Stonemasons had built a staircase into the side of the cliff and up to the house. There were thirty steps, and she climbed them slowly, mindful of Liam’s still-healing injury. Once at the top of the stairs, she tugged on the lapels of Liam’s coat to straighten it.

“There,” she said, smoothing the fabric across his shoulders. “Don’t be intimidated, but please don’t trot out any needless Marxist sentiments this morning, okay? The faster you can win my grandfather’s blessing, the sooner he can start transferring my father’s voting shares to you.”

The house was straight ahead of them. It was a sprawling white mansion with gabled dormers, a widow’s walk, and plenty of windows facing the sea. Gwen led them to the side entrance, where the screened doorway made its familiar creak as she opened it. She led both men down a hallway to a long room with white wainscoting and a bank of windows overlooking the ocean. The gathering room was a comfortable space with upholstered furniture and exposed wood-beam ceilings.

In contrast to the casual décor, Frederick stood at the far end of the room before the stone fireplace, formally attired in a black morning coat, vest, and tie. His back was straight as a bayonet, and his face was cold as he watched her approach.

“You can dismiss the servants,” he said with a flick of his head toward Patrick and Liam.

It felt like a slap in the face, and surely the insult was even worse for Patrick and Liam. They both froze, and Gwen stopped as well. She wouldn’t move an inch farther into the room without them.

“Patrick isn’t a servant. He’s a lawyer.”

“Precisely. A servant.”

Patrick leaned in. “Gwen, this is a family matter. Perhaps I should go.”

“Stay,” Liam said.

“And that man definitely isn’t welcome,” Frederick said with a pointed glance at Liam. “I won’t welcome a union troublemaker in my home.”

Liam’s eyes glinted with challenge. “How about welcoming me into your boardroom?”

“Liam, stop,” she warned. When Liam was nervous, he turned belligerent, which wasn’t the right way to deal with her grandfather.

“Let him talk,” Frederick ordered, stepping closer and watching Liam carefully. “Exactly what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I am entitled to a ten-percent voting share in the Blackstone Bank.”

Her grandfather was impossible to read as he folded his arms across his chest. “And why is that?” he asked softly.

“I could take off my shoe and show you the bottom of my right foot. Gwen said that would mean something to you.”

Frederick glanced at her, his face still inscrutable. “True?” he asked, the single word containing an ocean of hope.

“True.”

A smile tugged one side of Frederick’s mouth but vanished quickly. He looked at Liam and pointed to a chair. “Show me.”