When Empires Fall (20 page)

“Rosalie Owens was a tramp,” Marshall said heatedly, his face flushing with temper. “I will not have her destroy this family yet again from beyond the grave with some ridiculous accusation.”

“Pardon me, Mr. Vasser,” Don eyed the older man, his face betraying nothing but a cop’s skilled impartiality. “But don’t you wish to clear your grandfather’s name if he did not pull the trigger?”

Marshall said nothing, gritting his teeth and fighting to calm himself. Beside him, Linc looked equally as frustrated. Madison simply looked suspicious.

Grant watched his family and the detective closely, carefully considering what action to take. Clearly Marshall wanted nothing to do with rehashing the suicide that he had suffered from all those years before, which Grant could respect. However, if it meant possibly clearing his great-grandfather’s name then how could he not pursue it?

“Detective, I would like to see this letter,” Grant said, causing his brother to roll his eyes and his uncle to scoff in indignation.

“Unfortunately the letter is part of a police investigation and I cannot release it,” Don explained carefully, knowing he was about to tread on shaky ground. “But I would like to interview those members of your family who were alive when the death occurred and see if I can corroborate what was written in the letter by Rosalie Owens.”

“This is ridiculous,” Marshall sniffed, outraged. “I better not catch wind of this getting out to the press or I will have your badge.”

“The New York City Police Department does not release information regarding ongoing cases to the press, Mr. Vasser, I assure you,” Don replied patiently, keeping his eyes on Marshall. “Since I have you here, however, I would like to ask you those questions and get this over with so y’all can get on with your day.”

Marshall glowered, but nodded regardless.

“Can you think of anyone who may have had motive to kill your grandfather?”

“Rosalie Owens,” Marshall said instantly, earning a half laugh from Linc.

“Can you explain why you believe Ms. Owens would have wanted him dead?”

“I don’t know. I only met the woman once when I caught her rubbing up against my grandfather in his suite.” Marshall frowned, disappointment flooding through him at the memory. “He had claimed she was some consultant, but I knew an affair when I saw one. My guess is that he refused to give her a share of the company or perhaps money after he passed away. She could have staged his suicide to shame the family and his name, which is exactly what happened.”

“Can you think of anyone else who may have had motive?”

Marshall considered this for a moment, shaking his head. “I don’t know, detective. I was only seventeen at the time and not immersed in family politics. My father-”

“Cyrus Vasser,” Don confirmed, his face not betraying the flare of adrenaline he felt.

“Yes.” Marshall’s eyes narrowed, but he continued. “My father was largely in charge of the hotels at that time. I suggest you go speak with him.”

“Would you say that your father had the most to gain from your grandfather’s death? Since he, after Winston died, was next in line to assume the role of family patriarch?”

Grant watched as Marshall turned an ugly shade of red, his normally jovial uncle pushed much too far. “Just what is it that you are suggesting, detective?”

“It is my job to look into all of the possibilities, Mr. Vasser.”

“Did that bitch say my father did it?” Marshall growled, fists clenched at his sides.

“Marshall.” Grant stared pointedly at his uncle, his gaze stern and disapproving before he turned back to the detective coolly. “Detective, I would like you to keep me updated on any new information as you receive it. I’m afraid we’ve run out of time for today.”

He rose to his feet, thus causing Don to do the same. He held out his hand cordially, ignoring the vibrant emotions coming from his brother and uncle.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Vasser.” Don shook his hand briefly before turning to shake hands with the others. Then he swept out of the office and was gone.

“Well, that was bullshit,” Linc laughed bitterly, looking more than a little annoyed. “Just what the hell is this all supposed to mean?”

“It means Rosalie Owens is laughing in Hell right now,” Marshall scowled.

“You should not have been so crass with the detective.” Grant looked at his uncle with concern and exasperation in his eyes. “Don’t you see how your reaction may have painted you as a suspect in his eyes?”

“That’s stupid,” Linc countered, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. “Marshall was understandably upset. This is a sensitive subject for all of us, Grant. At least all of us with emotional capacities exceeding that of a raisin.”

Grant met his brother’s eyes and held them for a moment, battling back the anger within him that had been sparked by the comment. But he didn’t want to fight with his brother, not now, not ever, and unless this Rosalie Owens business amounted to nothing, they were all going to have to stick together regardless of their disagreements.

“There’s more to that letter than what the detective told us,” Grant moved on, looking to his sister and uncle now.

“He
was
suspiciously vague about it,” Madison agreed, pursing her lips in annoyance. “Regardless, I can’t imagine he’ll learn anything new by talking with the family. Everyone put this to rest years ago.”

“Do you really think he’s gonna go all the way to California, Nevada, Paris and London to hunt down the rest of the family and interview them?” Linc said, trying to brush it off. “I don’t think he’ll go to that much trouble for something that’s probably a lie.”

“Even if he does, he won’t learn anything new,” Marshall insisted, stroking his mustache thoughtfully. “Though I wonder if he’ll make a trip to the hospital and have a chat with my father.”

“Grandpa Cyrus will gnaw his face off,” Linc joked, smiling now at the thought. “He won’t let some detective push him around with stupid questions.”

Grant sat back down in his chair and impatiently eyed his family. “I will let you all know if the detective contacts me again with more information. Until then, I have to get back to work.”

Madison stepped forward and leaned over to kiss his cheek briefly before stalking from the office, Marshall following her, still looking upset and shaken. Linc stayed behind, however, his eyes on Grant.

“I’m sorry we haven’t spoken all week,” he said, his hands finding his jeans pockets casually.

Grant watched him quietly, guilt creeping into his gut. “I’m sorry, too.”

“Look, I know how you are about this hotel, okay? I get it,” Linc began, his frustration and eagerness mixing with the passion he felt for his ideas. “But I’ve been working on a proposal that I want to present to you soon and I hope you’ll be a bit more open-minded when you consider it. Can you promise me that, at least?”

Uncomfortable under his brother’s intense stare, Grant nodded, wanting nothing more than to be left alone. “Alright.”

Linc grinned, his mood instantly improved. “Thanks, Grant. I’ll see ya around.”

With that, he left the office and shut the door behind him.

“Linc?” Quinn jumped out of her chair as Linc almost swept right past her, causing him to whirl around and grin at her.

“What’s up, sweetheart?”

Quinn couldn’t help but smile back at him, pleased to see that he and Grant had made up. She had no idea what had caused the rift between them, but she had noticed that Linc had avoided the office all week long and that Grant had been hard pressed to avoid any and all mention of his brother. But if Linc’s mood was any indication, the two brothers had come to some sort of understanding.

“Walter called from the front desk a few minutes ago. I guess there’s someone waiting for you down in the lobby,” she told him, biting her lip anxiously. “I didn’t want to interrupt your meeting and he said the person was okay with waiting.”

“Thanks, Quinn.” Linc winked at her before racing off towards the stairwell, not wanting to wait for the elevator. He took the stairs two at a time and made it to the lobby in record time.

When he swept out towards the front desk and spotted Lynette sitting primly on one of the lobby sofas, he nearly fist pumped the air like a man who has just run a marathon.

“So you made good on your offer and came back to see me.” Linc came to a swift stop before her, his grin a mile wide. “And here I was thinking I’d dreamed you up.”

Lynette smiled, blushing a bit as she rose to her feet to stand with him. She was dressed tidily in a knee-length dress the color of storm clouds with her dark coat tucked over her arm.

“I’ve been very busy,” she apologized, feeling foolish as she clutched a ticket in her hand, suddenly wondering if this was such a good idea.

But when she met his eyes and saw the charm, energy and excitement in them that had attracted her in the first place, she thrust the ticket towards him and damned any possible consequences.

“I wanted to give you this,” she explained, watching as he stared down at the ticket, her heart racing with nerves. “It’s a ticket to see my ballet tomorrow night, if you’re interested.”

He eyed the ticket, noting that she had written her phone number on the stub. “Is this going to count as that date we talked about?”

“No. Well, I guess. I don’t know.” She laughed and covered her eyes with her right hand, feeling stupid. “I’m so nervous right now with you, it’s embarrassing.”

He smiled warmly at her, reaching out to pull her hand away from her face so he could tuck a loose piece of hair behind her ear. Today she had it up in a loose tail, strands of it trailing down in soft, copper curls. “I don’t know why you’re nervous, Lynette. It’s just me.”

“I don’t do things like this…I’m ridiculously out of my comfort zone right now. Being home schooled does that to you.” She shook her head with a sigh, pulling away from him. “So have I wasted my time, or will you come tomorrow?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.” He reached for her hand again, this time lifting it to his lips and kissing it tenderly. She stared at him with both caution and excitement in her eyes.

“Okay.” She pulled her hand away and straightened herself, regaining whatever dignity she could manage. “I will see you then.”

She swept away from him, walking swiftly out through the lobby doors and into the sunny morning light. When it hit her hair and flashed a brilliant fiery red, he clutched the ticket a bit tighter in his hand and marveled at his good fortune.

H
e preferred that people remember him as a downright mean son of a bitch. It was easier to garner respect when people were so terrified of the very thought of you that to utter even a single word of contempt would be blasphemous.

At least, that was how Cyrus Vasser preferred to see things. He’d lived just over ninety years practicing it and it had yet to backfire on him in a permanent or destructive way. His ruthlessness and at times callous nature had served him well, and he’d be damned if he was going to have some sort of epiphany about “good will towards men” and all that nonsense. He had an empire to run and there was very little room for anything but a clear and level head not tainted by fluffy compassion and open arms.

Call him cold, he enjoyed the term. Say his heart was a shriveled black hunk of coal and he’d thank you. Better that people knew ahead of time not to have any foolish expectations of him. After all, a reputation was the single most important thing a man possessed and one slip up could tarnish years of accomplishment in a manner of seconds.

It was unfortunate now that he was chained to a goddamn hospital bed, he thought bitterly, scowling at the machines that pumped oxygen into his lungs and blood into his veins. He’d long ago accepted his fate, but that didn’t mean he was happy about it. The nurses were insolent, the doctors even more so, and the orderlies just pissed him off with their stupidity. But they were all scared of him and they kept their distance unless they had to come close. Fortunately for him, he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

He was a Vasser, damnit, and the name
meant
something to people. It carried with it a prestige, an intriguing kind of wonder and infamy. And the reason it did so was because he had made it his life’s mission to make it as such. Sure, there had been hiccups along the way that had tainted the family reputation, but they were necessary ones that had to occur to restore order. He wasn’t about to start regretting his actions now, not when he’d lived long enough to see the success bred from his choices. He had a legacy,
his
legacy, in his children and grandchildren, and it was him they looked up to, him they admired and revered. Cyrus
was
the Vasser family, and he had single-handedly seen to it that the empire flourished even better than under his father and grandfather before him.