Filthy Rich (Blackstone Dynasty 1)

Taking time I really didn’t have, I considered my options.

And then I called my brother Lucas.

“Cal

eb, long time, no talk. To what do I owe—”

“Lucas, who is the girl named Brooke with an English accent living on the island with her grandmother?”

“Umm . . . bro, don’t you remember Ellen Casterley, the housekeeper at Blackwater? She worked there for our whole life.”

“Ellen Casterley, our sweet British housekeeper, is her grandmother?” I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand straight up.

“Yeees. Brooke came to live with Mrs. Casterley after her parents were killed in London. Brooke was like fifteen at the time, and it was kind of big news on the island. I remember everybody talking about it—why don’t you know this?”

“That’s a fucking good question, little brother. When did this happen?”

“Oh, probably eight or so years ago. Sylvie, my housekeeper, would be the one to ask if you want better details. Sylvie and Mrs. Casterley are good friends, and she knows Brooke very well.”

I did the math. That would make Brooke twenty-three now. Eight years ago I was twenty-three, and I don’t remember visiting the island for holidays. I hadn’t been around when Brooke came to live with her grandmother. “Okay, but why would Brooke say Blackwater was closed and all of the staff dismissed? That’s not true.”

A long pause preceded the heavy sigh from my brother on the other end of my phone, and I knew something was terribly wrong. “Caleb, do you ever speak to Mom? She closed it down nearly two years ago when Dad got sick. The place is boarded up and for sale. When a buyer comes along, it’s gone.”

“No. No way would Dad ever allow Blackwater to be sold off from the family holdings. He loved it there.”

“When was the last time you were at Blackwater?” My brother’s question felt like a metal spike in my heart. He was right. Our father had loved it there. And we’d enjoyed our summer holidays there when we were kids. But then we grew up and lost interest. Or maybe it was just me who lost interest and never went back.

Too fucking long ago.

“How do you feel about putting your clueless brother up for the weekend in your fancy beach house?”

“Plenty of empty rooms for you to choose from, Clueless Brother. You taking your chopper or do you need me to send mine over there to get you?”

“Funny. I always take my own chopper, asshole.”

Caleb

Victoria, can you bring me the files for the Blackwater estate? I want everything: property tax records, payroll, employee pension payouts, back through ten years.”

“You want me to request copies through your mother’s office?”

“My mother’s office? No, I want the original files on everything.” Mom retained a separate business office for her own personal interests and private accounts apart from the family holdings. I’d never questioned it before because my father set it all up for her, and it was basically keeping with the status quo after he died. I’d been so overwhelmed since I’d had to step up to take over the bulk of Dad’s business when he got sick, that I’d not paid attention to what seemed insignificant at the time. Funny how the passage of time can change that.

But was a historic property that had been in my family for generations insignificant? It shouldn’t be. My father loved it and I couldn’t imagine him wanting it sold to strangers. He would have wanted his kids to enjoy it with their young families. Families. None of us were even married yet, or had families of our own. But some day we would. My sister, Willow, was the closest in line for kids since she was already engaged. To a guy who taught history at Brown University, and I’d only met one time. One time. Dad sure as hell would’ve met him more than once if he were still alive. Put the family first, Caleb. I decided I needed to get a little more involved with my family.

A pang of regret hit me hard right in the chest as I realized my dad would never know a single grandchild from any of his five children. What kind of legacy was that to pass down if the family estate was sold off before he was barely cold in his grave? Christ, my mother was a piece of work. She’d never said a word to me about it.

“I’ll go down and see Myrna in the file room and she can point me in the right direction hopefully. You know ten years is going to be a lot of files, Caleb.”

“I realize that. Box them by year and have Spence help you get them up here to my office. He can line the boxes under the window.”

“And when Myrna wants to know why we’re emptying her file room?” she asked.

“Good point. Just tell Myrna we need them for an internal audit because the property is looking for a buyer. I don’t want my mom to know, okay?”

Victoria nodded once and that was our code for, “Got it, boss,” which was just another reason why she was an excellent PA. She was all business with no drama, but most of all, I could trust her. “Victoria,” I called her back as she was almost out the door, “did you—did you know Blackwater was up for sale?”

“Yes.” Her dark-blue eyes were full of compassion for me. That feeling a person gets when they understand you are the last to know what is really going on, and feel sorry for you. “My parents mentioned it to me a while back.”