Page 54 of Ireland

“Dad.” Ireland bent forward, her hair flowing almost to the floor as she rested her elbows on her knees and linked her fingers together. “I have to ask you something, and I really need you to think hard about the answer. Do you see a future for Vidal beyond you or only within the span of your lifetime?”

He scowled. “What kind of question is that? It’s a family business.”

“Then why do you keep making decisions that jeopardize the future of this company?”

His breath left him in a rush as if she’d knocked the wind from him. “That’s not fair, Ireland. Growing a business has inherent risks.”

“Yes,managedrisks. Which should never lead to the brink of disaster not just once but twice.” She held his gaze, sharp and direct. “Vidal needs you, Dad. Needs your gift for spotting and working with talent. But executive decisions are not your forte. You have to acknowledge that if you envision your grandkids working in these offices someday.”

He sat motionless, his jaw taut.

“Maybe you’ve felt like you have to handle that end of things,” she went on, “whether because you’re the parent or you don’t think your kids are ready for the responsibility yet. Whatever the reason, you’re about to lose your shares, and I can maneuver into the majority position by acquiring Mom’s and aligning with Christopher. So, will you step aside and let me fight off McCaffrey? Because if you want to keep forging ahead on your own, I’ll ask Christopher to buy me out and leave you both to it.”

His brows lifted. “You have to be in charge or you’re leaving? That’s your ultimatum?”

“No. McCaffrey wins, or we do. Those are your choices.”

“You don’t think I can fend off the takeover?”

She shook her head and forced herself to be brutally honest. “Not without Gideon’s help, no. And I hope you don’t go that route because he’s got a bazillion businesses to run, and Vidal is my only focus.”

His fingertips drummed restlessly into the blotter. “And Christopher agrees with you?”

“He’ll have to agree, or we’ll be out of business. He’s too much like you. He won’t be the change Vidal needs to recover and rebuild.”

Her father gave her a long, studious appraisal, and then his eyes and nose began to redden. “When did you grow up?” he asked hoarsely.

Today. But she didn’t say that aloud.

Pushing back from his desk, he stood and faced the windows, his fingers linking behind his back. She’d spent her lifetime seeing him in this space. She had memories from when she was so small that the heavy wood desk dwarfed her, the desktop inches above her head. She remembered hiding from Christopher in the kneehole and putting toys in the drawers for her dad to find.

Framed on the walls were photos of her father with legendary performers and music industry figures, along with magazine cover stories and articles about him. Chris Vidal, Sr. had built a sterling reputation for his unrivaled ear and history of signing talent who set trends rather than followed them. And beyond that acumen, he was widely regarded as a good man with a kind heart. She’d always been immensely proud of him and still was. Whatever flaws he might have, he was still the best father she could ever ask for.

His heavy sigh weighed on her heart. “You’re right about Christopher, I’m sorry to admit. He does love the business, though. As much as I do.”

She hated hearing the despondence in his voice. “We’re just shuffling jobs. You can focus on the talent, and I’ll handle the business.”

He faced her. “I’ve never doubted that you’re capable of doing much more here at Vidal. But you don’t love it like we do. I’ve struggled with that for years now, Ireland. It’s why I’ve structured our workloads the way I have, hoping that if you’rehaving fun, you’ll stick with us. The task you want to take over is hard, heartbreaking work.”

“Dad…” She tried to find the right words. “No, I don’t love it to the same extent, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love it.”

Standing, she ran her fingertips along the worn and nicked edge of the desk. “I remember when this desk used to be Pop’s and all the clutter he had on it—the guitar strings and picks, the levers and valves, the scraps of piano wire. I remember Mom and Nana working together to turn this old storage space into offices while Christopher and I built forts out of the empty boxes.”

Her father’s mouth quirked with a melancholy smile.

“I love my family,” she went on, “not entities or things. You’ve got to believe me when I tell you I’ll fight harder for Vidal becauseyoulove it. More than I ever would for myself.”

“I don’t want you fighting on my behalf. I don’t want you to have to fix my mistakes.” Rounding the desk, her father gripped her shoulders and held her gaze. “You should be doing what you love.”

“Oh, I’ll love waging this war,” she told him with a sharp-edged smile. “But you decide. Right now. Because if this is the route we’re taking, I have homework for you to get started on.”

Settled in the sitting area of his office, Gideon reexamined the half dozen notes in protective plastic sleeves strewn across the coffee table. It had been a couple of years since he’d last studied them at length, but their familiarity made them no less disturbing.

Around him, Raúl Huerta, Victor Reyes, Chase Kwon, and Angus McLeod—the top-level supervisors of his security team—waited quietly. Only Angus was dressed casually in jeans and a gray Henley. The other men wore black suits tailored to hide their sidearms.

The notes were disturbing at first glance before a single word was read. Photos of him and Eva, haphazardly cut out of magazines, had been disfigured by a red Sharpie and razor slashes. Individual letters had been pasted into words that formed malevolent rhymes.

Four blind eyes. Enucleated twice.

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