Stanley stared at the expanse of blue gulf water stretching beyond view from the tiny window of his private jet. Being in the sky always gave him time to think, and today he needed precise planning.
At the back of the plane, Billy and Frank played poker. A few rows ahead, Marcus sat in his seat, supposedly going over financial reports. His nephew usually slept or worked when they flew, but he was doing neither today. He winced when Frank shouted his frustration at losing a hand.
Stanley studied the back of Marcus’s head, the swirl of a cowlick that reminded him of his nephew as a pale, skinny boy who seemed to jump at his own shadow. He’d always needed someone stronger than himself, like one of those pilot fish that followed a shark, eating the parasites and leftovers but never venturing out on its own.
But once a pilot fish had a host, it rarely left. Stanley had heard stories of the fish following a boat for weeks that had snagged its shark. Marcus had fed off Stanley for decades. It was a mutually beneficial relationship. Though he’d never abide disloyalty, Stanley almost hoped that at last Marcus had done something brave on his own. But it didn’t fit with his nature.
Stanley stretched out the kinks in his back and took a long drink of the lemon water in the seat’s cup holder. There was a more pressing matter. The Waldrens had pushed too far and dug too deep.
Stanley thought of his father. What would he do in this situation? When would he be decisive, and when would he sit by with complete confidence that nothing could harm him?
Stanley’s youth was plagued with hard lessons as he’d fought to rein in his temper. He bore the scar of a gunshot wound and the memory of a terrifying escape through panicked crowds until he somehow reached his car and found a pay phone before passing out. He’d made decisions as a young man that cost the family dearly, forcing them to live a more obscure existence. His father’s political aspirations were stopped by Stanley’s actions, and he knew his father had never fully forgiven him for it.
Now Gwen followed the same path. She believed this was motivated by her ideologies and the drive to right her family’s wrongs. But his daughter was naive in many ways. Her blood was Blackstone. At some point she’d stop denying that and even embrace it. He had no doubt about that. Until then Stanley wouldn’t give her reasons to blame him for her failed dreams.
“Marcus,” Stanley called. His nephew jumped, dropped something, and then hurried from his seat.
“Yes, Uncle, can I get you something?”
Sometimes Stanley wanted to slap some sense into the man. “You aren’t a flight attendant, you’re the VP of a multibillion-dollar company.”
“Yes, I know. Just thought I’d get you something, you know?” Marcus sat in the seat beside Stanley.
“When we land, I need you to send an e-mail or get a message to Gwendolyn. And it has got to be on a secure line or e-mail account or something.”
“Of course? With all this hacking and police interest, I need to know you can do that.”
“Yes, I can. What do you want to say?”
“I’m working on that. It shouldn’t be direct or incriminating. I mainly want her to know how much I enjoyed seeing her, and that she doesn’t need to worry about anything. I’m taking care of everything.”
Stanley thought of his quick encounter with his daughter at the plantation. He needed more time with her; then slowly, little by little, she’d soften toward him and her family’s past.
“Are we headed to Dallas, then?” Marcus asked.
Stanley studied his nephew, and Marcus squirmed beneath the stare.
“It’ll be a surprise,” Stanley said. “But stay here. I’ll tell you a story. First, do you remember what I told you about loose ends?”
“You always say to wrap them up, even if something doesn’t appear important. And that a man has to clean up his messes by himself.”
Stanley slapped Marcus on the back and laughed. “That’s right, you are listening. No matter how much time passes, at some point, loose ends must be wrapped up.”
“If I can do anything to help?” Marcus asked with an expression that made Stanley sick to his stomach—the weakling trying to please his master.
“You can. But we’ll get to that very soon.”
Sometimes his old nanny’s sayings and examples still came in useful. Stanley was always leaving food in his bedroom as a child, and he’d wake up to ants in his bed or covering the plate of food on the floor.
Instead of stomping on the insects, as Stanley liked to do, Martha showed him a better method. First, she’d clean up the food, then she’d leave a trail of crumbs back out the door.
“Sometimes the easiest way to clean up a mess is to let the mess do the cleaning,” she’d say. “We’ve got to lure them out. That way they’ll go wherever we want.”