Page 22 of Filthy Rich

“You are right about that, Caleb, but you still haven’t told me your name.”

“It’s Blackstone like the island. It’s a fairly common name around here.”

“Yes, I remember Massachusetts state history in high school. The Reverend William Blackstone was the first European settler in the area and settled in what is now Boston Common in 1625. I’ve seen the statue.”

“You were a good student, Brooke, but you still haven’t told me your answer about dinner.” It was fun to copy her choice of words.

“The last ferry to the island leaves at eight thirty on weeknights. Can we make it an early dinner, Caleb Blackstone?”

“We can do whatever you want, Brooke Casterley.”

“Ah, you’re a stalker, thanks for reminding me.” She had a natural wit I really liked. A lot. When she teased it turned me on.

“A nice stalker, though, and before you ask, I found out your name when I stopped in at Harris & Goode for a consult late yesterday afternoon.”

“Oh? Are you in need of a designer, Caleb?”

More than you will ever know…and only one designer in particular.“I think you’ll get all of the details on Monday morning from Mr. Harris.”

“So a stalker and a master manipulator both?”

“Nice, Brooke, only in thenicestpossible way.”

She laughed again. The sound of her laughing did something to me. Something very sensual and erotic—to the point I knew I’d be back with the soap and my hand in the shower as soon as we hung up.

When in the hell have I ever had to do that with one woman in mind?

Ever?

Island air smelled different. Clean and sharp with scents of the sea and the earth.

I shouldn’t have stayed away for so long. Eight years was a long time.

But Brooke was here, and I certainly planned on getting to be very good friends with her, so maybe I’d be coming here a lot more often.

Blackwater had been built in 1890 by my great-grandfather, Nathaniel Blackstone, who was a direct descendent of the man who’d founded the city of Boston in 1625 as Brooke reminded me on the phone earlier.

My great-grandfather made his fortune in the continental railroad, and in early oil-well development in Texas. He built Blackwater after he’d made his fortune and wanted to return to where he’d been raised as a child—Blackstone Island. I guess so he could reminisce about simpler, more innocent times.

I had my own memories of simpler times during holidays on the island as a kid with my brothers and sisters. I recalled those times as happy and innocent. Dad taught us all to sail and went with us boys on Boy Scout campouts. He taught the girls how to shoot a bow and arrow and to swim. He was a hands-on father. Mom was not as enthusiastic about the island, but she was always there with us that I remember—organizing clam bakes and beach picnics with my aunt Cynthia who was also her cousin. Yeah, we’re an incestuous mess of a family. Money likes to keep with money. The law of averages is in your favor that way.

So, as I stood staring at the historic stone mansion that had been in our family for over a hundred years, I couldn’t understand why my mother would sell it off. Especially without having a family meeting first, to ask her children if they had any interest in it for themselves.

Something was off with this situation—I just hadn’t found out what.

Yet.

I took a photo of the realty sign and texted it to my attorney who handled property acquisitions. I could always buy it outright, but that didn’t seem like the correct move when I had four other siblings to consider, and also what our dad would want for all of us.

The house was still solid, with a strong foundation laid high on the cliff side overlooking Massachusetts Bay. It had been created by my family for my family. The value had to be in excess of thirty million dollars, but that part didn’t concern me at all. The legacy was much more valuable.

My mother was dreaming if she thought I would ever let Blackwater go to strangers.

Ten

BROOKE

The black clouds screamed their intent to release angry rain at some point in my near future as the ferry pulled into its berth in Boston Harbor.

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