The Way They Were Read Free

cleared his throat and eased open the portfolio. “It’s regarding the property in New York. There’s been an accident.”
    “An accident? How bad?” When Miles hesitated, Rourke’s concern escalated. “How bad, Miles?”
    “The man died.”
    “Died?” The word tumbled from Rourke’s mouth in an unintelligible heap. People on his jobsites suffered back strains or an occasional fracture. They did not die. He demanded safety precautions and instructions far past OSHA requirements, so much so that Miles dubbed him “Man of a million precautions.”
    “Rourke?”
    Dead. “What happened?”
    Miles slid the portfolio across the desk. “He was a demolition subcontractor. Fell fifty feet onto concrete.”
    “Did his fall harness malfunction?” Rourke imagined the harness strap breaking and the unknown man’s horror in the millisecond before he hit concrete.
    Miles shook his head. “Not that the inspectors can tell.”
    “Christ.” Rourke grabbed the portfolio and scanned the report. When he noticed the date of the incident he cursed again. “Why am I just hearing about this if it happened almost five months ago?”
    “We tried to insulate you. It’s not good for the head of the company to get dragged down by something like this.”
    “Dragged down? The man died, for Christ’s sake. I should have been told.”
    “I apologize. You were in the middle of the Chemstrol acquisition.” Miles fiddled with his bow tie and added, “That’s why we brought this to Diana.”
    “She knew about this?”
    Miles nodded.
    He’d deal with his aunt and her subterfuge once he handled this situation. “What problem could be larger than this man’s life?”
    “A lawsuit.”
    Of course. “I see.”
    “We’ve already begun preliminary work on our end and hired our own investigators.”
    “To prove what?” That despite all the precautions people still died?
    “We’re trying to determine if we might have some level of responsibility here.” Miles cleared his throat—not a good sign—and added, “The man also had a wife and daughter.”
    Rourke stared at the file in front of him. Now there was a widow and a fatherless child involved. “I want to meet the widow. Express my sympathies. It’s the least I can do.” And then, “How old is the child?”
    “I have no idea.”
    Nothing could replace a father, but he had to do something. “I’ll set up a college fund.”
    “If you do that, you might as well wear a banner that says, ‘Guilty’.”
    “Do you know what it’s like to lose a father?” Rourke knew. He knew what it was like to lose a mother, too. And inherit an aunt who—
    “Thankfully, my father is alive, well, and the Dapper Dan of the Senior Center.”
    That provided an interesting picture and a welcome interruption. Dwelling on the past served no purpose. “Give me the woman’s address and I’ll have Maxine make flight reservations.”
    Miles hesitated. “Do you really think that’s necessary?”
    “Yes, I do.”
    “Very well.” Miles turned the folder around and searched for an address. “Here it is. Montpelier, New York.”
    “Montpelier?” Dread wrapped itself around Rourke’s gut, and squeezed, tighter and tighter as a kernel of possibility exploded. How many demolition contractors were there in a town like Montpelier? He guessed no more than three.
    “Yes, Montpelier,” Miles repeated. “It’s a small town west of Syracuse. Quaint. Backward. Less than a half dot on a map.” He rose from his seat and picked up the portfolio Rourke had tossed aside. “Just a minute and I’ll get you the woman’s name.” He rifled through the papers as Rourke’s gut churned with disbelief and panic. “Ah, here it is. Name’s Kathryn. Kathryn Redmond Maden.”
    Kate. Rourke pushed back his chair and moved to the set of windows overlooking Chicago. She was out there, hundreds of miles away, just as she’d always been. But one freak accident was about to erase that distance and demolish the