Her grandfather nodded in agreement. “When your father was president of the college, he wasted far too much money on expensive professors and overly ambitious research.”

Gwen looked away. Her husband had been a perfect example of one of those idealistic professors who was brilliant but profligate with his research budget. “We always knew the college would initially lose money—”

“It’s been thirty years!” Uncle Oscar interrupted. “The entire idea was a foolish endeavor to pacify Theodore. He had no business being a college president if he couldn’t even balance a checkbook.”

Gwen maintained her serene expression. “It wasn’t to pacify my father, it was to turn around the reputation of a family name that had become synonymous with greed and avarice. We’ve spent decades improving our reputation, and now you want to throw it all away?”

Oscar lifted a book off the table and tossed it at her. Its pages splayed as it flew, but she caught it just before it hit the ground. She read the title on the cover and gasped.

The Flamboyant Life and Adventures of Mick Malone: A Memoir

Mick Malone, the man who haunted her childhood nightmares. She didn’t even realize he was still alive.

“That book will be released in September,” Oscar said. “One of those seedy journalists from the New York Sun got an advance copy and wanted my opinion. It’s slated to become a bestseller. Your fancy college has done nothing to dampen the public’s appetite for sordid gossip.”

Gwen’s mouth went dry as she read the summary of the book, which promised the details of Mick Malone’s colorful life of crime, including special insight into the Blackstone scandal and the injustice he endured at the hands of the most powerful family in America.

The irony was that Mick Malone wasn’t a victim, but a criminal who had perpetrated a profound crime against her family. Everyone knew he was guilty of kidnapping and killing her three-year-old brother shortly before Gwen was born. Her father paid the ransom, but her brother was never returned. Days went by, then weeks, then years, but young William Blackstone was never found.

Her father hired an army of private investigators to hunt for the kidnappers. Within a week, they caught Malone, along with undeniable proof of his guilt. His apartment contained hundred-dollar bills with serial numbers matching those in the ransom payment and the typewriter with the flawed key that had typed the ransom note. Most chillingly, there was a single shoe belonging to little Willy Blackstone that was stained with blood.