Mimi was Jasper’s only child. Life was going to be hard for Mimi, and Gwen intended to help the sweet girl who’d been born with such challenges. Mimi spent most of her time in the safe cocoon of Blackstone College and didn’t yet understand how different she was. Gwen wanted that to continue for a few more years, which meant she had to tolerate the girl’s mother.

“Here comes my grandfather,” she said. “Please say nothing about Vivian. Her presence is an irritant to him, and he’s been pestering to have her fired ever since . . . well, for a long time.”

“I hear you, Mrs. Kellerman. You’ve got a bigger heart than me.”

Not really. She hated doing the right thing where Vivian was concerned, but she had more important battles to fight. Her grandfather was heading her way, and funding for Blackstone College was on the line.

She stood as Frederick strode toward her with remarkable vigor for a man about to celebrate his seventy-eighth birthday. She’d always been mildly intimidated by her grandfather. Frederick’s ramrod-straight posture, sharp eyes that missed nothing, and the iron mask of his expression that never showed emotion were intimidating.

“Have a seat,” he ordered once he arrived at the table. “We have much to discuss. Have you read that vile memoir by Mick Malone yet?”

Gwen was taken aback. “I would rather weed the area around the college’s septic tanks. It seems less distasteful.”

“I gather your mission to dissuade the scoundrel’s lawyer did not succeed.”

“He turned down my first offer,” she admitted. “I haven’t given up hope, but are you truly going to let Uncle Oscar make good on his threat to cut our funding?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want. Oscar commands more votes than me.”

That was true. Frederick controlled thirty percent of the bank, while Oscar only held twenty percent, but Oscar commanded the allegiance of the other shareholders. Oscar had a proven track record of astounding financial success, and the remaining shareholders were intensely loyal to him.

“Could you try?” she asked. “If I can count on your thirty percent stake, perhaps some of the other shareholders would side with you.”

“Or perhaps you can deliver on your promise to scuttle the memoir. If you can’t, Oscar goes to court next week to argue for an injunction against it. It’s only a court hearing, so there won’t be many people there, but I don’t like it.”

One week didn’t leave her much time, and her anxiety ratcheted higher. “What are his odds of winning?”