“I succeeded. In the process, I liquidated everything and walked away with a substantial profit. During the process, I was blamed for things that were not my doing. I didn’t care. Their mistakes added to my reputation.”

“Like what?” I asked, wondering what would be horrible enough for family members to turn their backs on one another.

“I told you that my people watch for vulnerability. It was a lesson I learned well with this first major acquisition. The chain was having financial problems, spending multiple years in arrears, drowning in debt. One of their last-ditch efforts was to access the employees’ retirement pensions.”

I gasped. “No.”

Van nodded. “The original owners were able to deplete the accounts through a loophole. Of course, their plan was to make money and repay the funds before the employees learned the truth. It didn’t happen that way. The employees learned that their retirement funds were gone when they also learned their jobs were terminated.”

“Could you have helped them?”

Van shrugged. “I didn’t want to, Julia. I wanted them to suffer.”

“Why?”

“My parents know why.”

“Do you regret it?” I asked.

“No. That deal propelled me higher than I thought was possible. Compared to where I am now, it was minimal. However, without that acquisition, I wouldn’t be Donovan Sherman.”

“And why is your name different?”

“Because in the early negotiations of that particular deal, I petitioned for a name change.”

I tried to think of department stores that had gone away during my lifetime. There were more than I could recall. “Why Sherman?”

“Because once that deal was complete, Sherman Brothers department stores ceased to exist.”

“And Donovan Sherman was born,” I said, with an odd, eerie feeling.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because even though I don’t talk to my family, my name is a reminder of what I did to them.” He sighed. “It also reminds me of what I’ve done and what I’m capable of doing.”

“It wasn’t only them,” I said, thinking of the other employees.

Van shrugged.

“Did you just tell that story to the writer of your memoir?”

“It’s a matter of public record that Donovan Sherman first came on the scene roughly fifteen years ago. It’s also public record that I changed my name from Thomas to Sherman.” He looked from the fire to me. “You found that online.”

“I found your parents’ names. I didn’t search to find why theirs were different than yours. I guess maybe I wanted to learn it from you.”

“Who I was before that name change wouldn’t be Donovan Sherman’s story.”

There were so many questions I had, and yet, as I stared at Van in the firelight, I mostly wanted to comfort him. I leaned closer and offered a soft kiss on his prickly cheek. A quick glance at my watch told me that the clock had struck midnight. “Merry Christmas, Van.”