Magnate

by Joanna Shupe

  He drew to a halt and faced her, his expression wary. He must have seen the cartoon. “Good day, Mrs. Cavanaugh.”

  “Hello, Robbie. May we speak for a moment?”

  He jerked a nod, and soon the two of them were settled inside her small vehicle. She placed her satchel on her lap. “I suppose you’ve seen this morning’s World.”

  “Yes, I did.” He said nothing more, his mouth turned into a frown.

  She sighed. “I never lied to you, Robbie. When we first met, you assumed my brother would be involved, and I never corrected you.”

  “Why not tell me the truth?”

  “Because I was afraid you wouldn’t work with me, that you wouldn’t take me seriously if you knew I was the one providing the orders.”

  He shook his head. “I have nothing against women who work, Mrs. Cavanaugh. My mother, she holds two jobs since my father was injured a few years back. And from what I’ve seen in the last few weeks, you likely know more about stocks than most men on the exchange.”

  “Thank you, Robbie.” A little bubble of happiness welled in her chest at the compliment. “I underestimated you, and I am sorry for that. I hope you will forgive me.”

  His eyes widened a bit, a flush creeping up his neck. “Consider it forgotten, ma’am.”

  “Excellent. As you are probably now aware, I do plan to open my own brokerage firm. My husband has agreed to back me.”

  “Well, I’d be honored to keep placing your orders, ma’am, if you like.”

  “I’d like that very much. I can’t say you won’t take any ribbing for it, however.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “I’m not overly concerned about that. I can handle all the ribbing in the world if we’re earning money.”

  “That is certainly my plan. Speaking of, how did we do today? I wasn’t watching the ticker.” She’d been busy, holed up with her husband in a blissful day of wickedness.

  “Here’s the tally.” Withdrawing a small stack of papers from his satchel, he handed them over. “The gamble on Seneca paid off. You tripled your investment there.”

  Lizzie smiled, remembering her conversation regarding the textile company with Emmett. She couldn’t wait to tell him how much money she had earned them. “Thank you.” She tucked the paper into her own satchel and presented him with a list of notes. “Here’s a plan for next week.”

  “If you weren’t watching today, suppose you missed what happened to your husband’s stock,” Robbie said. “It took a wild dip.”

  She blinked. “It did?” Was Emmett aware? “How low did it fall?”

  “I put the numbers in my notes there.” Robbie pointed at the satchel where she’d placed his papers. “When the markets opened, there were rumblings about a pending legal investigation. I couldn’t get a handle on where the rumor started, but the traders went crazy. Something about corruption charges being filed.”

  “There’s no pending investigation,” she said, though she couldn’t be sure. Would Emmett have confided in her?

  “We both know that rumors don’t have to be true to sink a company’s stock,” Robbie said. “But it all balanced out in the end.”

  “Did you . . . ?”

  “Yes. I followed your direction to the letter. Liquidated some of your other holdings and borrowed from New American Bank to get the rest, as you directed. Congratulations. You now own over one-quarter of the East Coast Steel stock.”

  * * *

  The offices for the Northeast Railroad Company resided on Vesey Street, not far from city hall and just north of the exchange. Though the afternoon light was fading, Emmett’s anger burned hotter than a hundred suns as he climbed the steps to the second floor. His rage was palpable, a living, swirling beast in his gut, one he hadn’t felt this keenly since leaving Five Points.

  Sloane was a dead man.

  Pristine white lettering adorned the door, heralding the occupant within. Emmett yanked it open and stepped inside, Kelly right behind him.

  Four young men sat at desks, pens in hand, and all eyes turned to the new arrival. There were two inner doors, neither marked. “Where is Sloane?” he growled at the company staff.

  Fingers pointed to the far left side of the room, and Emmett shot toward the private office. Turning the knob, he stepped inside to find Sloane conversing with two men, both of whom were well known to Emmett. The mayor, Abram Hewitt, and Richard Croker, the head of Tammany. Christ, Sloane kept terrible company.

  Eyes flew to the doorway, where Emmett planted his feet. “A word,” he snarled, gaze boring into Sloane’s.

  Hewitt and Croker rose and donned their derbies, Sloane standing as well. Croker stuck his hand out in Emmett’s direction. “Cavanaugh. Heard you married Sloane’s sister. My felicitations.”

  Emmett gave a terse thanks, shook hands with the mayor as well. The power in New York City shifted every few years, and right now these two men were positioned near the apex. Though there were rumblings that Hewitt did not have the support for reelection—not even Croker’s. But Emmett tried to stay out of politics as much as one in his position could. Sloane apparently did not feel the same.

  Hewitt and Croker departed quickly after, leaving Sloane and Emmett alone. “What the hell is the matter with you?” Sloane snapped, his brows drawn together. “You can’t barge into my office and interrupt my meetings.”

  As always, Sloane was impeccably dressed, not a hair out of place. Emmett’s temples throbbed with resentment. “I don’t give a shit about your meetings,” he said. “I want to know what the hell you think you’re doing.”

  Sloane dropped into his chair and rubbed his eyes. “I am in no mood for your games, Cavanaugh. Get to the damn point.”

  “My stock.”

  Sloane’s expression did not change, his face an unreadable mask. “And?”

  “Care to explain how a rumor of a pending investigation was started, causing East Coast stock to fall so low that one buyer could gain almost a thirty-percent share?”

  The side of Sloane’s mouth hitched almost imperceptibly, yet Emmett saw it, recognized the satisfaction. Not a trace of surprise. “No. A rumor, you say? A pity I wasn’t paying more attention to the market today.”

  Emmett’s hands tightened on the edge of the desk, gripping the wood to keep him from leaping across the desk and squeezing Sloane’s throat. “After everything I’ve done for you, all our deals, even marrying your sister, you have goddamn gall to lie to my face.”

  “You’re calling me a liar?” Sloane’s jaw clenched, and Emmett welcomed the anger. If he could throw Sloane off balance, the other man would more readily admit what he’d done.

  “Damn straight. Did you really think someone could buy more than a quarter of my stock and I would not move heaven and earth to find out who?”

  Sloane stared at Emmett for a long moment. “What difference does it make if it all stays in the family?”

  “What in the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I did not purchase your stock.” Emmett started to argue, and Sloane held up a hand. “You forget, I am not the only Sloane now active on the exchange—which everyone now knows, thanks to that damn cartoon.”

  Emmett stiffened, shock stealing his breath. Elizabeth? Why would his wife buy East Coast Steel stock? And with what money? “Are you saying my wife bought that stock?”

  “She must have. Who else?”

  Sloane could be telling the truth . . . or he might be lying. Emmett couldn’t tell. Sloane had only pushed for Emmett’s marriage as a way of saving his precious sister. Family always came first—as long as that family was of pure Dutch descent. Sloane made no secret of his dislike for Emmett, how he considered his sister too good for a man raised in the slums. Just how far would Sloane take that hatred?

  And would Elizabeth help him?

  Dark thoughts, ones of distrust and suspicion, wound their way through Emmett’s guts, twining to strangle his chest. His wife had been so attentive, so responsive. Emmett had believed it too good to b
e true—and perhaps he’d been right. Was she playing him for a fool, all the while plotting behind his back?

  Elizabeth is your wife. Why would she want to ruin you?

  Because she’d never wanted to marry him in the first place. Because she’d pushed for an annulment, even after the wedding had taken place. Because her interest in him had been purely financial from the start. Perhaps she’d never changed her mind on any of those things.

  You never had the slightest hope in hell of holding on to her.

  Emmett straightened and drew in a deep breath. He’d certainly faced worse and come out alive. He’d survive this, too. And Will Sloane, of all people, would never witness Emmett’s worrying over anything.

  “You can be certain I’ll ask her, Sloane. Because if I find out the two of you are—” Emmett bit off the words, too furious to voice them.

  “Are, what? Conspiring against you?” Sloane threw his head back and laughed, and the hairs on the back of Emmett’s neck stood up. “God, you are delusional.”

  But no denial followed, Emmett noticed. It wasn’t as if the idea of he and Sloane conspiring against one another was far-fetched, considering Emmett had been doing that very thing for weeks. And, unbeknownst to Sloane, Elizabeth had helped Emmett find the railroad company’s weakness when she’d reviewed the stock transactions during the storm.

  “Jesus, you believe it, don’t you?” Sloane was saying. “Why would Lizzie want to hurt your company?”

  “She overheard us at the wedding. She’s aware of the blackmail.”

  “She told me. But even if she was still angry over the circumstances of your wedding, she would not hold a grudge or do something so vindictive.”

  The Elizabeth of the past few days would not, but weren’t all women clever actresses? Precisely the reason he’d kept company with ladies of the stage; at least then you knew you were being lied to.

  But whoever had done this, whoever had purchased the East Coast stock, had snatched it up even before Emmett’s own brokers could recover. Almost as if this person had been waiting for this eventuality. As if he or she had been prepared.

  Which left Sloane, waiting in the wings, ready to pounce.

  “Do not worry,” Emmett told the other man. “I will find out what happened. And you better hope to Christ you are not lying about your lack of involvement.”

  “A threat. How predictable coming from you. Will you send in Kelly to rough me up if I refuse to play nice?” The smug bastard smirked, and Emmett had to restrain himself once again.

  Instead, he spun and went for the door. “It’s not a threat. And let me leave you with one piece of advice.” Hand on the knob, he threw a meaningful glare over his shoulder. “Don’t get too comfortable in your chair.”

  * * *

  Lizzie awoke with a start. A noise had interrupted her sleep. She waited, hoping to hear it again. Had that come from Emmett’s rooms?

  When she’d retired for the night, Emmett still had not returned home. According to Graham, Emmett had departed in the afternoon, shortly after her own departure, and had yet to return. So she’d dined with Brendan and the girls and tried not to worry about her husband. He hadn’t been away from the house since the storm, instead preferring to work from his home office, but he was an important, busy man. Of course he would need to leave at some point.

  That realization had not kept her from missing him, however.

  Now wide-awake, she decided to see if Emmett was home. Crawling out from under her satin sheets, she padded on bare feet to the adjoining door. When a knock received no answer, she cracked the panel to look inside. The smell of a lit cigar hit her nose. She peered into the darkness until she found him, a lone, dark figure, unmoving, in a chair by the window. He didn’t turn at the sound of her entry, and apprehension blossomed in her belly. “Emmett?” Her feet led her deeper into his bedroom, the carpet soft between her toes. “You’re home.”

  “Yes.” He puffed on his cigar, as if in defiance of the social rule that dictated he should extinguish it in her presence.

  She waited for him to say more, but he remained focused on the window. “How long have you been here? I thought you would have . . .” Heat suffused her cheeks, but she forced the words out. “I thought you would have come to me.”

  “Missing me, were you?” There was something unpleasant in his tone, almost a sneer, and she frowned.

  “Is there something wrong?”

  The stark lines of his face were shadowed, preventing her from viewing his eyes clearly. But she could feel the scrutiny, the cold calculation as he took her measure. It sent a shiver down her spine. What had happened today?

  Oh, his stock. Perhaps he was concerned over the rumors that had been circulating about an investigation. “Emmett—”

  “I am attempting to think of the best way to ask you, but I can’t come up with anything other than a forthright approach.”

  “Ask me what?”

  “Did you purchase nearly thirty percent of East Coast Steel stock today?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  He closed his eyes briefly, as if absorbing the information. “So while you were in my bed, distracting me with your luscious body, you bought tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of my stock. With what money?”

  Distracting him? “I sold all my various other shares, and I did have some money left from our bet. Also, Mr. Harper’s bank offered me credit, when necessary. Really, Emmett, what is this about?”

  “Why would you buy my stock?”

  “To ensure someone else could not.” Why did this feel accusatory, rather than grateful? She crossed her arms over her chest. “I gave standing orders to Robbie when you and I married that East Coast Steel should be watched the same way he watches Northeast Railroad stock. If the stock ever were to take a dive, he was to grab as many of the shares as he could before someone else did.”

  “Robbie. This was your and Robbie’s doing? No one else was involved?”

  “Who else would be involved, exactly?”

  Emmett’s expression was a cool mask. He inhaled on his cigar once more, blowing the smoke out slowly. She could hardly look away from his mouth, the full lips of such sin and wicked temptation. The things those lips had done to her body . . .

  But there was no warmth now. No teasing smirk. Just cold, flat distrust. “Shouldn’t you thank me?” she asked him.

  “When someone attempts to buy me out and ruin me, I hardly call that cause for gratitude.”

  “Ruin you?” Every muscle stiffened, and she rocked back on her heels. “I wasn’t trying to ruin you. I saved you. Someone started that rumor about the investigation, but it was not me.” She could hardly follow, the idea was so insane. God, did he really think her capable of that?

  “I went to see your brother today.”

  He let that statement hang, and so Lizzie asked, “Why?” Then her brain stopped spinning, and she arrived at the answer. No one else was involved? He’d asked the question because he believed Will to have played a part, too. That she and her brother had colluded to take over Emmett’s company.

  “I find it convenient,” Emmett continued, “that directly after the storm, after I’ve finally bedded you, this rumor circulates. Did your brother ask you to keep me occupied? To be willing to do whatever I asked just so I would ignore everything else for one more go between your luscious thighs?”

  A weight pressed down on her chest, strangling her, as the recent, tenuous bond between her and Emmett was severed. Destroyed by his mistrust.

  Love was like a stock, Lizzie realized. You gambled on its paying off in the long run—but it could just as easily cost you everything.

  Tears threatened, but she forced them back. Dragged air into her lungs. “Do you really believe I would participate in such a nefarious plot? That, as your wife, I would try and take your company away from you—whether my brother wanted to or not?”

  “As if you could,” he threw back, his lip curling. “You should know that could never happe
n. Tell your brother he’ll never gain a majority—and even if he did, the board would never listen to anyone but me.”

  She stared at him, this complete stranger who happened to be her husband. Precisely why she had never wanted to marry him. Was there to be no faith in one another, no benefit of the doubt? Obviously Emmett had made up his mind, discounted Lizzie’s explanation, and condemned her.

  The betrayal, this unforgivable accusation, cut deep. Even if he admitted he was wrong, this would always be between them. That he could even consider for an instant she would participate in something so hurtful was intolerable.

  Yet even as her heart cracked into pieces, she felt sorry for her husband. To be so hard, so cynical, was to be pitied, in her opinion. Yes, his upbringing had been tragic, but life was not about the past. One had to move forward, into the future, whether one liked it or not. And to always believe the worst of those around you must be exhausting.

  “You’re wrong, and you’ll regret everything you’ve said tonight,” she said, an embarrassing quiver in her voice. “At some point in your life, Emmett, you need to trust someone. To believe that one person might care for you and not want to drag you down. All I know is that person will no longer be me.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Gentlemen should not address ladies in a flippant manner.

  —American Etiquette and Rules of Politeness, 1883

  By the time dawn crept over the East River, Emmett had been at his desk, working, for several hours. With cigars and righteous anger as fuel, he had powered through contracts, finance reports, correspondence, newspapers . . . anything he’d put off since the storm.

  Never take your attention off the work. He’d forgotten that lesson in the last few days. He would not make the same mistake again.

  The door opened, and Kelly strolled in, a china teacup and saucer in his large hands. Emmett ignored him, continuing his letter to the East Coast Steel investors—a reassurance that there was no pending investigation or criminal activity to be concerned over.