NYPD Red 3

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Every December 31, Hunter Hutchinson Alden Jr. made the same two New Year’s resolutions.

1. Be worth X dollars by the end of next year.

2. Quit drinking.

This year’s goal was five billion, and considering the fact that his current net worth was 4.86 billion, getting there was a slam dunk. But forty-five minutes and three glasses of Pellegrino into his father’s New Year’s Day party, he knew that number two was doomed to failure. Again.

He crammed himself into the corner of a blue calfskin Himmel settee at the east end of the Great Room so he could avoid eye contact with the swarm of well-heeled narcissists who were strutting around Hutch Alden’s Fifth Avenue triplex, flaunting their glorious Christmas-in-Saint-Barts tans.

It was the same crowd every year — the A-list of the Rich and Shallow — and Hunter was there for only one reason. He was duty-bound to charm the hell out of his old man’s guests.

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