Waiting in the Wings

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Surviving an opera took dramatic license and the ability to block out high-pitched singing. Richard Casere possessed both, thankfully, and arrived at his Manhattan penthouse none the worse for wear. The footman alerted him to the presence of his guest, and the valet waited at the door to accept his coat and scarf. Black-tie events in an election year were a necessary evil, particularly with so many courting his wealthy contributions and endorsements. He’d just as soon ignore the entire rabble-rousing lot of humans. They played politics like a blood sport.

Amusement curved Richard’s lips as he strode through the apartment to the drawing room. If they put the candidates in a ring and let them beat the hell out of each other, he would enjoy it more too.

“Malcolm.” He called the greeting and waved the man back into his seat. The head of the Reynolds family was both a great ally and a dear friend. Since Richard took over New York in the early eighteen hundreds and Malcolm assumed the mantle of leadership for his family, the men enjoyed few respites from business.

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