Chapter 2
North Pier belonged to the Langley side of the yacht club.
Not personally to me.
That distinction mattered.
Thirty berths.
Private meeting rooms.
Storage buildings.
A launch dock our family had controlled for twenty-eight years.
Warren managed the club.
He had wanted North Pier under Hayes administration for years.
I always said no.
Apparently he found another route.
A children’s race.
I looked at the card again.
“Who says I acknowledged this?”
Warren wiped his mouth.
“You agreed to the Founder’s Cup.”
“I agreed Simon could race a boat.”
“The Founder’s Cup has traditions.”
“Not this one.”
He smiled.
“You should read what your father used to agree to.”
There it was.
Dead fathers.
The favorite lawyers of cowards.
My father had participated in private club wagers decades earlier.
I knew that.
Golf.
Sailing.
Cards.
Sometimes control of a storage room or preferred berth changed hands through symbolic bets between men who already understood the terms.
Stupid.
But voluntary.
This was different.
I had agreed to nothing.
Simon certainly had not.
“You turned children into signatures.”
Warren shrugged.
“Symbolic.”
I almost smiled.
“Then losing it should cost you nothing.”
His smile disappeared.
Good.
Patrick started crying.
“I don’t want North Pier.”
No eight-year-old should know the phrase.
I turned toward him.
“You don’t have it.”
Lenore stood again.
“Rafael, Patrick earned that trophy.”
Simon whispered:
“No.”
Everyone looked at him.
My son stepped from behind the guard.
His voice shook.
“She stepped on my boat.”
Lenore looked away.
Simon continued.
“Before we put them in the water.”
Patrick began crying harder.
“I told Mom not to.”
There.
Lenore had not acted impulsively after a loss.
She had guaranteed the result.
I looked at Warren.
“How many races?”
Silence.
“How many children have you used to settle adult deals?”
Patrick stared at his uncle.
So did Simon.
Warren finally said:
“It’s how the club has always worked.”
I looked around the beautiful terrace.
White umbrellas.
Polished rails.
Shallow blue pool.
Children’s trophies.
Adults apparently hiding wagers underneath them.
“No.”
May you like
My voice stayed low.
“It’s how you made it work.”
