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all. I don’t want anyone thinking Hyde Communications might be weakened by recent events.”
    “I’m sure the company will survive.” Arden checked her watch and tried to calculate the minute she might feel emotionally capable of coping with her family.
    If Quentin heard something negative in her tone, he pretended otherwise. “I want everyone in upper management to be on alert. Your presence is required.”
    “I’m not management, Daddy—upper or lower. I’ve never been employed by Hyde Communications, and I don’t—”
    “Can anyone hear you? Don’t be talking company business within earshot of the press. Those media bastards will screw us to the wall if we leak the wrong message.”
    Most of her fellow passengers were making their way to the gate. Arden could see them gathering their comfort measures—cashmere pashminas, spritz bottles of moisturizer, little bags of cosmetics. She wanted to remind Daddy that she wasn’t working for the company. Not now, not ever. But the Xanax was stealing blissfully into her brain.
    “You’re an important part of the team,” Daddy was saying. “I need reliable help if we’re going to weather this storm.”
    Hyde Communications didn’t need any help in its inexorable march to world domination. Pretty soon her father would have control of cell phones, television, and Internet coverage in every country and most of outer space.
    The only thing he couldn’t dominate was his youngest daughter. One by one, her siblings had given in, taken his money, and done his bidding—even if it meant giving up their right to think their own thoughts. But Arden managed to resist. She had more esoteric interests than cell phone towers. There was art and history. Wonderful books to absorb and—
    “It’s time you left that dead-end job, Arden.” He interrupted her thoughts. “The market for fine art has collapsed completely. I read about it in the Journal . You should reconsider joining Hyde Communications.”
    Feeling almost serene, Arden asked, “Are the funeral arrangements made?”
    He took the bait. “There are legal issues we must iron out first. Right now, though, I’m too busy doing damage control where Monica is concerned.”
    “Monica?” Arden was surprised to hear the name of Uncle Julius’s latest wife, who she thought was a pleasant woman with a passing good understanding of impressionist painters. “What’s she done?”
    “Well, she set fire to the family homestead,” Quentin said quite unnecessarily. Who hadn’t heard about the blaze started by the outraged wife of a billionaire? Even the European press printed photos. He continued, “But turns out Monica has been systematically raiding my mother’s house for anything valuable. Silver, furniture, porcelain—everything. The woman’s been acting like a drunken sailor on shore leave! All in the name of charity, for God’s sake. She may have given away dozens of masterpieces! I need your help getting back the most important items. Surely there are loopholes in these museum deals.”
    “What’s Monica given away?”
    “Who knows? Why Julius let her run rampant, I’ll never understand. You can look around and see what’s missing. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that woman was getting kickbacks. There had to be something fishy going on.”
    Arden noted that her father was focusing all his rage on Monica, when he was probably feeling angry with Julius instead. Redirecting emotions was nothing new in the Hyde family.
    Arden said, “My flight arrives at noon. But don’t send a plane, Daddy. I’ll fly commercial.”
    “It’s no trouble to—”
    “No, really, I can manage for myself.”
    “All right,” he said, sounding doubtful. “But get home soon. We need you here, Arden.”
    He terminated the call with that.
    She shut off her cell phone and thought about how much nicer it would be to find a pleasant hotel and just hole up for a while. Maybe wander some galleries. Hike in the Black Forest to