heard Harry sound so serious. He grew more so as he described how, by the time he’d left his old life, he’d become little more than a figurehead for his companies, and how unhappy his home life had become, and how all he’d wanted was to escape. So he left his work, his family and his “big-ass Long Island estate,” returned to the surname his ancestors had changed generations ago and moved back to the blue-collar neighborhood in Cincinnati where he grew up.
At this, Gracie glanced across the room at Vivian and Harrison and saw them looking at the television with identical expressions—a mixture of annoyance, confusion and something else she couldn’t identify. She tried to be sympathetic. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like for them, being ignored by their husband and father for fifteen years, and then being disinherited by him. She supposed they were justified in some of their feelings toward Harry.
But maybe they should take a minute to wonder why Harry had done this. He hadn’t been the kind of man to turn his back on people, unless those people had given him a reason to do it.
Harry spoke from the video again, bringing Gracie’s attention back around. “Vivian and Harrison, this part is for you. Billions of dollars is way too much for anyone to have. Gracie Sumner is the kind of person who will understand what an awesome responsibility that much money is, and she’ll do the right thing by it. She won’t keep it for herself. I know her. She’ll get rid of it as quickly as she can, and she’ll make sure it gets into the hands of people who need it.”
At this, Gracie braved another look across the room. Vivian Sage, her hair silver, her suit gold, her fingers and wrists bedecked in gemstones of every color, looked like she wanted to cry. Harrison, however, was staring right at Gracie. But his expression was unreadable. He could have been wondering where to eat lunch later or pondering where to hide her body. She hadn’t a clue.
Thankfully, Harry’s mention of her name gave her a reason to look back at the TV. “Gracie, this part’s for you. I could have given my money to worthy causes myself and saved you a lot of trouble. But being a better person than I am, you’ll know better than I would what to do with all my filthy lucre. But listen, kiddo. This last part is really important. Keep some of the money for yourself. I mean it. Buy yourself one of those ridiculous little cars you like. Or a house on the water. Go to Spain like you said you wanted to. Something. You promise?”
Again, Gracie felt every gaze in the room arc toward her. She had no idea what to say. It just felt wrong to take Harry’s money, even a modest sum. After that first meeting with Mr. Tarrant, Gracie had gone home and headed straight for Google. In every article she’d read about Harrison Sage, Jr., he’d been defined by his wealth. “Billionaire Harrison Sage, Jr.,” he’d invariably been called. Even after his disappearance, when the word recluse had been added to his descriptions, it had still always been preceded by the word billionaire. In his old life, Harry had been, first and foremost, rich. Anything else had been incidental. Gracie didn’t want to be one of the people who saw only dollar signs in conjunction with his name, and she didn’t want to be one of the ones who took from him. Especially after he’d given so much to her.
“Promise me, Gracie,” he said again from the big screen, obviously having known she would hesitate.
“Okay, Harry,” she replied softly. “I promise.”
“That’s my girl,” Harry said with another wink.
He said his farewells, and then the TV screen went dark. Again, Gracie felt tears threatening. Hastily, she fished a handkerchief out of her purse and pressed it first to one eye, then the other.
Across the room, Harrison Sage began a slow clap. “Oh, well done, Ms. Sumner,” he said. “Definitely an award-worthy performance. I can see how my father was so taken in by you.”
“Were I you, Mr. Sage,” Bennett Tarrant interjected, “I would be careful what I said to the woman who owns the Long Island mansion my mother calls home.”
It hit Gracie then, finally, just how much power she wielded at the moment. Legally, she could indeed toss Vivian Sage into the street and move into the Long Island house herself. That was what a trashy, scheming, manipulative gold digger who’d used her sexual wiles to take advantage of a fragile old man would do.
So she said, “Mr. Tarrant, what do I have to do to deed the Long Island house and everything in it to Mrs. Sage? This is her home. She should own it, not me.”
Harrison Sage eyed Gracie warily at the comment, but he said nothing. Something in Vivian’s expression, though, softened a bit.
“It’s just a matter of drawing up the paperwork,” Mr. Tarrant said. “Today being Wednesday, we could have everything ready by the end of next week. If you don’t mind staying in the city for a little while longer.”
Gracie expelled a soft sigh. Harry’s Long Island estate had to be worth tens of millions of dollars, and its contents worth even more. Just shedding that small portion of his wealth made her feel better.
“I don’t mind staying in the city awhile longer,” Gracie said. “It’ll be fun. I’ve never been to New York before. Could you recommend a hotel? One that’s not too expensive? The one I’m in now is pretty steep, but I hadn’t planned to stay more than a couple of nights.”
“It’s New York City, Gracie,” Mr. Tarrant said with a smile. “There’s no such thing as not too expensive.”
“Oh, you don’t want to stay in the city,” Vivian said. “Darling, it’s so crowded and noisy. Spend the time with us here in the Hamptons. It’s beautiful in June. We’ve been having such lovely evenings.”
Harrison looked at his mother as if she’d grown a second head. “You can’t be serious.”
Gracie, too, thought Vivian must be joking. A minute ago, she’d looked as if she wanted Gracie to spontaneously combust. Now she was inviting her to stay at the house? Why? So she could suffocate Gracie in her sleep?
“Of
