Devlin said, “You planted the stuff about me in Jack’s files. You started the stories about Jack, Joe, and me working together.” Outside, the sky flashed with the brightest fusillade so far, and the noise hammered down more terrifying than thunder. “Given Maryellen’s condition, I would have been a conspiracy suspect no matter how Jack was killed, or by whom—that is, if I lived. You were hoping DiBennedetti would conclude that I was part of his problem and kill me too. But he liked the idea of leaving me alive, just to screw you up. I’m your problem. You decided you didn’t want me around when you saw that Maryellen was going to be your sole heiress. All I have to do now is hire the right lawyer to assert my claim to control of your estate.”

“I don’t have to kill anybody,” Brennan said. “I have an army of lawyers to make sure you never got a dime.”

“All the lawyers in the world won’t stop me from pulling your life down around your ears and shoving it up your ass. Your whole life! Levine’s got the original of a letter Jack wrote to his girlfriend, but I have a copy. One hell of a letter about the depravity of the Brennan household, among many other things.”

“You’re lying!”

“Try me.”

“What do you want?”

“You don’t want the world knowing that your so-called ‘good life’ has nothing inside it.”

“What do you want?”

Devlin looked out toward the darkness of the fantail. “Some people are going to think that for the last fifteen years you’ve denied your daughter the proper care—”

Brennan was on his feet, his eyes darting aft. “Come on, damn it, you saw Maryellen.” His voice quavered. “Some days she doesn’t know what sex she is. Tell me what you want. How much? A million? Two?”

“Where did you get all that stuff on me?” Devlin demanded. “Who told you so much about my life?”

“Oh, no. I had a file on you, but that was years ago. You had an uncle, Monahan, Buddy Monahan, who showed up at my office after he’d seen in the newspapers that you’d hooked the brass ring. I know all about you and your family, down to your country cousin pregnant on her wedding day. Shanty Irish. Shanty Irish.” Brennan’s teeth were clenched. This was the Brennan of old, Brennan the unforgiving, the unstoppable, the merciless. “Stinko drunk, human piece of shit on his last legs, as full of hate as any man I’ve ever seen, hate for his family, hate for you—As far as he was concerned, you were just a little bastard who got lucky. Get the idea?”