14. Dinner and a Proposition

DINNER AND A PROPOSITION

MADDY

Mimi Quinn set a beautiful table. She buzzes around my tiny kitchen like a happy bee preparing to feed everyone royal jelly.

I watch as she charms the cantankerousness out of Mr. Aims, soothes Andrew's ruffled feathers, and adroitly sends Paul off to eat in the other room while "you watch this amazing movie I found for you."

I'd take notes, but I'm not sure I can discover her method.

When everyone sits back from the table, they are replete, and ready to talk sense instead of bristling at each other like a flock of turkey cocks ready to do battle.

Charles, who had arrived shortly after Mimi Quinn, says, "I have my own physician here, Mr. Aims. She can't do a full diagnostic without a lab, but with your permission, she'll give a preliminary check-up." He had also brought Kate, Cece and Isabel. The children head off to Paul's room to watch the movie Mimi Quinn had brought. The baby had been left at home with a family friend.

"What's to check?" the old man grumbles. "I'm a dying man."

The physician, a petite woman with a winsome smile and a no-nonsense manner, says, "Perhaps. But then again, perhaps not. Why don't you let me make my own determination?"

"Why can't my grandson do it?" Aims grumbles. "He's a doctor, isn't he?"

"A fully qualified physician," the petite physician says, deploying a winsome professional smile. "He will oversee the exam, as will your own nurse. Your nurse has brought your medical records? There will be no chance at all for any sort of malpractice."

"I should hope not," he growls.

"I've sent the children to play in Paul's room," I put in. "You can use Andrew's room as the exam room, if it is all right with him." I could have put them in the spare room, but I didn't want to let Mr. Aims know that there was such a thing.

"Separate bedrooms?" Aims sneers. "How modern of you."

"We are getting to know each other," Andrew put in smoothly. "And we often work different shifts. With four bedrooms in the house, there is no reason not to have a retreat for each of us. My room will be fine, Maddy, since the spare room is piled full of storage boxes."

"Fiddlesticks," his grandfather said. But he did not protest further when the petite physician, Andrew, and his nurse ushered him into the small bedroom and closed the door behind them.

That leaves me, Kate, Rylie, and Mimi to make small talk while we clean up after dinner.

Kate loads the dishwasher. She gives a little laugh. "This reminds me of when I was working for Charles as Cece's nanny."

"Oh?" I asked.

"I forgot the crystal wine glasses until I had already loaded and started the dishwasher. It turned out that it was a good thing because you don't place fine crystal in a household dishwasher."

"Dear me!" I exclaim. "How serendipitous that you forgot them."

She flashes me a sweet smile. "Indeed it was. There was so much I needed to learn quickly in Charles' penthouse. I was just a farm girl, who worked in a childcare facility. I knew about sorting laundry, taking care of children and pets, but I was clueless about all the automated features and fine items he had in his penthouse."

"I do seem to remember that there were things in the dorm that you needed to have explained," I recalled.

"Good thing you were just across the hall," Kate flashes me a smile.

"Didn't your husband have a household staff?" Mimi asks, proving that she knew a great deal more about affluent households than I did.

"Had, was the word," Kate replies, as she wipes down the counter. "Almost immediately, the world went into lockdown to help prevent the spread of Covid 19. Thank goodness Charles kept the housekeeper on retainer and had provided her with state-of-the-art electronics in her home. She talked me through so many things. She's our company's communication director these days."

"This is a cozy house," Rylie says, arranging the napkin holder, salt and pepper shakers, and a tray of after-dinner mints so they were shown off to their best advantage. "It has an empty feel right now, but you and Andrew will fix that quick enough."

"Are you sure about that?" I ask.

"Absolutely," Andrew's baby sister says, turning guileless pansy blue eyes upon me. "I am not good at finances or medicine, but I know when people fit. I can see it when you are together, even though you've been across the room from each other most of the evening."

I blink twice at this pronouncement. "I wish I was as sure of it as you seem to be," I say. "I've been a single parent for nine years. I know how to do that. We didn't even really date. We had one week together."

Mimi nods sagely, agreeing with Rylie. "Sometimes all it takes is one night. Anytime you need some space, you are more than welcome to visit. I have a nice shoulder to cry on and a bushel basket of platitudes to hand out, as needed."

We all laugh at that. Then our time of visiting is over.

Andrew opens the bedroom door, and holds it for his grandfather, who came out fussily settling his coat about him.

Mr. Aims looks all around at the people who crowded out after him. "Are you satisfied that the diagnosis is correct?" he growls.

The petite physician looked sad. "As nearly as I can be with a single examination, and your medical records. If you come to the hospital, I could run some more tests. With careful diet, exercise and the right medicine you might stretch those six months to a year, possibly even two with a little luck. But in the long run, your condition is fatal."

Mr. Aims settled himself on my worn couch. The springs groan a little under his weight, but it holds. "Pah. I could have told you that. In fact, I did tell everyone that."

"I am sorry for the inconvenience, Grandfather," Andrew says, "but I needed to be sure. Not just for me, but for Madeline and Paul."

"Well, now you know," he scowls. "So are you ready to listen? Because what I have to say is important. I've run Aims Corps for the last seventy years. I've seen a lot of changes. I've made changes. Leaving a company like this without a head honcho is like leaving a dying scorpion to thresh around, spraying venom."

"What have you done, Grandfather?" Rylie asks. "I know Richard had a lot of work to do with Lane Enterprises after Father and Mother drowned."

"Oh, not just what I've done," the old man chuckles. "I have Connections, the kind with a capital C. If they are mismanaged, half of the New York underworld will go to war. If I drop dead tonight, it will be a disaster."

I narrow my eyes at him. "What do you mean ‘connections'?" I ask. "Just what is it you want my son to inherit?"

"Ever watch the Godfather?" the old man asks.

"Of course," I say. "Kate and I watched it with our suite-mates in college. Surely you can't mean you are a gang-lord?"

"He's a lot more than that," Andrew says. "He's why I left town in such a hurry that I didn't know I was leaving a child behind. I want no part of shaking down shopkeepers or promising ‘protection' when I and mine would be the perpetrators."

"Oh, Grandson," Mr. Aims sighed. "It's not exactly like that. Do you know what happens when no one is in charge of the crime world? Organized, it is ugly. But take away that organization, and you have chaos. That's why I need an heir. I need someone to take up the reins. You can take us legit. I've gone as far as I can in that direction, but it's like holding the tail of a tiger."

Charles stared at the old man, his expression carefully blank. "You think you can't let go of the tiger because if you do, it will turn and rend you."

"Exactly," Mr. Aims said. "Not just you, but everyone you hold dear. Ms. Northernfield, you have no idea how vulnerable you and your son have been and are. You think you are protected behind Spindizzy and Lane Enterprises, but I've had body guards watching over you since the beginning. You wanted to be left alone, so I did. But you are all children playing with fire."

"That's an interesting statement," Charles says, his face carefully bland. Austin also has a professionally stone-faced expression. Terror grips my guts. He knew where we were all along! Paul and I had never been safe at all.

Andrew has an expression I've seen on my son's face when he has encountered what he believes to be an injustice. "I want records, files, voice reports…whatever you've got. I'm not going into this mess blind. And I have a feeling that's exactly what it is: a mess."

The old man laughs bitterly. "My family deserted me, my friends are fleeing like rats leaving a sinking ship. You are in danger, and you want me to provide proof?"

"I don't see how kidnapping Paul would help you," I put in. "He and I have nothing to do with you."

"You think that was me? Jason is out of control. He wants the throne, and if he takes over it will be a disaster. Paul was his best leverage. The other children were just icing on the cake. He tried to get hold of Cece before, then Rylie and Julia."

"What is Jason Wintergreen to you?" Charles asks.

"He's nothing," the old man says. But a child could see the falsehood. There had to be some reason why he'd tried to get Jason Wintergreen married to Rylie. "He's nothing at all, just a cousin who can't seem to keep his shit together."

"Including kidnapping a direct descendent to use as leverage, and as a possible catspaw," Andrew says, his face starting to flush with anger. "Here's a news bulletin, Grandfather Aims. Neither he nor you will use any of the Lane children, nor any other children because I will stop you. If you mean what you say, and you want someone competent to head your organization, start your people gathering information."

"It's not that easy," Mr. Aims whines.

Andrew clenches his teeth, Austin and Charles both glower at the old man. The very air crackles with tension.

Then Pops Quinn spoke up. "It seems to me," he says, "that if you really want to clean up your mess before you answer that roll call up yonder, you'd better get busy. You've been given your deadline."

"I can't," Mr. Aims says in despair. "It's too big. Too many Jason Wintergreens. Too many wronged shopkeepers. I used to know where I was going, but I don't anymore."

"I knew I should have called Leland and Catriona in on this," Andrew says. "I didn't because Leland has more cause to resent you than anyone in the world for what you did to his mother, and to him."

"Worse than what you did to Maddy and Paul?" Kate asks.

"I didn't know about Paul, and Madeline…well, that's something I want to work out with her. But he knew about Amari, my father's first wife, and about Leland. Insisting that Albert Lane divorce her and marry Deborah Aims was deliberate."

"Why are you considering calling them in on it now?" Charles inquires, asking the very question I want answered.

"Because," Andrew says, "I want to consult with Tulok. Grandfather says this mess is bigger than we think, bigger than he can control. I have a feeling it crosses borders and runs under multiple political doors. Am I wrong, Grandfather?"

Mr. Aims looks sad and tired. "No. You are not wrong. And I'm sorry for it, because I never meant to hurt my country. I meant to support it in the best way I could."

For the first time, I see him as something more than a threat to my family. I see a tired old man who has made enormously wrong choices, and who realizes that he is not going to have time to fix them. I almost feel sympathy for him.

"Oh, hell," Austin says, with feeling. "So you want to call in someone with some big guns, someone else who has Connections."

Mr. Aims sits back on the couch, like someone relieved to find understanding.

"Exactly," Andrew says. "Tulok is the canniest politician I know. He's probably forgotten more International dodges than most heads of state. More than that he has the archives of Ildogis, a tiny country in a big and hungry world. Arranged marriages are probably the smallest weapon in his arsenal."

"Now you understand," Mr. Aims said. Suddenly he is just a tired old man slumped on a shabby couch. "I wanted to connect him to our New York families, and Lane owed me for favors done in the past. I wanted my daughter to be secure. Amari was in the way, and Lane already had rights in the gold and diamond mines."

He wheezed a bit, as he got that last out. Andrew looked murderous. Charles laid a restraining hand on his shoulder.

Mr. Aims spread his hand over his chest, and wheezed again.

"We should get him into his bed at the hospice," the nurse says, bending over the old man solicitously. And I saw something else I'd not expected to see. His attendants, the ones closest to him, held him in high regard, perhaps even affection.

"Of course," Charles says smoothly. "Austin?"

"On it," Austin says, crisply.

The old man shuffles out the door with his entourage. Kate gathers up the other guests, including the children who were visiting with Paul.

Mimi is the last to go. She stops at the doorway, turns and says, "Remember, dear, I'm always ready to listen, to offer a shoulder, and to prod this crazy bunch into action. All you need to do is ask."

"I'll remember," I say.

The door closes behind her. I sink down onto a footstool, resting my face in my hands. What kind of world have I fallen into?