Oscar raised his hand and snapped his fingers, summoning his personal secretary. “Contact Dr. Haas at the college. Get him to lock down a patent on that serum, and be sure it’s owned by the college, not the man.”

Even on a yacht party, Uncle Oscar was all about business, but Gwen was busy strategizing ways to introduce Patrick to her family. Some of them would hold his connection to Mick Malone against him, but she would set them straight about what a wonderful man he was. Despite Patrick’s worries, her family weren’t snobs.

Well, Poppy was a snob, but the rest of them were mostly decent people. After long years of anguish over her disastrous marriage to Jasper, it felt like her world was unfolding as it should.

By one o’clock, all twenty-four family members who lived in Manhattan had arrived, and the Black Rose was ready to sail. The chief officer stationed at the bow of the ship gave the signal, and the winches rumbled as the chains rolled in. The long blast of a whistle signaled their departure from the pier. A string quartet played Mozart, and stewards circulated with trays of elegant tea sandwiches.

As usual, most of her family socialized by generation. Her grandfather had five sisters, all of whom had married men of leisure and produced numerous children. The explosion of women in Frederick’s generation accounted for the lopsided distribution of power in her family. The operating agreement that governed Blackstone Bank prohibited women from inheriting shares. Only the male descendants of Frederick and those five elderly aunts inherited voting shares, and few showed much interest in the bank. They usually trusted Uncle Oscar to vote their shares according to his judgment.

Frederick and his sisters sat clustered beneath a canopy that shaded them from the sun, while their children, all of whom were well into middle age, inspected the delicacies laid out on a banquet table.

Gwen migrated toward members of the third generation, who were nearer her own age and terrifically fun. Her cousin Chester, who owned some of the finest racehorses in New York, was talking to her cousin Edwin, and she decided to join them. Edwin always provided excellent conversation.

“What happened to you?” she asked Edwin. The last time she’d seen him was three weeks ago in the courtroom, when he was hale and hearty. Today he lounged on a chair with his leg in a plaster cast.

“I broke my leg last week hiking in the Adirondacks. Miserable business. But, Gwen, I saw a farm with two hundred peacocks strutting about the property like they were the emperors of India. You can’t imagine the cacophony. I’m not sure which hurt more, my leg or my ears. Say, do you know why we’ve been summoned here? I’ve heard Oscar is still trying to buy Carnegie Steel.”