Mistress of the Game

She’s not going anywhere.

Lexi sat in an upstairs bedroom at Cedar Hill House, thinking. All the noise and clamor downstairs was too much. She had to escape.

I did it! I married Gabe. I have everything I’ve ever wanted.

She remembered childhood summers spent in this house. How her father’s grief for her mother had coated everything with a cloying patina of sadness, freezing the Dark Harbor estate in a sepia haze of loss. Except for Peter, who still lived there, rattling around the empty halls like a ghost, all the old generation were gone now: my mom, Uncle Keith, Aunt Eve. Even Max. Poor Max.

When Father dies, I’m going to strip this place bare and start again. Make it a happy home for Maxine. She’s going to have the childhood I never had.

“Sorry to disturb you, ma’am. I didn’t know anybody was in here.” Conchita, one of the housemaids, staggered in with a preposterously large pile of wedding presents and cards. “The gatehouse hasn’t room for any more.” She dumped the pile unceremoniously on the bed.

“These were all left at the gate?”

“Yes, ma’am. It seems a lot of people want to wish you well.”

Lexi sat down and began to unwrap the gifts. Before she knew it, hours had passed. The party downstairs was almost at an end. Some of the presents were expensive: Lalique vases, Tiffany lamps, first editions of Hemingway and Mark Twain. Others were simple, but given from the heart. Lexi was particularly touched by a pottery mug one of the local grade-school kids had made for her, engraved with her wedding date and her and Gabe’s initials intertwined. Sweet . By the time she came to the stiff brown envelope, she was starting to get tired. This’ll be the last one. I’ll open the rest later.

Pulling out the single sheet of paper she recognized her aunt Eve’s handwriting immediately. Thirty seconds later, Lexi knew she would never open her other wedding presents. Her world had changed forever.

Think. You don’t have much time.

What would Kate Blackwell have done?

“Sir, take a look at this.”

Detective Michael Shaw was pointing to numbers on his computer screen. Big numbers.

“These are transfers made from Cedar International to Carl Kolepp’s business account forty-eight hours before Kruger-Brent went under.”

“So?”

“So Kolepp used this money”-Detective Shaw pulled up another screen-“to borrow Kruger-Brent stock from a whole bunch of banks. Which he then sold short, pushing the share price down. But it wasn’t enough. So on the Monday he borrowed a bunch more stock. From these guys. DH Holdings.”

“Who the hell is DH Holdings?” Lieutenant Carey frowned.

“It’s no one. It’s a shell. The chairman is one Jennifer Wilson. Who also happens to be the founder, owner and sole shareholder of…” Another screen.

“Don’t tell me. Cedar International?”

The detective nodded. “Jennifer Wilson is Lexi Templeton, boss. She’s traded under that name on and off for nearly fourteen years. She even registered it with the SEC.”

So crazy old Eve Blackwell was right. How the hell had she known?

“Shall we bring her in now, sir?”

Lieutenant Carey made a decision.

“Yes. But we need this done discreetly. It’s her wedding day. Half of Congress are up at that house this afternoon. I do not want a circus. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir. Clear as day.”

TWENTY-NINE

LEXI WATCHED THE TWO PLAINCLOTHES POLICEMEN WALK up the path toward the house.

Her plan was audacious. She calculated its chances of success at around 20 percent. Better odds than Jamie McGregor had when he survived those land mines in the Namib desert.

Forcing herself to stay calm, Lexi folded Eve’s letter and slipped it into her bra. Then, making a deliberate effort to slow her breathing, she walked downstairs. By some miracle, the entryway was deserted. She could hear Gabe and Robbie’s voices in her father’s study. She would have to act quickly.

“Come in. I’ve been expecting you.”

She opened the front door to the house with a smile. Two cops stood on the porch. One was young, not more than thirty, good-looking and Hispanic. The other was older, about Lexi’s own age, pale-skinned and balding. I wonder which one is the boss?

Both men looked awkward. To be greeted by Lexi Templeton herself, still in her wedding dress, seemed to throw them off stride. Didn’t people like her have butlers to answer the door? And how in the hell was she expecting them?

Lexi said, “Follow me. I’ll take you somewhere we can talk in private.”

Detective Shaw looked at Detective Sanchez. Normally, they took the lead when making an arrest. But Lieutenant Carey had made it very clear he wanted this thing handled “softly softly.” They decided to let it slide.

“Sure thing, ma’am. After you.”

Lexi took them to the library. On the second floor of the house, it had once been Kate Blackwell’s pride and joy. A sumptuous, welcoming room with wine-red brocade chairs and cozy, wood-paneled walls, it oozed understated wealth and breeding. Class. Lexi gestured for the policemen to sit down. She locked the door behind them. “So we won’t be disturbed.”

Detective Shaw began. “We’re sorry to have to do this on your wedding day, ma’am.”

Lexi shook her head. “Please, don’t apologize. You’re doing your job. I’m assuming you received a copy of a letter from my aunt, Eve Blackwell?”

The detectives exchanged glances again.

“That is why you’re here, isn’t it?”