The Initiation (Filthy Rich Americans 1)

The flicker was just enough to make me scrawl my name on the line.

“Good. Royce?” Macalister prompted.

Royce took the pen from my hand and signed his name with a quick flourish. He dropped it with a thud and gently grasped my wrist, urging me to stand. He moved me out of the way so the other men could form a line, and each signed in their place on the document. As I stood there watching it, Royce’s warm hand remained curled around me. The connection between us was a closed circuit, and when he brushed his thumb softly over the inside of my wrist, electricity flowed freely between us.

Macalister was the last to sign. When he finished, he closed the portfolio, picked up my glass of champagne, and offered it to me. Yet, as his gaze etched over the necklace, seemingly mapping each diamond in the wreath, his expression darkened.

Royce released me, severing our connection, leaving me to step forward and take the flute of champagne from his father.

“Thank you,” I said automatically.

“No, I believe it’s us that need to thank you,” Macalister said. He looked like he was going to say something else, but a distracted frown crossed his face. “Your necklace is very nice, but it’s too much. Tonight is supposed to be about Royce, not you.”

From behind me, Royce’s irritated voice rang out. “It’s at least a little about her.”

His father didn’t appreciate the tone and delivered a stern look to his son. “Take it off.”

For a moment, no one moved. The Hale men were locked in a silent battle, but the fingertips at the clasp on the back of my neck announced Macalister had won this round. The weight of the necklace shifted, one end coming loose and skating down my front before being pulled away.

I felt naked and exposed already, and it was the only thing to come off so far.

Footsteps carried Royce away, leaving me alone to face his father and the group of men gathered around us in a half-circle while he put the necklace away in its box.

“The Hale family,” Macalister announced, “came here from Germany at the turn of the nineteenth century, back when our country was almost as young as you are. We’d been watchmakers, but Eduard Hale had a head for finance. He worked for years at different banking firms before starting his own, which eventually grew into the Hale Banking and Holding Company of today. I am the eighth Hale to head up the board.” He pushed back one side of his black jacket and slipped a hand in his pocket, relaxing just enough to look less scary. “Royce, or Vance, will be the ninth.”

I mentally tripped over the statement. It had always been a given to me that Royce would take control when his father retired, but then again . . . The brothers had received identical educations, and Macalister pushed both of his sons hard. He’d had no qualms pitting them against each other.

It added another layer to Royce’s situation. Even after joining the board, would he still be competing for that top spot? All the way until his father stepped down?

“The company’s history isn’t perfect,” Macalister continued. “After the Civil War, they’d pledged too much stock to back their loans. This was before the Federal Reserve existed. Being a student of economics, you might remember what happened in 1907.”

I wasn’t sure where he was going with this history lesson. “The Panic?”

Three weeks of turmoil had gripped America as people and companies made terrified runs to the banks to withdraw their money, and some were left with nothing.

Again, he was pleased with my answer. “The Stock Exchange plummeted. Banks weren’t just going out of business in New York, they were failing all over the country. Wall Street was in crisis. When my company’s loans were called, we nearly went bankrupt. But my great-great grandfather, Nelson Hale, was incredibly savvy. He consolidated investments, organized a merger between the railroads, and freed up enough capital to avert disaster.” There was admiration in his voice. “He is one of the great men credited with stabilizing the US economy.”

Macalister’s lips turned up in an ironic smile.

“It’s quite spectacular, all he accomplished,” he said, “especially considering he suffered a debilitating stroke the prior year and was completely incapacitated.”

“What?” I asked. “How—”

“His wife Alma, my great-great grandmother. With the help of the board, she saved the company. Nelson remained as the figurehead, but it was her pulling the strings while ensuring no one knew. For ten years she ruled in secret, and HBHC flourished. She made the board very wealthy, and they owed everything to her.” Something dark and sexual swirled in the room, so powerful, it seemed to make the candles flicker.

“In return,” he said quietly, “they showed her their appreciation in ways her husband no longer could.”