After the Party

“For God’s sake. It’s his company!” More than that, Trumbull Toys was Elliot’s life. Chase expected Owen, of all people, to understand that.

“It was his company. Now it belongs to the shareholders.” Owen took delight in adding, “You were the one who convinced him to take Trumbull Toys public.”

A move that had made good sense six years earlier, but one Chase regretted now.

“Then they need to be made to see reason.”

“What they’re seeing are the most recent sales projections. My father...has lost his edge.”

“He hasn’t lost anything.”

“We both know that’s not true,” Owen replied with a hint of sadness in his tone. “He lives in his own little world half the time.”

“It’s called being a creative genius. It’s what makes him so good at coming up with new toys.”

“And so lousy at being a father,” Owen shot back.

“Is that what this is about? Family grievances?”

“I wish!”

“Do you?”

“Look, his memory, his judgment, both have gotten worse since my mother died. When are you going to admit that, Chase? You may not think so, but I’m looking out for the future of Trumbull Toys. Dad needs to step down.”

“He needs...he needs a little help.”

“On that much we agree. Meanwhile, he’s not up to leading the company.”

“He built it from nothing. Without his vision and creativity, there would be no company. How can you side with the stockholders and those board members who believe he should be ousted?”

Chase hated to consider it, but he couldn’t help wondering if Owen might be responsible for the dementia rumors that were only succeeding in making a bad situation worse.

“It’s not personal. It’s business. And it’s a fact, Chase, that Trumbull Toys is no longer setting market trends. We’re following them.”

“I tell you, there’s a leak. Someone inside the company is selling us out to our competitors before our new toys are officially launched.”

It was one of the reasons Chase had tightened up the loose, anything-goes atmosphere that his uncle had allowed to flourish. Chase knew he was viewed as a tyrant as a result. Even his uncle complained that the new policies went too far and took all of the fun out of the office. But Chase wasn’t sure what else to do. He owed it to Elliot to try everything possible to protect the legacy the older man had built.

“There’s no friggin’ leak!” Owen countered, his tone surprisingly adamant.

“How do you explain the fact that Kellerman’s managed to come out with its remote-controlled dinosaurs just two weeks before we did?” Chase replied.

Kellerman’s was their biggest rival in the industry. At one time, its founder, Roy Kellerman, not only had worked at Trumbull, he’d been one of Elliot’s closest friends. They’d parted ways decades earlier after a falling-out that, from what Chase gathered, had been more personal than professional, as it involved his Aunt Isabella. Her funeral marked the first time the two men had spoken since becoming business rivals. Elliot claimed they’d buried the hatchet. If that were true, Chase was pretty sure it had been buried in Elliot’s back, because not long after that Trumbull’s business woes had begun.

Owen replied, “They did their research. They knew that’s what boys in the five-to ten-year-old demographic wanted.”

“They stole our idea!” Chase insisted.

Two remote-controlled dinosaurs, one named Chomp-a-saurus Rex and the other called Chomp-action T. rex, was more than a coincidence or savvy market research.

“There’s no evidence of that. Look, Chase, I love my father, too, but he hasn’t been the same since Mom died. He’s slipping. This wake nonsense is just one more example. He’s no longer fit to lead.”

Chase ignored the weariness in his cousin’s tone. It was easy to do since Owen seemed so damned eager to slide into the top spot, despite the fact that Elliot had made it plain he wanted Chase to be his successor.

Even with Elliot out of the way, Owen would need the board’s backing to take the helm. More and more, it appeared he had it.

Elliot’s wake could very well be the final nail in his professional coffin. In Chase’s mind, it didn’t bode well that it was being planned by a woman who believed in lucky pennies.

* * *

The following Tuesday, Ella splurged on a taxi to get to her appointment with Elliot. Since she was taking a cab rather than hoofing around Manhattan, she decided to wear her favorite pair of high heels. They were black patent leather with silver detailing on the vamp. They added four inches to her height. Unfortunately, if she wore them for too long, they also left her hobbling. But, damn, they looked great paired with the hot pink skinny jeans and printed peplum top that she’d gotten for a steal at a sample sale in the Garment District.

The door to Chase’s office was closed and the man in question was nowhere to be seen when Ella arrived on the seventeenth floor. She told herself she was relieved, since he made her so nervous. But she called herself a liar when the door to the office next to his opened and he stepped out. Her pulse took off like the miniature race cars in Elliot’s office.

He turned then, and she blinked in confusion at the stranger who stared back at her. The man was the same height and build as Chase. His coloring was similar, too. But his features were sharper, his nose slightly longer. No cowlick mocked his tidy hair.

“Well, hello.” Piercing blue eyes lit with interest when he smiled.

“Hi. You must be Owen Trumbull.”

“That’s right. And you must be Ella Sanborn.”

His smile was friendly, if flirtatious. He shook her hand, holding it a little longer than was necessary. Owen certainly had none of his cousin’s reserve.

“Yes.”

“My father tells me you’re going to throw quite a party for him.”

“Yes. I’m here to go over some of the plans.”

Owen smiled again. “Mind if I sit in?”

“That’s up to Elliot.”

Chase’s presence the other day had made Ella nervous, since it was clear he didn’t approve of the wake and, for that matter, didn’t trust Ella not to take advantage of Elliot. Still, she found herself glancing toward his door.

“He’s out,” Owen told her. “Won’t be back for a while.”

Just as well, she thought, refusing to be disappointed.

The racetrack was quiet when she and Owen entered Elliot’s office. The older man was seated behind his desk rather than on top of it, and a sheaf of papers was scattered over the blotter. He was clad in appropriate, if boring, work attire. Conservative suit. Starched white shirt. His only bow to fun was the tiny hot air balloons that speckled his bowtie.

His eyes lit up when he spied her and a smile wreathed his face, pulling his jowls firm. “Ella! If you aren’t a sight for sore eyes.”

“Hello, Elliot. I hope I’m not disturbing you. We did say nine o’clock?”

“We did.” With that he pushed the papers into a pile to one side and propped his reading glasses on top of his head. “I’m eager to see what you’ve come up with.”