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Back When We Were Bright and Beautiful Save as PDF
Chapters (72)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. Part One
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. Part Two
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. Part Three
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. Epilogue
  68. Author’s Note
  69. Acknowledgments
  70. About the Author
  71. Also by Jillian Medoff
  72. About the Publisher

Haggerty doesn’t answer, instead he studies the Valmont. The building is the crown jewel of New York real estate, but any structure that stands for a century and a half will be leaky, drafty, and plagued by mold. Paying for upgrades is an expensive proposition, and while every resident has the means, none of them wants to open their wallets. This, by the way, is how the wealthy stay wealthy.

“This place has seen better days, Ms. Quinn.”

“Call me Cassie. We’re old friends. And you’ve seen better days, too. No offense.”

“Right for the heart.” He clutches his chest. “You have a tongue like a dagger.”

“So I’ve been told.” I pause, change the subject. “Rich people like old things, the older the better.” I wave at the Valmont. “It’s a funny thing about affluence, Detective. The real rich never talk about money or flash it around. The middle-rich, newly rich, and never-rich are the ones who need to show off.”

“Explains why Lawrence is such a peacock.”

“He’s not a peacock. The man has more money than he’ll ever spend.”

Haggerty laughs. “Lawrence has no money, Ms. Quinn. We both know that.”

“It’s Cassie. And what’s your problem with Lawrence?” I don’t give him a chance to reply, mostly because I’m not sure I can believe anything he says. “Well, I need to head out. Good talk, Detective.”

“I think you do want to talk, actually. You’ve been telling me about Marcus Silver since our very first conversation. I didn’t even have to ask. You dropped him on my doorstep like a cat drops a mouse.” His keys chirp, and a black SUV lights up. “See you soon, Ms. Quinn.”

32

THE FRIDAY BEFORE LABOR DAY, WE GATHER IN DEFIORE’S office. The place is deserted; he’s the only one working over the holiday weekend. He called us in because he thinks the DA’s latest offer is worth considering. My parents, in turn, summoned me. “You still owe us one visit,” Lawrence said. “I’m cashing in my chit.” I’ve already fulfilled my birthday obligation by coming home for steaks on the grill, lots of champagne, and presents in the celebration room. We tried to act joyous, but Nate got trashed, Billy was a bitch, and my parents bickered. Thankfully, I was too stoned to care. Today, I’m not stoned at all, and anxious to get this meeting over with.

“Let’s talk the offer through like adults,” DeFiore advises as we take our seats at the long conference table.