what Blackstone has done to my family, it can never be over. Not until everything the bastard took from us is restored to Hammond hands. Since one of those things is the wife I’m burying next week, I don’t give that outcome a chance in hell of succeeding. Do you?”
Five
“That’s all for now. Thank you, Holly.”
Ric closed his office door behind the PR assistant who’d delivered the press clippings from Tuesday morning’s papers. It didn’t matter that there’d been no new developments in the search for the jet’s wreckage or that no further bodies had been found, the headlines kept on coming. This week the focus had shifted from the present to the tragedies in Howard Blackstone’s past, everything from the kidnapping of two-year-old James Hammond Blackstone thirty-one years ago to Ursula Blackstone’s suicide and the disappearance of the Blackstone Rose necklace.
“This isn’t news,” Ryan said as he tossed a national broadsheet onto Ric’s desk with barely concealed fury. “I expected better from them.”
Ric didn’t expect anything from the media except more sensational headlines. They’d stalked Howard Blackstone throughout his life and now they haunted him in death, with the biggest scandal—the possibility of an illicit affair with Marise—still hovering over them like a fat black thundercloud. So far they’d reported nothing beyond her positive identification, running poignant photos of Matt Hammond’s grief-ravaged face as he arrived in Sydney to claim her body, but following tomorrow’s supposedly private burial the storm of speculation would build. As sure as thunder followed lightning.
They had to do more than wait it out. Ric owed that to Howard, to his staff, to the shareholders.
He didn’t return to his desk but chose a central position where he could face the other two men, the seated Garth and the prowling Ryan, to explain why he’d called them to his office at the company’s Sydney headquarters after days of monitoring the search from the Blackstone home. “We’ve waited as long as we can but in the absence of new developments, it’s time to move on. We—”
“Move on?” The words exploded from Ryan’s mouth. “No. We’re not giving up yet, Perrini. Who are you to say we abandon my father?”
Ric met the sharp spear of the younger man’s gaze without flinching. He’d been prepared for the hostility. Ryan wouldn’t like him taking the initiative in calling this meeting any more than he’d like what Ric had to say. “I’m not suggesting we give up anything. Not the search and not this company your father built up from nothing but an exploration lease and his belief that diamonds were there to be found. Howard wouldn’t appreciate us sitting on our hands, waiting for an outcome of a search that could go on for weeks.”
Garth made a sound of agreement. He folded the paper he’d been scanning and placed it neatly on top of the others. “I can hear him now, growling in horror at the share devaluation.”
“The price is still sliding today?” Ric asked.
“Down another five since opening. At this rate every second analyst will be tipping us as a prime takeover target by the end of the next week.”
“It’s not the raiders I’m concerned about.”
Ryan turned in front of the window, hands on hips, framed by the city skyscape at his back. “Who are you concerned about?”
“Matt Hammond.”
“Still holding him accountable?”
Ric’s jaw tightened although the blow had been aimed much lower. He didn’t give Ryan the satisfaction of responding. Instead he zeroed in on the reason he’d called them together. The threat of a takeover, not by an anonymous corporate raider or venture capital consortium, but at the hands of a man motivated by vengeance. “Howard holds fifty-one percent of the Blackstone Diamonds stock.” He turned toward Garth, the company secretary, who was also the executor of Howard’s will. “Can you confirm how that will be distributed?”
“Equally between you, Ryan and Kimberley.”
“No chance he wrote Kim out of the will as he threatened?” Ric asked.
Garth shook his head. “He was set on that course when he returned from his November trip to New Zealand, but maybe he thought twice after he cooled down. Maybe I managed to talk him out of it. God knows, I talked long and hard enough. And maybe he took his lawyer along on this trip with a new threat of disinheritance. Whatever the reason, his will remains unchanged. That three-way split of his company stock still holds.” The older man’s eyes narrowed astutely. “I take it you’re concerned about Hammond pursuing Kim’s share, the way he went after William’s ten percent?”
Two months ago Howard’s older twin brothers, William and Vincent, each had owned a stake in Blackstone Diamonds. Then Hammond took advantage of rumours of a falling-out between the brothers. Needing cash in a hurry William had seized the chance to unload his stock at a premium price, and he’d been dirty enough on Howard to relish selling to his adversary.
“He wouldn’t have to be that aggressive in chasing Kim’s stock,” Ric said. “She wouldn’t be looking for instant profit. He would only need to spin a good story, convince her she was doing the right thing, and with those two bundles and whatever else he can pick up on this depressed market, it’s conceivable he could acquire a majority share.”
“We know he’s not a player. He’s only doing this for one reason.” Ryan’s expression was as hard and dark as black diamond. “The son of a bitch would gut the company.”
Garth grunted in agreement. “We need Kim on our side. Any chance she would reconsider returning to Blackstone’s?”
“I’m working on that,” Ric said. His gaze shifted to Ryan. “As long as there are no objections.”
“She’s a Blackstone. She should never have left.” There was a world of condemnation in the words and in the other man’s expression as he faced Ric down. “Makes me wonder what you intend offering to bring her back from Hammonds.”
“A fair question.”
“Do you have an answer?”
“I’ll offer whatever it takes,” Ric said with steely resolve. “Leave it in my hands. I will bring her back.”
“You’re not wearing the new dress?”
Kimberley hesitated on the staircase, her gaze dropping from Sonya’s arched eyebrows to the plain oatmeal linen sheath she’d changed into at the last minute. Okay, so she’d changed several times. Possibly half a dozen. And during that process the dress Sonya talked her into buying had been relegated to the very back of the queue. Not that she didn’t like the soft, inviting fabric or the leopard-spot print—even the sexy touch of lace was growing on her—but it was just too unbusinesslike for a dinner that was all about business.
“This is more suitable,” she said, lifting her head and continuing resolutely down to the foyer.
Sonya had paused, a stem of roses in each hand, in the middle of arranging a massive vase of freshly cut blooms from the Miramare gardens. She raised her elegantly shaped brows even higher. “I thought the purpose of today’s shopping expedition was to choose a dress for tonight.”
“That was our excuse
