How long since youve been here? the Master Distiller asked as he hit the light switch.

Actually, about a day or two. When the guy looked over, Lane shrugged. Needed a place to think, so I went and sat around the bar- rels. I used the old pass code.

Ah. Yeah, I do that, too.

It didnt help.

Doesnt work for me, either, but maybe one day. Mack nodded to the rear of the reception area. Im still here in the back.

The Distillers office took up most of the cabins interior, and for a moment, as Lane stepped into the space, he closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. The M.D. of the Bradford Bourbon Company was nearly a religious figure in not just the organization, but the state of Kentucky as a whole, and that made this place sacred" accordingly, its walls were covered from floor to ceiling with a pastiche of the companys liquor labels dating from the mid- 1800s all the way up to the early 2000s.

God, its just the same. Lane looked around, tracing the evidence of his familys history. My grandfather used to take me here when they were putting it all together for the first time as a tourist site. I was five or six and hed bring only me. I think it was because he wanted an architect in the family, and knew that Edward was company bound, and Max wasnt going to turn into anything.

What did you end up doing with yourself? Mack sat down behind his desk and turned on his computer. Last I heard you were in New York?

Poker.

Im sorry?

Lane cleared his throat, and felt inadequate. I, ah, I play poker.

Made more money than I wouldve if Id gotten a desk job" considering I majored in psychology and havent worked my entire adult life.

So youre good with the cards.

Very. He changed the subject by nodding at the walls. Where are your labels?

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The computer let out a beeeep, and then Mack signed in at the log- in screen. Havent put any up.

Come on, now.

My fathers thirty- fifth run of Family Reserve, right over there" he pointed to the far corner, by the floor" was the last.

Lane grabbed a chair from a conference table and rolled it across the bare, polished floorboards. You need to get your batches counted.

Uh- huh. Mack sat back in the great leather throne. So what do you need? What can I try to find for you?

Lane moved in next to the guy and focused on the blue- green glow of the computer screen. Financials. I need profit and loss statements over time, account balances, transfer records.

Mack whistled under his breath. Thats uphill of my pay grade.

Corporates got all that" wait, the board book.

Whats that? Jesus, shouldnt he know?

Mack started going through the file system, opening documents, and hitting Print. Its the materials handed out in advance of the Trustees meetings. Senior management gets them" and so do I. Of course, the real stuff happens behind closed doors with the executive committee an hour before the open session, and there are no notes on that. But this should give you an idea of the company" or at least what theyre telling the Board about the company.

As the man started handing over page after page from the printer, Lane frowned. What exactly goes down at the executive committee?

Its where they debate the meat of things, as well as the stuff they dont want anyone else to know about. I dont think there are even min- utes taken.

Who attends?

Your father. Over came two more pages. The companys general counsel. The board chair and vice chair. CFO, COO. And then there are special guests, depending on the issues. I was called in once when they were debating changing the formula for No. Fifteen. I shot that bright idea down and they must have agreed with me because the folly never { 268 }.

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surfaced again. I was in that boardroom only long enough to be heard, and then I was escorted out.

Do you know if they have an agenda in advance?

I would think so. When I went, there were four other people wait- ing in the hall with me, so they were working off some kind of plan. Its all run out of your fathers offices at your house.

Lane started going through the papers that were still warm from having been through the machine. Minutes of the previous meeting.

Attendance. Updates on operations that he didnt understand.

He needed a translator.

Who he could trust.

And greater access.

Mack went on to print out the previous three board meetings worth of materials. Clipped it all together. Put it in files.

I need to borrow your truck, Lane said as he stared at the pile.

Drop me at home and its yours. I should try to sober up, anyway.

I owe you.

Just save this company. And we are more than even.

As Mack put his palm out, Lane shook it. Hard. Whatever it takes.

No matter who it hurts.

The Master Distiller closed his eyes. Thank you, God.

L ike watching exotic animals at the zoo, Lizzie thought.

Standing at the very edge of the tent, she watched the glittering people wind in and out of the tables she and Greta had set up.

The talk was loud, the perfume thick, the jewels flashing. All of the women were in hats and flats. The men were in pale suits and a couple even wore cravats and bowlers.

It was the kind of fantasy life that so many thought they wanted to live.

She knew the truth, however. After all these years working at East- erly, she was well aware that the rich were not inoculated against tragedy.

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Their cocoon of luxury just made them think they were.

God, those spreadsheets that Rosalinda had left behind"

Quite a sight, isnt it.

Lizzie looked over. Miss Aurora" I cant believe youre out here.

You never leave the kitchen during the brunch.

The womans tired eyes surveyed the guests, the setup, the uni- formed waiters with the sterling silver mint julep cups on sterling silver trays. Theyre moving my food.

Of course they are. Your menu is exquisite.

The champagne flutes are holding.

Lizzie nodded and refocused on the crowd. Weve got about a hun- dred in reserve at the moment. The waiters are doing a great job.

Wheres your partner?

For a split second, she almost gave the woman a Lane update. Which was crazy" and wouldnt have amounted to much. All she knew was that hed left with Edwin MacAllan, the Master Distiller, about an hour ago. Or had it been two?

Gretas over there. She pointed to the opposite corner. Shes riding herd on the flutes. Says finding the used ones that have been set aside is an Easter- egg hunt on steroids. Or . . . at least I think thats what she said. Her last report had a lot of German in it" usually not the best sign.

Miss Aurora shook her head. That wasnt who I was asking about.

It was good to see you and Lane in the same room again.

Ah . . . Lizzie cleared her throat. Im not sure what to say to that.

Hes a good boy, you know.

Listen, Miss Aurora, theres nothing going on between him and me. Other than eight hours of sex the evening before. Hes married.

For now. That woman is trash.

Cant disagree there, Lizzie thought. Well . . .

Lizzie, hes going to need you.

Lizzie put up her palms to try to derail the conversation. Miss Au- rora, he and I"

Youre going to have to be there for him. Theres a lot thats going to fall on his shoulders.

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So you know? About . . . everything?

Hes going to need someone with a level head to stand by him.

Miss Auroras face became very grim. Hes a good man, but hes going to be tried in ways he never has been. Hes going to need you.

What did Rosalinda tell you?

Before Miss Aurora could answer, a tall, striking brunette woman came up out of the crowd. And instead of passing by, she stopped and put her hand forward. Lizzie King, my names Sutton Smythe.

Lizzie recoiled" but then got with the program and accepted what was offered. I know who you are.

I just wanted to tell you how incredibly beautiful these gardens are. Astonishing! You and Mrs. von Schlieber are true artists.

There was nothing lurking behind the womans open expression, no falsity, no ulterior anything" and the lack of shady made Lizzie think of Chantals fake lady- like stuff.

Thats very kind of you.

Sutton took a sip from her mint julep cup, and the massive ruby on her right ring finger glowed. Id love to have you over to my property, but I know better" and I respect those boundaries. I did have to let you know how much I respect your talent, however.

Thank you.

You are so welcome.

Sutton smiled and walked off" or at least tried to. She didnt make it far, people crowding around her, talking at her, the women sizing up her clothes, the men sizing up her non- financial assets.

You know, Lizzie murmured, shes a nice person.

When there was no reply, she looked over. Miss Aurora was heading back for the kitchens door, her gait slow and unsteady as if her feet hurt" and why wouldnt they. Plus come on, shed been in the ER how many days ago?

Lizzie was glad the cook had come out for once to see the grand fi- nale of all their collective effort. Maybe next year, they could get her to stay for a little while longer.

Across the tent, Chantal was sitting at a table with seven other { 271 }.

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women who were versions of her, namely brightly colored, expensive birds with their plumage largely paid for by the men in their lives. In twenty years, after whatever children they had had washed out of their households, they were going to look like wax figurines of themselves, everything jacked up, and filled, and enhanced.

And actually, they did work: Their profession was breeding and re- maining attractive to their husbands.

A lot like the mares that had given birth to the thoroughbreds who were racing on that track in a couple of hours.

Lizzie thought of her farm, which she had paid for herself. No one could take that away from her" she had earned it.