Susannah pulled away, her forehead crumpling. 'You're not making this up so I'll feel better, are you, Angela? Please. I have to know the truth.'
Angela squeezed her hands tightly. 'It's true. I'm Catholic, Susannah. If I didn't tell the truth about somebody's last moments on earth, it would be a mortal sin. He loved you so much. He told me again and again.'
Angela's eyes were wide and earnest, and Susannah wanted desperately to believe her. But although grief had dulled some of her senses, it had sharpened others. As she gazed at her mother-in-law, she knew with absolute certainty that Angela was lying from the bottom of her loving, generous heart.
Sam came home that evening with an expensive hand-woven shawl she had admired in a boutique a few weeks earlier. He made no mention of his disappearance, and she was too drained to ask him about it. As she tucked the shawl away in a bottom dresser drawer, she told herself that no one was perfect and she had to learn to accept Sam's faults. But a fissure had been ripped in the fabric of their marriage.
Several weeks passed before she learned that she had been cut from her father's will and that he had left everything to Paige. Millions of dollars were involved as well as a huge block of FBT stock. But it wasn't the financial loss that devastated her. It was the additional evidence of her father's lack of forgiveness.
Sam argued with her for weeks because she refused to challenge the will. Even in death he hated for Joel to get the best of her. But she didn't want money. She wanted her father alive. She wanted another chance.
Sometimes Susannah thought it was only the overwhelming work load that kept her going through the next few months. She had little time to wallow in either grief or guilt, no time at all to try to decide how she would live the rest of her life, knowing that she could never be reconciled with her father. All of the hours that would have been devoted to introspection were occupied with keeping their small company alive; ironically, success was proving to be even more dangerous to SysVal than failure.
'Will you relax, for chrissake,' Sam said, glaring at her as he paced the carpeted reception area of Hoffman Enterprises, one of San Francisco's most prestigious venture capital firms. 'If they see how nervous you are, you're going to blow this whole deal. I mean it, Susannah, you could personally screw us up-'
Mitch slapped down the magazine he had been pretend-ing to read. 'Leave her alone! Susannah, why do you put up with his nonsense? If I were you, Sam, I'd worry about what I was going to say instead of giving her a hard time.'
'Why don't you go fuck yourself?'
'Why don't you-'
Susannah whirled around. 'Stop it, both of you! We're all nervous. Let's not take it out on each other.' Mitch and Sam had always argued, but in the four months since her father's death, it had grown worse. While their relationship had deteriorated, her own relationship with Mitch had grown closer. She would never forget the way he had stood beside her when she had most needed it.
These past months had been unusually difficult. Not only had she been faced with a searing personal crisis, but SysVal was in deep trouble. Despite the fact that stacks of new orders were coming in every week for the Blaze, the company had run out of money.
Sam glared at her and resumed his pacing. Mitch continued to brood. She wandered over to the windows, where she stared at the view of the ocean, the Golden Gate, and the distant hazy outline of Marin beyond. The chill December rain that splashed against the skyscraper's windows matched her mood.
It bothered her that Sam always seemed to be at his worst when she most needed his support. Today, for example. This meeting meant everything to them. If they couldn't get the financing they needed, they simply wouldn't be able to survive. As orders poured in for the Blaze, they had been feverishly adding new staff, expanding their facilities, and searching out additional subcontractors to assemble the machines-all within the space of a few months. Now they simply couldn't pay their bills. The money was there on paper in future orders, but it wasn't in hand where they needed it.
They had known from the beginning that they were dangerously undercapitalized, but now she and Mitch estimated that their precarious financial balancing act was within thirty days of collapsing. They could no longer put off going after venture capital.
Mitch studied the straight line of Susannah's back as she stood at the windows. He had grown to care very much for her in the past year, and he was worried. The strain of her father's death had taken an enormous toll, and the business of running SysVal grew more complicated by the day. God knew, Sam wasn't any help. The more Mitch watched them together, the more he saw that Sam was a user. He took everything Susannah had, but he gave very little back.
All of them knew how important this meeting was. Granted, there were firms other than Hoffman Enterprises they could have gone to for financing, but Mitch had both his heart and his head set on making this deal. Leland T. Hoffman was a wily old fox who had written the textbook on venture capital and financed some of the biggest success stories in American business. If Hoffman put his money behind SysVal, it would legitimize them in a way that nothing else could.
The general public was gradually becoming aware of the microcomputer. Commodore had introduced the PET. The TRS-80 was on display at Radio Shack stores all across the country, and both SysVal and the little Apple Computer Company had begun to find a small, but loyal following. But was that enough to convince a man of Hoffman's reputation to make a substantial investment in SysVal?
A secretary appeared to usher them into a conference room, which was furnished in lush art deco. Hoffman, white-haired and plump with prosperity, sat at the center of a burled walnut table and leafed through the folder of material they had prepared for him. None of the half dozen other men who were seated rose to greet them or acknowledged their presence in any way, an obvious intimidation tactic that Mitch hoped wouldn't rattle his partners.
Sam curled his lip at the opulent surroundings, then sprawled down in a chair. He tilted it back and stretched his legs out under the table like a sulky James Dean. Susannah smiled pleasantly, but fumbled with her papers as she sat. She smoothed the skirt of the conservative pale gray business suit that Mitch had asked her to purchase for the occasion. Mitch knew that Susannah was irritated with him for being so specific about her wardrobe, while he totally ignored the jeans that Sam was wearing with his sport coat.
But Mitch had a clear idea of the impression he wanted to give today, and his partners' manner of dress was all part of it.
Hoffman finally raised his head and studied Mitch over the top of his half glasses. Then he shifted his gaze to Susannah.
'Hello, Uncle Leland,' she said.
Mitch nearly fell out of his chair.
Sam seemed to be as surprised as Mitch to discover that his wife knew Hoffman. Mitch wanted to strangle her for springing something like this on them.
'Susannah. It's good to see you again.' Hoffman's tone was brisk and formal. 'Now what can we do for you and your friends?'
Mitch's stomach sank. Hoffman wasn't taking them seriously at all. He hadn't agreed to meet with them because he was interested in backing SysVal, but merely as a courtesy to Susannah.
Mitch wanted to bang his head against the table in frustration. He forgot that only a few minutes before he had been worried about the strain Susannah was under. Now he wanted to kill her.
Susannah was to make the first presentation. She picked up her leather folder and proceeded to the front of the room. She looked so cool and composed that even Mitch, who knew better, was nearly fooled.
'Gentlemen.' She gave all of them a polite smile. 'I have to begin with an apology to my business partners for not telling them that we're meeting today before an old family friend. Although Leland and I aren't blood relatives, he was a longtime acquaintance of my father and has known me for nearly as long as I can remember. I didn't tell my partners about this acquaintance because I didn't want them to believe-even for a moment-that an old family connection would make Hoffman Enterprises magically open up its checkbook to SysVal.'
Looking thoughtful, she took a step forward. 'If I were a man-my father's son instead of his daughter-this old family relationship would almost certainly work to my advantage. But as a woman-my father's daughter-I find myself at a distinct disadvantage.'
She smiled at Hoffman. 'When I was growing up, Leland, you didn't watch me climbing trees and getting roughed up in football games. Instead, you saw me cutting out paper dolls and having tea parties. Although a grown woman stands before you now, in your mind you're undoubtedly scoffing at the idea of putting your money behind
