This wasn’t the same at all. Everything from the floor beneath his seat to the trim lining the windows to the furniture in the rooms he passed were all top of the line. Their understated luxury screamed money, but only if one knew where to look. Part of the inside joke in the perpetual bullshit between new money and old.
Elliott had acquired a cocktail—a Manhattan from the look of it—and he toasted Beckett. “What do you think of the old bitch?”
“Nice place. You live here?” He already knew the answer, but lording his knowledge of the man over Elliott wasn’t going to win him any favors. He needed his uncle on his side, and from the research he’d done on the man, all evidence indicated that Elliott Bancroft liked to consider himself the smartest person in the room at all times.
“For now.” Elliott took him in. “You have the look of your old man. Same stubborn expression and that jaw that makes the ladies weak in the knees. Shame to hear he died.” The sheer glee in his voice gave lie to the words.
There isn’t a damn person in this world actually sad to see Nathaniel King gone.
“He left Lydia Thistledown Villa.”
Elliott straightened and whistled. “Well, shit. She actually pulled it off.” He grabbed a pack of cigarettes from a little cubby next to the captain’s chair. “You mind?”
“Go ahead.” Beckett waited for him to light up. “What do you mean she pulled it off?”
“Lydia always said she’d get that damn house back.” He inhaled deeply, held the smoke for a few moments, and exhaled through his nose. “She couldn’t handle being cut off all those years ago. It drove her out of her mind, and she wasn’t completely sane to begin with.”
Beckett could think of a few choice words to describe his aunt, but crazy didn’t come into the equation. There was nothing uncontrolled or insane about her actions—she was cold and calculating and perfectly aware of what was at stake every step of the way. “How do you think she managed it? The will was changed right around the time my father died.” It was one thing he couldn’t make fit in the rest of the puzzle. Lydia wanted Morningstar or, barring that, she wanted to bring it down brick by brick. Every single one of her moves up to this point had been inching them toward that goal. But if she’d somehow managed to manipulate Nathaniel into handing over his family home, why not go for the company as well?
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Elliott dragged in more cigarette smoke. He tipped his sunglasses back onto the top of his head and stared at Beckett. “Let me paint you a scenario and you tell me how far off I am.”
He bit back his frustration. He hadn’t come there for more games. He’d come because Elliott Bancroft had a bone to pick with his wife, and even with their spending more time apart than together, they’d been married thirty-two years. If there was anyone who knew Lydia, it was her husband.
Beckett dropped into the seat across from the man. “I’m listening.”
“I imagine she’s been seeding malcontent with someone within your company for years, dropping little bits of poison in their ears until they’re sure night is day and day is night. She’s good at playing roles to get what she wants.” Something dark flickered over his face, and he tapped the cigarette into an ashtray. “This man—and ten-to-one it was a man—slips something into Nathaniel’s drink during a meeting. Nothing serious. Just something to make him a little more agreeable. Then they change the will and make it official with two witnesses, both of whom she owns.”
Beckett went cold. He pictured Walter Trissel’s stammering, red-flushed face when he read the will. No point to contest it. I stood as witness. Fast-forward to two days later when Walter left the company for Kingdom Corp. He’d known the man was disloyal, but drugging Nathaniel crossed so many lines. There hadn’t been anything in his system but alcohol the night he died, but this would have happened up to a week beforehand. Plenty of time for any evidence to disappear. “Why not just take the whole company at that point?”
“She only fights when she knows she can win. It would be logical for Nathaniel to will her that damn house, but if he gave her everything, that would raise too many red flags. I’m sure she’s got some kind of backup plan in place.”
A backup plan like convincing Beckett to sell the company.
He sat back. “That’s quite the story, but it doesn’t mean a damn thing without proof.” He had theories for days, but a theory wasn’t enough to help him at this point. The photos Frank provided didn’t mean anything in the long run now that Lydia had changed her story. He could—and would—put pressure on Walter, but that meant he had to get the man alone first.
“It’s how she operates. If you look back through her history, there are a trail of people—again, mostly men—who have been at her mercy because of events she orchestrated. I was always surprised she didn’t try the same song and dance on her father, but maybe he was on to her games.” Elliott shrugged. “Or maybe passing over her for CEO was punishment for the shit she’d stirred up with my family.”
He frowned. “What do you mean? I was under the impression the Bancrofts and Lydia were on good terms.” Except for Elliott’s near-constant affairs.
“Who do you think her first victim was, Beckett?” Elliott snubbed out his cigarette. “We were friends, once upon a time, but she wanted more
