Page 32 of The Lost Heiress
“I admire your fortitude, however misguided it may be,” Bass said to Saoirse, ignoring Salvador’s attempt to lead the conversation elsewhere. “I shall just bite my tongue and wait for this fad to pass, as they always do. I never understand them. Have you heard of these cleanses the young people are doing now? Or these diet pills?”
“Don’t provoke her, Uncle,” Ransom said under his breath, “or we’ll never be able to get through this meal in peace.”
“I assure you, this is not some ‘fad,’ as you put it,” Saoirse said, sitting up straighter and raising her voice. This was the time. Here washer chance. It had arrived quicker than she had planned for or hoped. “And I fully intend to put my money where my mouth is,” she went on, “once I’m legally able to do so.”
“Don’t tell me you’re actually going to give money to that PETA organization?” Bass said with a laugh. “Those liberal radicals are a foolish investment, Saoirse. They’re poorly run, and mark my words, they’ll be defunct in the next year unless they can pull the wool over the eyes of enough bleeding-heart donors like yourself. I hope you won’t put too much into them.”
Saoirse took a deep breath. “No, Uncle,” Saoirse said, her voice calm. “What I meant was, I plan to divest my holdings in Bass Corp.”
Bass had been in the middle of taking a drink from his wineglass when Saoirse said this, and he stopped cold. He coughed, a deep, guttural cough that sounded as if he might be choking.
Ransom leaned forward, his face strained and looking very, very serious. “Saoirse, what are you talking about?” Ransom asked.
Saoirse swallowed. She couldn’t lose her grit now. “I’m getting out of Bass Corp. when I turn eighteen,” Saoirse said, trying to keep her voice level. “I cannot hold a majority share—or any share, for that matter—in a company that subjects animals to the cruelty of factory farms and slaughter. No matter how lucrative it may be.”
Saoirse looked over at Bass, who was still stuck in the middle of his coughing fit. His face was beet red, there was sweat pooling at his temples, and his hair—had it always been this gray? He looked old and tired, and there was an anger in his eyes that she had never seen directed at her before.
In her mind, this scene had played out differently. She had imagined looking Bass in the eye and saying coldly, without an ounce of feeling,I understand that this is hard. And I hate to see you so upset. Just trust me that this is for the best.She’d imagined how satisfying it would feel, how pleasing that moment of revenge would be, when she could take something away from him while reciting back the same words he hadsaid to her when she had come to him in her most desperate hour of need. But as she looked across the table at him now, the reality felt very different from how she had imagined it.
“At first, I thought you were just naive and foolish,” Bass said, finally regaining his voice. “But now I see your delusions have driven you to self-destruction. Surely you’re astute enough to separate business from this ... this ... ridiculous cause you’ve taken up?”
“I assure you, I cannot,” Saoirse said, her voice quiet. It felt like her throat was closing up. She couldn’t breathe. What had she done? She could see it plainly in his eyes—he hated her.Hatedher. And she realized in that moment, too late, that she didn’t hate him, not really. She was angry, but she didn’t want to lose him completely, and she couldn’t stomach his ire.
Bass turned to Ransom. “Aren’t you going to reason with her?” Bass asked.
“This is really not the time or place to discuss business,” Ransom said. “Can’t we all just enjoy the—”
“Man was made to eat meat!” Bass said, slamming his fist down hard onto the table. Saoirse yelped, as if he had struck her.
“Would you shame a lion for eating a wildebeest?” Bass asked. “It is in its nature for the lion to hunt and for the wildebeest to be eaten. It’s the circle of life, and death is a part of it, however unpleasant that may seem to your delicate sensibilities.” He stood and threw his crumpled-up napkin onto his plate. “And to think, you’re going to throw your whole financial legacy away for a pig!” He stormed off down the beach toward the water.
Saoirse stared after him, her heart galloping in her chest. She felt like she had just run a mile. Her face was red; she felt flushed.
“Really, Saoirse, did you have to provoke him?” Ransom asked. “You know he has a heart condition, and it’s not good for him to get riled up like this.”
“Me?” Saoirse asked weakly. “He—he started this.”
“He has your best interest in mind,” Ransom said, “and you know he can’t help himself but get carried away, especially if he thinks you’d come to harm.”
Ransom looked sternly across the table at her, and there was something in his eyes that Saoirse was all too familiar with: disappointment. She’d seen it in her mother’s eyes every time she looked at her; she’d seen it in her father’s eyes, even Tabby’s on occasion. Maybe she had been the one in the wrong. Again. How did she always manage to make such a mess of things?
“I’ll go talk to him,” Saoirse said, pushing back her chair and discarding her napkin on the table.
She would make it right. She had to.
Tabby put a hand on her arm to stay her. “Really, a grown man of his age should have better control of his temper,” she said. “If he was a toddler, we’d spank him and send him to bed without supper. I don’t know why you would indulge him by running after him and coddling his pride. In my opinion, our company is much improved by his absence.”
“I have to, Tabby,” Saoirse said. “I’ll be right back.”
Saoirse saw Bass’s figure down the shoreline. He had stopped and was facing out toward the water, his hands in his pockets—whether because he was waiting for her to come and apologize and bring him back or because he had simply run out of beach, Saoirse didn’t know. She took off her shoes and held them in one hand as she made her way toward him.
William Bass was a tall man, like her father. He still had a full head of hair, despite his forty-seven years of age, though now it was salted with gray. He’d grown slightly portly in the middle, as most men his age did, but he wore it well. It struck Saoirse suddenly, took her breath away—the realization that from a distance, with a glance, Bass mightbe her father. In their youth, Bass and Charles were markedly different: both tall, but Bass had been lean, whereas Charles had been stocky; Bass all bronzed skin and brassy hair, while Charles had the trademark dark mane of the Towerses. But now, age had likened them. Bass had thickened; his hair had grayed. If Charles had still been alive, it might have been her father standing there.
“Are you going to punish me forever?” Bass asked, when she had caught up with him.
Saoirse came to stand beside him and looked out at the water too. “I’m not punishing you,” she said.
Bass cocked an eyebrow at her, and Saoirse relented.
