“In that case, don’t we want a lot of cows?”
“The problem—do you really want to hear this?”
“Whatever causes your brow to furrow causes my brow to furrow.”
“The problem—we need to go back to 2014. U.S. cattle inventories had reached a six-decade low because of years of record-breaking drought. As a result, beef prices skyrocketed and consumers started switching from hamburgers and steaks to chicken fingers and pork chops. As a result, fewer cows were being slaughtered and fewer cow skins were made available to the leather industry for making hats, coats, gloves, whatever. As a result, leather prices reached an all-time high. Too high. It caused designers to switch from real leather to much cheaper synthetic substitutes. As a result, they became so good at producing synthetic leather products that today most people can’t tell the difference. One of the ironies of an interconnected economy—what you eat for lunch actually affecting what your shoes are made of.
“Eventually, the drought subsided and the cattle industry came roaring back. As a result, there is now an overabundance of cow skins on the market. However, the demand for leather hasn’t come back in the same way. Companies that switched to artificial leather when the prices were high have no incentive to switch back now that they’re low. Even at today’s rock-bottom prices, fewer companies are willing to pay for real leather hides.”
“As a result…” Mary Pat said.
“The U.S. leather industry might all but disappear within a decade.”
“Does Muehlenhaus Industries have a presence in the leather industry?”
“Not directly. However, if it disappears, we’ll not only be losing one of our revenue streams, the sale of cowhides after we slaughter our beef, we’ll be forced to take on the added expense of disposing of all those cowhides. I had hoped that an increasing demand for leather goods from the ever-growing middle class in China might offset our losses, but the on-again, off-again trade war and tariffs have decreased the export of hides to China by over thirty-five percent. As a result, prices for their leather goods are increasing. If there’s no end to it, I predict that designers over there will do the same thing as designers over here—find a more predictable alternative. What is causing my brow to furrow, as you say, is that the report doesn’t address any of that. I’m going to have to ask our new ag man why it doesn’t address any of that.”
“Are you telling me that all this about the leather industry, that’s off the top of your head?”
“It’s not like I think about it every day.”
Mary Pat smiled as she continued to page through the newspaper.
Riley removed her glasses, turned the report upside down, and pushed it away.
“I’m boring you,” she said.
“No. Well, yes. That’s not why I’m smiling, though. I was just thinking—The Muehlenhaus Girl. Remember when they called you that?”
“They still do.”
“They thought your grandfather was insane when he put you in charge of the family’s sprawling business empire…”
“They still do,” Riley repeated.
“They didn’t know what your grandfather knew, what I know, what everyone who does business with you learns sooner or later—you’re kind of a genius.”
“Hardly.” But now Riley was also smiling. “Come to Minneapolis with me.”
“To do what? Watch you move pieces around a chess board?”
“At least meet me for dinner. We’ll stay over at the apartment tonight; catch a play at the Guthrie.”
“What’s on stage?”
“Who cares as long as we get some us time.”
“I can’t,” Mary Pat said. “As much as I’m tempted—we’re in the process of opening the patio, the deck; giving customers access to our docks. The weather has improved so much that boat traffic on Lake Minnetonka is really starting to ramp up. Casa del Lago does nearly seventy percent of its business between May and October, you know that.”
“I’ll buy your restaurant. I’ll give you a million dollars. Then all you’ll have to do is hang out with me.”
“One million is a little low.”
“Five million.”
Mary Pat pointed an index finger at Riley.
“Write up a purchase agreement,” she said.
“Seriously?”
“No.”
“Two years we’ve been married and you’re already tired of me.”
“Oh, God, no.”
“I was joking…”
“Look at this.”
Mary Pat left her chair and circled the table, folding the newspaper as she went. She sat in front of Riley, who was quickly donning her reading glasses.
“What am I looking at?” she asked.
“It’s McKenzie. He’s been shot.”
Dr. Lillian Linder entered the waiting area outside the SICU and walked to where Nina was sitting. She was dressed in fresh scrubs, her clean hair pulled back in a ponytail, her eyes bright and rested, and Nina thought, What a bitch.
“Have you been here all night?” Lilly asked.
“No.”
At the same time, Nina’s inner voice said, I went home because there was nothing I could do. But you? Why weren’t you here all night? You’re McKenzie’s friend. You’re my friend. You said so yourself. She knew she was being unreasonable. Still …
“You’re dressed in the same clothes,” Lilly said.
Nina looked down at herself, wondering how that happened.
“Did you get any sleep at all?” Lilly asked.
“More than enough.”
“Where’s your friend?”
“Shelby’s taking care of her girls.”
“Nina, go home and take care of yourself. McKenzie’s not going anywhere.”
“You said you were going to bring him out of his coma today.”
Lilly sat next to Nina and patted her hand.
“No, I said we might bring him out today,” she said. “People don’t always respond the same way to the procedure. Most of the time we’ll put a patient into an induced coma for twenty-four to thirty-six hours. Sometimes it’ll take a little longer than that. We might wait three days to see how the cardiac arrest affected the brain. In McKenzie’s case, he’s always been a contrary
