Trust Fund: A Novel

"Give me more," the young woman murmured.Bo Hancock smiled in his measured way, the hint of emo-tionveiled by midnight. He was enjoying the multitude of brightstars filling a moonless sky, the scent of Melissa's perfume blend-ingwith the sweet smells of spring, and the absolute serenity ofthis place he dearly loved. They might have been the only twopeople on earth, but that was the estate's charm. It made himfeel safe.Bo had grown up here, exploring every corner of the es-tate'svast forest as a child. He knew it better than anyone. He'dplayed touch football on the great lawn in front of the playhousewith his father, brothers, uncles, and cousins before Thanksgivingdinner each year, the soft grass blanketed thinly by snow someNovembers, bathed in warm sunshine others. He'd canoed andswum in the cold, clear lake in summer and played hockey on itsice in winter. And he had experienced his first kiss beside the lakeat fifteen, hidden with the girl in a grove of sweet-smelling cedartrees."What do you mean, Melissa?" Bo asked, his gravelly voicemade even rougher by his fondness for alcohol and tobacco. "Giveyou more what?" He knew exactly what she meant.The young woman brushed against him as they stood on thesmooth granite of the mansion's back veranda. "More of yourwords-to-live-by," she answered, mesmerized by his voice. It wasgruff for a young man, but oddly reassuring too. Like a shovelscraping rock and a cat purring at the same time."Oh, I see," Bo said, drawing his words out. He took a dragon his cigarette before beginning. "The best relationship youever know will be the one in which you love each other for yourfaults–not despite them.""That's nice," Melissa said as his words dispersed slowly inthe stillness of the evening, her voice all at once as raspy as his.Bo chuckled softly. He had finally broken through her ve-neerof detachment. He understood why she needed that barrier,but it had gotten in the way of any meaningful conversation be-tweenthem. He looked away from the many points of light sus-pendedabove them to admire her silhouette. She was tall andstatuesque, with long, jet-black hair and eyes as dark and mysteri-ousas the surrounding woods. "You weren't expecting anythingquite so romantic," he said. "Were you?""I don't know," she answered, trying to sound indifferent."How about this one?" Bo suggested, his tone lighter. Herealized that he had caught her off guard and that she needed alifeline. Saving people was one of the two things he enjoyed mostin life, particularly when he had introduced the danger. And thatwas the other.He took a swallow of scotch. "Make certain you approachboth love and cooking with reckless abandon."Melissa's laugh was genuine. "What on earth does thatmean?""It means I'm willing to risk burning down the kitchenin pursuit of the perfect meal," he answered, a wry smile on hisfull lips.Melissa tried to suppress her answering smile, but couldn'thelp herself.He liked the way her eyes caught the starlight, and the wayher long black hair shimmered down her back. She was a beautifulwoman, and on one level he understood his brother's need forher. "It means approach every day as if it's your last. Never second-guess,never look back." Again Bo's words resonated in the silenceof the night. "It's all those things."Melissa tried to regain her composure, but Bo had a wayabout him. She wanted to confide in him, to feel his powerfularms wrapped around her. She sensed that he would understandher anguish. But none of that was possible.Bo took another sip of scotch. "You like me, don't you?" heasked, leaning forward to catch her eye."I don't like anyone," Melissa replied curtly, annoyed withherself for entertaining the fantasy. They had known each othercasually for almost a year, but tonight was the first time they hadbeen alone."Yes, you do. Come on, admit it.""You're so damn sure of yourself, aren't you, Bo Hancock?You think you know everything. Well, you don't.""I know you were the one who sent Paul off to make hisphone calls."Melissa shut her eyes tightly, regretting the fact that she hadasked Bo to come out here on the veranda alone with her. Shefound herself drawn to him, which wasn't good."Admit it." A confident smile played across his lips. "Youlike me.""Maybe," she said quietly.From where they stood on the edge of the veranda a neatlymanicured lawn sloped gently down to the lake. Melissa gazedsteadily at the reflections in the black water, then turned to face Bo.Although he was only in his midtwenties, his natural sophisticationand charm—benefits of a monied upbringing, she assumed—madehim seem older and more insightful than a man just a few years re-movedfrom the ivy of Yale. He was about six feet tall, with broadshoulders, a barrel chest, and the forearms of a blacksmith. Hishandsome face was wide and strong, dominated by an imposingforehead with a small scar above one brow and piercing sapphireeyes. He kept his short dark hair neatly parted to one side, andtonight, as usual, wore a casual shirt and old jeans. She had rarelyseen him in anything else."Are you seeing anyone?" Melissa asked, trying to move theconversation to safer ground.Bo nodded. "Yes. A woman named Meg Richards.""What company does her daddy own?" Melissa asked sarcas-tically,regaining her hard edge. "How many millions does shebring to the table?""She doesn't. Meg's a middle-class girl from Long Island," heanswered, rattling the ice cubes in his glass. "Her father is a highschool principal who's depending on his pension for retirement.""How did you meet her?""At Yale. She was there on an academic scholarship. I fell forher the moment I saw her walk into my political science class firstyear." Bo's voice took on a distant tone as he relived the moment."I didn't get up the nerve to ask her out until second year, butthen we were inseparable for six months. We were out of touch fora while after graduation, but I never lost that feeling I had the firsttime I saw her. That's how I knew she was the one. About a yearago I tracked her down and we picked right back up." Using theresources at his disposal, he had asked the Hazeltine Security peo-pleto locate Meg. Hazeltine handled sensitive business projectsfor Bo's father, James "Jimmy Lee" Hancock, and, on occasion,helped the family with personal matters that required discretion."I haven't thought about anyone but her since.""Sounds serious," Melissa observed, a shard of jealousy en-teringher voice. She took a sip of wine."I think it is.""But you aren't sure.""I'm sure, I just don't know if she is. I don't know what she'llsay when I open the black velvet box.""Give me a break," Melissa groaned. "What's any middle-classgirl going to say to a Hancock son offering her five carats?"She glanced over her shoulder. "Is she really going to turn downall of this?"The huge structure rising behind them stood at the center ofthe Hancock family's secluded thousand-acre compound in Con-necticut'srolling woodlands, forty miles northeast of New YorkCity. On the estate were stables for thoroughbred horses, miles ofriding trails weaving through the dense forest, a nine-hole golfcourse, tennis courts, the twenty-acre man-made lake stretchingout before them, a boathouse on the far side of the lake, as well asfive other mansions in addition to the playhouse, in the shadow ofwhich Bo and Melissa now stood. Inside the playhouse were twomore tennis courts, a pool, a fifty-seat movie theater, a formal din-inghall, a billiard room, and several guest suites. Surrounding theentire compound was a tall chain-link fence topped by razorwire, obscured by the trees and constantly patrolled by a full-timesecurity force, never seen but always present. Every bit of it wasavailable to Bo, his older brothers Teddy and Paul, and their sis-terCatherine, whenever they wanted it. It also belonged to Bo'syounger sister, Ashley, but she seemed to have no interest in enjoy-ingit. She had moved to Europe after finishing Harvard threeyears ago and had yet to return."Meg doesn't care much about material things," Bo finallyanswered. "If she did, I wouldn't care about her so much."Of course you wouldn't, Melissa thought. It only made sensethat of the three Hancock brothers, Bo would be the one tomarry for love. "How did your family get so rich?" she asked.Bo flicked an ash from his cigarette and watched it streak tothe granite, where it glowed red hot for a few moments. He wasthinking about Ashley. They had been close growing up, but aftercollege she had rebelled against the money and their father's needfor control. He understood her desire to escape, but it didn't makeher absence any easier. "Oil and railroads back in the eighteen-hundreds,"he said hesitantly. He'd always been self-consciousabout the money. "More recently the stock market, now that it's go-ingup again."Melissa fanned her face. It was an unusually warm night forApril. The heat of the evening, combined with the wine she'ddrunk, was making her cheeks feel flushed. "How much are youworth, Bo?""Why do you want to know?" he responded instinctively.He'd been trained by Jimmy Lee from an early age to answer thatquestion with this one. The training had come in handy becauseso many people wanted to know."I just do." Most people recognized the roadblock and con-tinuedno further, but Melissa had worked for everything she'dever gotten in life, including information.Bo inhaled deeply. The scotch was filling him with that fa-miliarglow. "Why don't you tell me about yourself," he said, try-ingto turn the conversation in a different direction."I will if you will."He nodded. He understood the quid pro quo, and therewere questions he wanted to ask. "A billion dollars, give or taketwenty to thirty million depending on the day and the Dow." Hesensed her awe. A billion dollars was a figure most people couldn'tcomprehend—there were simply too many zeros. "Now you," hesaid, uncomfortable about having revealed the amount. He hadbroken one of Jimmy Lee's cardinal commandments. Never givean outsider the number. Never give an outsider anything thatmight make the family vulnerable."What do you want to know?" she asked defensively."I've been impressed with you tonight," he answered. "You'veobviously been to college.""Yes, I graduated from St. John's in three and a half yearswith a double major in English and economics. And a minorin American history," she added, proud of how hard she hadworked.Bo extinguished his cigarette in an ashtray set atop the lowstone wall that ran along one side of the veranda. He was tryingto think of the best way to ask what he really wanted to know. Asusual, he chose to be direct. "Then why this line of work?"For some reason men had to know why a woman would turnto prostitution. They all wanted it to be the result of heightenedsexual desire—which excited them immeasurably—and her prac-ticalanswer never pleased them. "My parents are poor, I hadthirty thousand dollars' worth of school loans when I graduatedfrom St. John's, and the Wall Street men in their expensive suitsand fancy suspenders weren't impressed with my resume."