Page 19 of Tributary

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Asa

“ASA, DARLING, YOU never visit anymore.” My mother glides past reception on her way into my office. I heard her coming all the way from the elevator.

I sigh. “Well, mom, I’ve been busy maintaining the family business.”

She clucks her tongue. “Sour grapes spoil the wine, Asa.” She finishes a lap around my office and frowns out the window. “I need to know who your date will be for the Purim Gala.”

“You were serious about me going to that?”

“Well of course I was serious. I would never joke about Purim, Asa!” She would probably look shocked if she had any flexibility left in the skin of her face. I find myself wondering what Diana will look like when she’s in her 60s. I’m sure she will be more like her mother than mine—owning her gray hair and fine lines with pride.

I sigh and pull up my calendar. The gala is next Saturday night, which means I’ll be flying back from a west coast meeting and driving straight to mid-town. “Why don’t you just tell me who you’d like me to take, Mom.”

“Darling, you’re not getting any younger, you know,” my mother pouts. “All the other women in the club are arguing over whether they’ll be called Bubby or Mimi and my son can’t even get a date for a Purim gala?”

I want to tell her that all the other women from the club can go to hell, but I know that’s just me still in a rotten mood from my trip to Pittsburgh. I tune her out as she starts listing off the daughters of socialites we know. I interrupt my mother and tell her again to just pick someone for me. I catch a glimmer of hope in her eye. I should probably tell my mother about Diana. That’s something people tell their parents, normally—if they’re pursuing a woman who scorns them. But Jordana Wexler isn’t most parents and I’ll get her out of my office faster if I let her think she’s making headway on the grandchildren dream.

Funny how my entire life was dedicated toward becoming a business tycoon and I’m supposed to now magically change gears and land a perfect family as soon as my dad hands over the reins.

“Well, mom, I should probably get back to it…”

“Oh, can’t we at least look at some pictures on social media, sweetheart? How can I know it’s a match that will stick if you don’t actually see her before Purim? No? Oh all right. Don’t be late for Shabbat dinner on Friday. Your uncle brought candles back from Israel.”

I text Andrea to cancel my late afternoon meetings on Friday so I can make it in time for early sunset, and then I shout for Andrea to come in.

“Hey,” I say when she pokes her head in my office. I might not be able to ask her for advice about Diana, but I can still push to find out more about Buford. “Question for you. Do you know a lot about neurology research funding?”

“Hm, not particularly. But I did pull up some case studies for another prospect. What’s up?”

“I’ve just got this nagging itch about our association with Buford. I need to figure out what his deal is.”

She looks over her shoulder and closes the door, sitting in the chair across from me. “Everything I’ve got on him is from our hacker friend…so it can’t be really used anywhere, you know…”

“Let me figure out that part, Andrea. I just need to know.”

She nods and stands back up. “Sending you everything I’ve got right now, boss.”

I spend the rest of the day studying the information Andrea dug up on Jay Buford. He was always someone I didn’t think highly of. His proposal only made it to my desk because it was the day I let interns sift through the slush pile. Thinking back on it, I bet the weasel bribed the intern. He came to us insisting he could cure epilepsy with a perfect strain of medical cannabis. Spouted a bunch of tech talk I still don’t understand…but now that I look over the notes, this has Diana Crawford’s touch all over it.

I frown, looking over the personal information from Andrea’s hacker. Jay lived with Diana Crawford, didn’t just study with her and co-author papers with her. I throw the file across the desk in disgust, realizing that she was romantically involved with that scum and he evidently duped her out of the profits. No wonder he was willing to sign over 40% of his business. “Why in the hell wouldn’t Diana sue the dick off him,” I mutter. Ignoring this kind of betrayal is definitely not her style—not for a woman who brews her own beer and shovels out her elderly neighbors during a flash blizzard.

I vow to get someone from Oak Creek to talk to me about what happened when I head to town for Hunter’s welcome home party. One of those old biddies will surely get drunk enough to spill the beans if I turn up the charm.

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