by Ava Miles
“We want to rebuild some of the trust that has been lost with this situation,” J.T. said. “Sharing the press release and moving forward with the museum will be a solid first step.”
The man smiled—a fake one. He wasn’t going to capitulate. Shit.
“Trust goes both ways, and frankly, some of the things Ms. Newhouse shared about you are quite concerning, J.T. I’m not sure this university wants to have you represent it.”
An anger three years in the making flared through him, making him see red. “Cynthia would say just about anything to make my life difficult. That doesn’t make anything she says true.”
“So you don’t pay bribes to officials in various African and Middle Eastern countries to do business?” he asked, folding his hands on his desk.
Damn Cynthia. Sure, there were times when they were asked to give what officials called a gift or a donation. J.T. didn’t like it, but it was the way that part of the world did things. Otherwise there would be no business.
“We’re getting off point here,” Trevor said, “but to answer your question, there have never been any such allegations against J.T. or Merriam Oil & Gas. Be careful, Dr. Matthau. We’ve thought about suing Cynthia for defamation. We’d hate to see you fall into bad company. I can’t imagine that would be good for a new president.”
The man stood up and buttoned his suit jacket. “I don’t like where this conversation is headed. I know what the board decided, but the execution of all university plans ultimately falls to me. It’s called veto power. Look it up. Right now, I’d like some more time to look into this before we take any further steps. As you said, we all want to make sure the university’s reputation remains top-notch.”
What a dick. This was getting them nowhere. Frustration bloomed inside him, and suddenly he wanted more than anything to escape this room and its pompous occupant. “That’s your prerogative, I suppose.”
“But you won’t have the final say,” Trev said, standing as well. “Despite what you said about veto power, although that’s not exactly the word for it. You know, universities are funny institutions. Since the first one was founded in 859 A.D., I believe—the University of Karueein in Fez, Morocco—there have been assholes like you who thought you could play god in an academic playground. Progress won’t wait for you. I can promise you this: nothing will stop the truth from winning out. This museum will be built here as agreed upon by the university board. With or without your support.”
J.T. wanted to applaud as he stood from his chair, but that would be really unprofessional. He’d leave the bad cop bit to J.T. “Good day.”
The man only turned his back on them as they walked out.
He had to lengthen his stride to catch up to Trevor. They all but marched out of the university president’s main offices. When they left the building, Trevor took a deep breath.
“Sometimes I miss smoking,” he said, striding fast toward the parking lot. “He’s a huge problem.”
“He met with Cynthia,” J.T. said. “He’d already shown his spots.”
Trev stopped and turned to him. “Enough with the leopard analogy. I wonder how leopards feel about that indignity. I mean, it’s not their fault their spots don’t change.”
J.T. laughed. “Okay, so what do we do now?”
“We start wining and dining the board members,” he said. “Can we hire Chef T to cater private dinners?”
“I expect so. I’ll make sure we put out our best china.”
“Haha,” Trev said. “Cynthia has to have something else up her sleeve. That guy might be eating out of her hands, but she would know the board has already approved the museum. So would he. There has to be some inducement we don’t know about.”
Yes, she would have thought of that. “She has to have more cards to play. She told me she was several steps ahead of me on the chessboard.”
“You know what I always say about chessboards when the game isn’t going your way,” Trev said.
“Burn the board.”
“You got it,” Trev said, clapping him on the back. “Let’s find out what Uncle Arthur has scared up.”
The thought of Uncle Arthur led his mind straight to Caroline, and to how pale she’d looked after his call with Cynthia. He really needed to do something romantic for her. Today. Hell, he wanted to do something romantic for her. His grandparents’ letters couldn’t arrive fast enough.
Tendrils of depression tried to reach up and twine around his limbs. God, he was so tried of fighting for what he wanted. Of fighting to have a life.
“I need a blowtorch,” he mumbled.
Trev turned. “For what?”
“For the board,” he said. “Come on.” If a blowtorch didn’t work, he’d set fire to the whole goddamn room if it came down to it.
This endless battle had to end, one way or another.
Chapter 16
Arthur hated sniveling, backpedaling cowards.
According to his count, President Matthau had one-third of the university board reconsidering the Merriam Art Museum based on recent revelations about J.T. Merriam’s character, unethical business practices, and potentially stolen Nazi art. Talk about unfounded pieces of claptrap.
He wanted to throw something. How could people be so stupid? Everyone knew President Matthau’s source was a vicious ex-wife. Arthur would never have published an article on such a flimsy foundation.
But board trustees were politicians, and this new president knew how to wheel and deal. Some were being promised select appointments on key university committees. Graft. Patronage.
It didn’t matter if a university was supposed to educate young people, it was still governed by politics.
“Grandpa, you look about ready to explode,” Meredith said, appearing in the doorway of his office.
“I’m thinking about telling the new university president that I’d like to revoke my name from the Arthur Hale School of Journalism,” he said.
“That bad, huh?” she asked.
“Yes, and J.T. just called and asked if I could meet him and Trevor tonight. They didn’t have a good meeting with Dr. Slimeball. That’s J.T.’s new name for Matthau, by the way. Can’t say I blame him. The man’s a turd.”
Meredith’s lips twitched. “Do you want me and Tanner to get a babysitter? I have lots of volunteers. Just the other day, Rhett told me he’d be happy to take Jared to The Grand while he played poker. Thought our son could get started early.”
“A good poker face is essential to any gentleman,” Arthur said. “If it’s easy for you to find a place to park my great-grandson, then sure, do it.”
Three hours later, they arrived at J.T.’s house and congregated in the den. As the first order of business, Arthur handed everyone a red hot.
“Won’t go too well with my bourbon,” Trevor said, holding up his tumbler.
“Might make it taste better.” Arthur tossed him one. “For later. Now, let’s get down to it. Dr. Slimeball, as J.T. calls him, has managed to turn about one-third of the board.”
“Shit,” Trev said. “No wonder he was so cocky. He didn’t respond well to the threats I dished out after he refused to play nice.”
Arthur glanced over at him. “Your smile would terrify small children, Trevor. What kind of threats did you make?”
“Mostly legal ones,” Trevor said. “I wasn’t ready to pull out the Big Kahuna.”
Arthur snorted at the turn of phrase.
“What’s the Big Kahuna?” Meredith asked, shifting on the small loveseat she shared with Tanner. “Asking the board to replace the president?”
Silence descended on the room for a beat, and Arthur leaned forward in his chair, following the scent of a good story.
“We pull the museum due to breach of contract,” he said. “It’s not like there aren’t hundreds of universities that would give their right arm to house the Merriam collection. You know how hot art museums are with universities right now. Everyone wants to have one. Unless you’re Brandeis University, and yo
u try to sell the art in your museum to handle a budget deficit.”
Even Arthur had heard about that bum move. Thank goodness a group of alumni and university patrons had gotten together and sued the university to stop them.
“But this is Grandpa Emmits’ university,” J.T. said, staring at his brother. “Our family’s art should go here! And I want it to be here. That isn’t an option.”
Trevor threw back his bourbon. “Then we’re in a less powerful position. Come on, J.T. You’re a businessman. You know you have to be willing to walk away in situations like this one. Otherwise, they’re going to have you over a barrel.”
Meredith nodded. “J.T., everyone understands why you’d like to keep the museum here. We all want that, and we’ll do what we can to help make that happen. Grandpa, I think we should run a story on the delay. This is big news.”
Arthur had been wondering when his granddaughter would talk next steps. So far, they’d all been gathering information. “I can get some trustees to go on record about the delay. It’s going to get ugly fast. People are going to give their reasons for the delay, which will cast a shadow on you, J.T. The paper can balance that with quotes from you and others, for example, but—”
“People around town will be gossiping about stolen Nazi art and potentially shady business deals and me being a son of a bitch,” J.T. finished for him.
“What potentially shady deals?” Arthur asked. “This is new.”
J.T. stood and went over to the bar. “I need a bourbon. Anyone else?”
Arthur fought the urge to tap his cane on the floor in impatience, but he could feel the emotion rolling off the young man. He needed something to calm him down. “None for me. It will mess up my red hot.”
Trevor laughed. “I’ll have another.”
“He drinks like a fish with no apparent side effects,” J.T. said. “It’s a little scary. I shared a womb with him.”
“I’ll have a bourbon too,” Tanner said. “Meredith?”
“Haha,” she said. “I’m still nursing. How about sparkling water? Grandpa, would you like one?”
Damnation, these young people. “If I’d known this would be a cocktail hour, I’d have brought my martini shaker. Pour the drinks and let’s get on with it. I’m aging as we speak, and this talk about potential shady business deals isn’t making me any younger.”
“I’ll help,” Tanner said. “So tell us about this allegation, J.T.”
“Allegations like this are a dime a dozen,” J.T. said. “When you work in countries where bribes are a way of doing business, it’s inevitable that someone will try spinning it this way.”
Which wasn’t really a direct answer at all.
Tanner poured the rest of the drinks while J.T. sipped his bourbon, still standing by the bar as though he wanted to be close should he need a refill. Arthur watched the kid, taking in his gestures, his expression. His color was still that of a washed-out dishrag, but the angles of his face were a little too rigid. He knew a poker face when he saw it.
“You’re talking to a seasoned reporter and a good friend,” Arthur said. “Let’s cut the crap. So, in the course of business, you sometimes pay bribes. How many people know this and would go on record if questioned?”
Trevor glanced over at his brother, their silent communication reminding him of the way people who’d been married for decades could talk without words.
“I don’t think this is something we want to focus on,” Trevor said.
Arthur brought his cane down hard on the floor and then pointed to the painting above the hearth. “If you don’t trust me now, I don’t know why the Hales and the Merriams still speak. You’re insulting me in front of Emmits’ visage.”
J.T. flinched. “We’re trying to protect the company and the people involved. It’s not about trusting you.”
“Bullshit!” Arthur said. “For the first time, you’re looking at me and seeing only a reporter. Is all this talk about bribes coming from your ex-wife? Does she have any evidence?”
“No,” J.T. said immediately, waving Trevor off when the man started to speak. “Look, I never imagined she’d use something like this. She never did during the divorce.”
Tanner sipped his bourbon. “Perhaps she’s been saving it. Seems like she had enough leverage during the divorce proceedings.”
“Plus, threatening us with crap like this wouldn’t have worked well with the judge associated with our case,” Trevor said. “He was a by-the-books kind of guy. J.T., other than her saying she thinks this might be possible, does she have any proof?”
J.T. downed his drink, and the deliberation with which he did so told Arthur everything he needed. He cursed, and Meredith looked over at him, her frame as tense as his.
“I might have mentioned in a jet-lagged haze one time that our counterparts in Angola wanted a hell of a lot more side money than I’d ever paid out before. You remember that trip?” This last question was posed to his brother.
“I was in Moscow,” Trevor said, his mouth turning into an outright snarl. “You said you could handle it.”
“And I did,” J.T. replied testily.
“Yet you told Sin City about it? Dammit, J.T. What in the hell were you thinking? Connor and Flynn are going to shit a brick when they hear this, and they’re not the only ones.”
J.T. slammed his drink down on the bar. “I was thinking I could tell my wife that I was sick to death of all the greed.”
Trevor stood, mowing down the space between him and his brother. “You trusted her with inside corporate dealings that could hurt our family and the company. Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
“Because it never came up,” J.T. said. “Besides, it’s hearsay. And she was my wife. She couldn’t testify against me if it came down to it.”
“Shit! Like that’s the only issue here. Our reputation is at stake.”
Trevor was getting in J.T.’s face, and Arthur knew it was time to intercede.
“You’ll have to work this out later,” he said. “We need to focus on getting this museum moving forward. You have your ways, and we have ours. I agree with Meredith about running a story on the delay. Tanner?”
He nodded. “Then I can run a follow-up article on the issue of stolen Nazi art and hope that shuts it down. I’ll need to interview you, the lawyer who returned the painting to the family, and any more art experts you used to certify the provenance of the collection.”
J.T. and Trevor were still standing off like two bulls in the pasture. For a moment, Arthur could see Emmits’ resemblance in both boys, from the way they set their jaws to their firm stance. For a moment, his worry left him—if these boys had his friend’s resilience, they’d be all right. He could almost feel Emmits standing beside him, poised to fight another battle.
“You’ll have everything you need,” J.T. said, rubbing his jaw.
“Good,” Arthur said. “Then we’ll head home. I’ll start my interviews when I get back.”
“You should leave it for the morning, Grandpa,” Meredith said, rising as he struggled to stand with his cane. “You look tired.”
“I’m almost eighty, Meredith,” he told her, pushing her hands away when she tried to steady him. “Everyone looks tired at this age.”
“One last thing,” Trevor said, still gripping the back of the couch like he planned to toss it across the room. “I thought boyo here and my jolly self should start inviting trustees over to remind them we’re not ogres. Well, at least I’m not.”
J.T.’s green-eyed stare could have started a fire.
“Should we forget the Martha Stewart entertaining?” Trev asked.
“You couldn’t pull it off anyway,” J.T. said dryly. “You eat with your hands.”
Trevor simply shook his head. The tension was escalating in the room, and Arthur felt exhausted by it. He would never admit it, but maybe Meredith was right. He should wait to make those calls. Right now, he needed to go home and fall into his favorite chair.
“I don’t
think it would be a bad idea to make nice with a few key people,” Arthur said. “I assume you have a list of who’s on the executive committee.”
“I do,” J.T. said. “This buffoon can probably read it.”
You could have heard a pin drop.
“If you need anything else,” Meredith said, crossing to J.T. and kissing his cheek, “let us know.”
She did the same with Trevor, who stood there stiffly.
Tanner didn’t bother to shake their hands, and Arthur had to agree it was best to leave them alone. They’d need to settle this on their own.
“We’ll be in touch,” Arthur simply said. “Trevor, could you walk me to the car?”
He hated to use the ruse of needing help, but age had to have some privileges. After waving to J.T., he followed Meredith and Tanner out.
“You two head on home,” he said when they were outside. “Kiss my great-grandson for me.”
They said their good-byes—Tanner’s poker smile was much more convincing than Meredith’s—then got into their SUV and drove off.
Arthur turned to Trevor. “I don’t need to tell you to button this up.”
“No, you don’t,” he said. “I’ll get the right people on it.”
“And get your brother’s head in the game,” he said. “Although it galls me to say it. You might be right about needing to threaten to pull the museum, but we’ll cross that bridge—”
“If I don’t burn it down first,” Trevor said. “Let me see you to your car.”
Arthur shoved away his hand. “I was only bullshitting you to get you alone. I can manage.”
“Still, I’d prefer to do it. It’ll give me a few more minutes to clear my head before I go in and have it out with J.T.”
Arthur grunted. The young man walked beside him, the cold March air wrapping around them.
“I still can’t understand how J.T. could fall for a woman like her,” Arthur said when Trevor opened the car door for him.
“Neither can I,” the man said, shutting the door behind Arthur.
As he drove home, he decided that even the wisdom of age couldn’t unravel the mysteries of the human heart.
