The Billionaire Next Door. Jessica Bird

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СКАЧАТЬ glanced back to the bed. She hated that Mr. O’Banyon had died alone.

      She’d wanted to be at his side, had promised him she would be, but when the final myocardial infarction had occurred, she’d been working at the health clinic in Roxbury all the way across town. So she had missed saying goodbye. And he had dealt with whatever pain that had come to claim him by himself.

      When the call that he had passed came through to her, she’d left her day job immediately and screamed through traffic to get here. Even though the dead had no schedules to keep and he would never know if she’d hadn’t rushed, it had seemed right to hurry.

      “Lizzie?”

      Lizzie turned around. The nurse standing in the doorway was someone she knew and liked. “Hi, Teresa.”

      “I have his things from when he came in. They were still in the ED.”

      “Thanks for bringing them up.”

      Lizzie accepted her friend’s personal effects with a sad smile. The plastic bag was transparent, so she could see the well-worn robe and the plaid pajamas Mr. O’Banyon had had on when he’d been admitted around 1:00 a.m. last Sunday.

      What a horrible night that had been, the beginning of the end. He’d called her around twelve with chest pains and she’d run up the duplex’s stairs to his apartment. Though he’d been her landlord for two years, he was also a friend and she’d had to call on all her professional training to keep sharp and make the right decision about what to do for him. In the end, she’d called 911 over his objections and not let herself be swayed. The paramedics had come quickly and she’d insisted on riding in the ambulance with Mr. O’Banyon even though he’d tried to tell her he didn’t need the help.

      Which had been so like him. Always irascible, always a loner. But he had needed her. His eyes had watered from fear the whole trip from South Boston to Mass General in Beacon Hill and he’d held on to her hand until her fingers had gone numb. It was as if he’d known he wouldn’t be going back out into the world again.

      “I know you were the emergency contact,” Teresa said, “but does he have any next of kin?”

      “A son. He wouldn’t let me call him though. Said only if something happened.” And something certainly had.

      “You’ll get in touch with the son, then? Because unless you’re going to claim the body…”

      “I’ll make the call.”

      Teresa came over and squeezed Lizzie’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

      “I should have been here.”

      “You were. In spirit.” When she started to shake her head, Teresa cut in, “There was no way you could have known.”

      “I just…He was alone. I didn’t want him to be alone.”

      “Lizzie, you always take such good care of everybody. Remember in nursing school when I fell apart three weeks before graduation? I never would have made it without you.”

      Lizzie smiled a little. “You would have been fine.”

      “Don’t underestimate how much you helped me.” Teresa went back to the door. “Listen, let me or one of the other girls know if you or that son of his need anything, okay?”

      “Will do. Thanks, Teresa.”

      After the other nurse left, Lizzie put the plastic bag on the bare mattress and rifled around until she found a battered wallet. As she opened the leather billfold, she told herself that she wasn’t invading Mr. O’Banyon’s privacy. But it still didn’t feel right.

      The piece of paper she eventually took out was folded four times and as flat as a pressed leaf, as if it had been in there for quite a while. There was one name on it and a number with a 212 area code.

      Guess his son lived in Manhattan.

      Lizzie sat down on the bed and took her cell phone out of her purse.

      Except she couldn’t call just yet. She had to stitch herself back together a little. At the moment, she felt like a stuffed animal whose side had been torn open and whose padding was leaking.

      She glanced back at the bag and was overcome with grief.

      Over the past two years, Mr. O’Banyon had become a kind of surrogate father to her. Gruff, prickly and standoffish in the beginning, he’d stayed that way…but only on the surface. As time had passed and his health had declined, he’d gotten as attached to her as she was to him, always asking her when she was coming back to see him, always worried about her driving after dark, always keeping up with how her day went or what she was thinking about. As his heart had grown weaker and weaker, their ties had grown stronger and stronger. Gradually, she’d done more things for him, buying groceries, doing errands, cleaning up, helping him keep all his doctor’s appointments straight.

      She’d liked being responsible for him. With no husband or children of her own, and a mother who was too fey to really connect with, Lizzie’s caretaking nature had needed an outlet beyond her job. Mr. O’Banyon had been it.

      Clear as day, she pictured him sitting in his Barcalounger in front of his TV, a crossword puzzle balanced on the arm of the chair, his reading glasses down on his nose. He had been so sad and lonely, not that he’d ever shown that outright. It was just…well, Lizzie was a little sad and lonely, too, so she’d recognized the shadows in his eyes as exactly what she saw in her own mirror.

      And now he was gone.

      She stared down at her cell phone and the piece of paper she’d taken out of his wallet. His son’s name was Sean, evidently.

      She started to dial, but then stopped, picked up the bag of Mr. O’Banyon’s things and headed out.

      When she talked to the man’s son, she was going to need some fresh air.

      Standing in the Waldorf’s ballroom, Sean O’Banyon smiled at Marshall Williamson III and thought about how the guy had tried to blackball him at the Congress Club. Hadn’t worked, but good old Williamson had given it his best shot.

      “You’re the pinnacle,” Williamson was saying. “Without peer. You are the man I want on this merger.”

      Sean smiled and figured that given the amount of groveling that was going on, Williamson was remembering the blackball thing, too.

      “Thanks, Marshall. You call my assistant. She’ll get you in to see me.”

      “Thank you, Sean. After all you did for Trolly Construction, I know you—”

      “Call my assistant.” Sean clapped Marshall on the shoulder to cut him off because getting stroked was boring. Especially when the sucking up was insincere and business motivated. “I’m going to get a drink. I’ll see you sometime next week.”

      As he turned away, he was still smiling. Watching men who’d cut him down eat their pride made up for the social slights he had to deal with. Thing was, there was one and only one golden rule on Wall Street: He who had the gold, or could get it, made the rules. And in spite of his nothing-doing background, Sean was a mine for that shiny СКАЧАТЬ