"So, what exactly did he do?"

"Well, as you know, he provided a very essential service-he came up with a good chunk of the initial investment. Even back then Jonathan was always eager to squander his family's money."

"I would hardly call it squandering."

"Of course not. I was merely teasing. Jonathan was a risk taker, but he was always smart about it. And, of course, the Auction House turned out to be one of his smartest investments. After it took off he kept his hand in, though. He did some buying for us when he had the time, and always looked for new ways to expand the business, and inject a little excitement into all our lives."

"Mmm." Sloan stared at his hands. "What..." He cleared his throat. "I mean, where did Russell and Joe fit in?"

"Well, they both provided smaller contributions to the initial capital, but their roles were more key in other areas."

"Right. Bree's dad helped with the restoration of pieces that needed work, and later his pottery was a big feature at the auctions."

"Yes. Russell's work became synonymous with the Lakeside name, and as his renown grew, his pieces grew in value. And Joe Waters did most of the bookkeeping, as well as publicizing the auctions and recruiting bidders." Vance stroked the glass-like surface of his desk with a long, deft finger. "People were drawn to Joe. He had a very forthright personality tempered by a cheerful disposition. Much like his daughter."

"Yeah. Franki's definitely forthright. And Bree's artistic like her dad." Sloan found himself smiling, but then the smile slipped. "And now they're all gone."

Silence hung in the air and Sloan became aware of the resonant ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner.

"I miss them more than you can know," said Vance quietly. "They were the best friends a man could ask for. And, of course, our wives became friends...and then you kids, too. It seemed like a fairy tale come true." He raked his fingers through dark hair that hadn't yet begun to thin. "And then to lose them all like that, within a span of five years... I didn't know if I'd get through it."

"Yeah, it must have been real tough for you." Sloan regretted the bitterness in his voice, but it was already too late to take it back.

"I didn't mean to belittle your loss. And I can't imagine the hell you must have gone through in the aftermath of your discovery. But I wanted you to know that they all-especially your father-meant a great deal to me."

Sloan studied the older man. "Is that why you asked me in here? To indulge in a little mutual pity party?"

One side of Vance's mouth curled up. "No. Of course not. But that was all a prelude to what I want to talk to you about."

Sloan waited.

"You may not know this, since Jonathan died when you were still relatively young, but he had always hoped that you would take a part in the running of the House. He often commented to me on what a fine eye you had for art, antiques, jewelry-you name it. I know that he had often considered taking you on buying trips with him-"

"Then why didn't he?" Sloan startled himself with the fierceness in his own voice. "Why didn't he ever include me? He knew I was interested. He knew-"

"Sloan." Vance held up his hands. "It was a little more complicated than you know."

"What? Complicated how?"

Vance's eyes drilled into him. "Are you sure you have no idea what I'm talking about? Are you sure you're not just being coy with me, in order to try and lure me into saying something I shouldn't?"

Sloan shook his head in confusion. "What? What the hell are you talking about?"

Vance considered his response at length. "Not everything your father brought back was obtained through...regular channels."

Sloan narrowed his eyes. "What does that mean?"

"Before I go further I need to know if you're with us, Sloan."

"What do you mean, with us?"

"Do you have a desire to fulfill your father's wish and realize his dreams for your involvement here? There's a place for you if you want it. Perry and I have shouldered the majority of the burden since I lost my other partners. We enjoy what we do, but occasionally it overwhelms us. I'd be honored to share our load and make Jonathan Carver's son a part of what he built."

"Not to mention the money's pretty damn good, too."

Vance didn't blink. "I won't deny it. I'm in this for love, but also for profit. I value my lifestyle, and intend to keep it."

"I'm doing just fine, thanks."

"That's not an answer. I need to know." The clock ticked three times. "Do you wish to follow in your father's footsteps?"

Unfortunately that last phrase undid the little bit of trust Vance had managed to establish thus far. "I want no part of anything my father did. I want no part of something that drove him to..." He swallowed the words that wouldn't be spoken aloud. "Why do you think I left? Why do you think I never visited or called this goddamn town? I wanted to separate myself from everything my father ever touched."

Vance jerked his head back, apparently staggered by the vehemence of Sloan's response. "I thought you loved your father." "I did, but he abandoned me. He betrayed me. And I'll never forgive him for that." "You're referring to his suicide?" Sloan glared at him. What the hell else would I be referring to? "And what of your mother?" "What does she have to do with this?"

Vance tapped a finger on the desktop. "Her exodus was rather abrupt as well, don't you think?

The shift in topic stunned Sloan momentarily. It took him a moment to formulate his answer. "I suppose so. But even if I didn't approve of them she had her reasons for what she did." He wiped his palms on his pants.

"And what would that be, exactly?"

Sloan's throat tightened. "To leave with her lover, of course."

"A lover that no one here ever met or heard of before the day she left."

Sloan vaulted from his chair. "I don't quite know why we got onto this topic, but my mother is my

business, and I'll thank you to stay out of it. I've had enough of this...this...whatever this is. I'mleaving." He whirled and headed for the door. "What are you afraid of, Sloan?"

He stopped with his hand on the knob. "I'm not afraid of anything."

"That's a lie. Everyone's afraid of something. And you, for one, seem to be afraid to address the matter of your mother's disappearance."

"She didn't disappear." He stared at the oak panels. "She left."

"That's a matter of opinion."

Sloan's fingers tensed around the doorknob.

"I would really like to discuss this with you. Won't you come back and sit down so we can talk like the

old friends that we are?" Sloan's knees had turned to jelly, but he managed to make his way back to the comfort of the chair. He sank down into it and the leather groaned softly in protest. His previous sensation of being trapped had escalated to the point of claustrophobia. "What do you want from me?" Vance ignored the question. "When was the last time you spoke to your mother?" Sloan resigned himself to answer. "A few months ago. We had a brief telephone conversation." "Mmm." The answer sounded doubtful, but he continued on as if he accepted it. "But that isn't the only contact you have?" "No." Vance nodded knowingly. "That's right. She writes these letters. To Lydia and Marie. I presume to you.

And, of course," he waved his hand vaguely, "others." Sloan nodded. "They're beautifully written, by the way. Her penmanship was always so distinctive. And her talent for words..." Vance shook his head in wonder. "She has a real flair." Sloan's mouth felt as dry as Egyptian parchment. "I suppose that's where I get it." "Strange, though, that she never exhibited such talents before." "She did write a few short stories." He stared at his hands that had begun to tremble. For a fleeting moment he saw them covered, drenched, dripping in blood. He closed his eyes and banished those images to the world of his nightmares that was their home. "But she was shy about her writing. She never showed them to anyone."

"Mmm."

Sloan risked meeting Vance's eyes. "Is this an interrogation? Where's the spotlight and the 'bad cop'?"

Despite his bravado, Sloan couldn't risk leaving. He had to know what Vance was getting at. He had toknow what Vance knew. "And where is Janelle now?" "I think she's cruising the Mediterranean. I don't keep very close tabs on her. We didn't part on the best of terms, you know."

"Ah, yes. You had a disagreement before she left. You told us all that much."

"And why shouldn't I? I don't have any secrets." He got better at the lying, but it never got easier.

Vance chuckled. "Of course not. None of us do."

A sliver of panic pierced his gut.

"However, be that as it may, I have always found it curious that you two would part so bitterly. From

what I know of Janelle's and your relationship, you got along quite well. I know you were always closer to your father and his death was hard on your relationship, but you never spoke harshly to her. You even continued living with her despite the fact that you were well into your twenties."

"She hated being alone," he whispered softly. "Sloan, how about watching a movie with me?" she would plead. "I'll make popcorn balls if you'll keep me company." He smiled at the thought of popcorn balls that could have lasted nine holes atthe Canadian Open. He recalled the day, not long after Jonathan's funeral, that he had caught her crying into his breakfast omelette, and had held her and hugged her so long that the eggs charred to the consistency of ash and set off the kitchen smoke alarm.

And the last time he had spoken with her: "I'm sorry, Sloan. I'm so, so sorry."

"Sorry?" he'd screamed. "What the hell good is sorry?" Vance remained oblivious to Sloan's meandering down memory lane. The mention of his father's name,however, dragged Sloan back to the present.

"After Jonathan's death I know you and your mother had a few disagreements and some tensions. But that was inconsequential. You shared a roof, and, to a reasonable extent, your lives. What prompted this astonishing turn of events?"

"You know that answer." Sloan wished his voice sounded more certain. "It was her affair. It happened so suddenly, and then to decide in a heartbeat to take off on an indefinite trip around the world?" The lies crowded in his throat like a wad of bubblegum. "I thought Armand was a gold-digger. I thought the whole thing was a huge mistake. I still do. And..."

Vance leaned forward, his eyes searching. "And what?"

"And I thought he was an affront to Dad's memory."

"I thought you had come to hate your father."

"This is...different."

Vance's lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. "That's believable, I suppose."

"I don't really care what you believe."

"No?" Vance crossed his arms. "But perhaps you should."

"Are you accusing me of something?"

"I think there was more to this supposed confrontation than you're letting on."

"If there is, it's my business. Not yours."

"If your disagreement had anything to do with Jonathan's and her involvement with the Auction House then I think it is my business."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Sloan felt as if he and Vance were talking at each other from alternate universes.

"I'm afraid I remain unconvinced." Vance's eyes narrowed. "There are too many inconsistencies."

"Such as?"

"Your level of anger with a father I know you adored seems out of proportion. To my mind his decision to take his own life fails to explain it. Most people get past such anger by this time." He paused and considered-a sniper counting his bullets. "Your mother's sudden decision to take up with an international gigolo strikes me as out of character and extremely unlikely. As does your subsequent rejection of her. She leaves without so much as a goodbye to friends that she knew for years. Then you leave in a similar, and also uncharacteristic manner." His gaze never wavered from Sloan's. "Your... explanations leave gaping holes that need filling. Those holes trouble me, Sloan. Deeply."

It seemed that Vance had some idea, or some theory as to the true reasons for Sloan's estrangement from his parents. The source of such a theory puzzled Sloan, and the elevated level of Vance's concern troubled him. But the possibility that it might be more than a theory-that Vance might actually know something, rather than just suspect it-terrified him.

He spoke slowly. "I'll ask you again. What do you want from me?"

"I want to know what you and your mother discussed before she left. What did she tell you, Sloan? What caused the rift?"

"I told you that. I don't see why I need to repeat myself."

"Armand. You insist that he was the source of your argument."

Sloan stared at him, and tried to see through the insinuations. "If you want to ask me something, Vance, why don't you come right out and ask me? All this dancing around the mulberry bush is making my head swim."

"I want to know if there is anything about your final encounter with your mother that you'd like to share with me? Perhaps you'd like to unburden your conscience to someone who..." He tilted his head. "Someone who understands and wouldn't judge you. Or at least who wouldn't judge you as harshly as, say, the authorities might."

Sloan felt sick. "Authorities?"

But Vance said nothing, and Sloan made his decision. "No. There's nothing."

Vance nodded once, his expression one of profound disappointment. He rounded the desk and sat down, leveling his gaze at Sloan. "All right, then. If that's your decision, then I would suggest that whatever you and your mother discussed before her...departure, remain between the two of you. If you have any plans for acting on that information, or following through on her wishes, I strongly urge you to consider your own actions and vulnerability. I'll do whatever I have to do to protect what's mine. Please bear that in mind."

Sloan clenched his fingers. "You're delusional, Vance. You want me to keep quiet about something, and I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

Vance nodded approval. "Exactly. And therefore I have absolutely no idea what happened between you and Janelle eight years ago, either. Let's just keep it that way."