Otis entered their household as a twelve-year-old orphan his father had found in New Orleans, the son of a formerly enslaved woman who worked as a cook for Dominican friars. After his mother died, the Dominicans still provided Otis with an excellent education. He was fluent in Spanish and French, and their father had hired him on the spot. Over the years, Otis had learned Morse code to handle communication between Nicholas and Gray as he traveled. Otis was paid a respectable wage and was fiercely loyal to Delacroix Global Spice. As their chief assistant, Otis knew everything about their business dealings and was one of the few people Gray trusted without reserve.

“You inherited a third of the company, while Otis is merely paid a salary,” Gray said. “That’s not fair, but it was Dad’s company, and he made the call. I’m in charge now, and you need to work at least as hard as Otis.”

For the first time, Luke showed a hint of excitement. “I know that. And look, I’ve already got a plan. I’ve written a couple of articles for The Modern Century. I think I can make a go of it as a journalist.”

But Luke hadn’t been able to make a go of college, and over the years he’d dipped his toe into one pond after another, always flitting away when he got bored. Luke was fiercely intelligent, if he could only funnel that drive into something besides dangerous, risky, and self-destructive behavior.

“Go to Cuba and finalize some contracts for new spice fields. I know you’ve already been there. Caroline says you started importing cigars while I was gone.”

A reckless smile lit Luke’s face. “Amoroso Rosa,” he said. “The best cigars are from Cuba, and I turned a pretty penny on those deals. I’ve got more lined up.”

“Good. Then go back to Cuba and finalize some spice contracts while you’re down there.”

“No deal.” Luke shook his head. “Look, I can’t talk about it, but I’m in the middle of something big. Something important. And I’d be a disaster in business; you know what happened last time.”

The catastrophe that happened four years ago wasn’t Luke’s fault, but it still seemed to haunt him. “You need to put that in your past.” Gray softened his voice. “Don’t let it cripple you. There is a saying in Japan for people who get knocked off course: If you fall seven times; stand up eight. That’s what I need you to do.”

Luke shot to his feet. “Forget it, Gray. We’re rich enough. We don’t need to move into Caribbean spices or peppers or anything else you’ve got up your sleeve. Why can’t you just be happy? Why do you have to keep pushing and striving and draining all the joy out of life?”