I grabbed my chance. “Will there be anything else for now?”

“No, thank you,” Mrs. Campbell said. “Is Ms. Gerhardt faring well in the kitchen?”

“Just fine.”

“Thank you, Ollie.”

The moment I left, one of the president’s aides, Ben, met me in the kitchen, coming in from the hallway. He gestured to me. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Informal tonight,” I said.

The assistant didn’t hesitate. “He’s needed downstairs.”

“Now?”

Without answering, Ben strode into the private dining room and spoke quietly to the president. I watched from the doorway. Sighing deeply, President Campbell wiped his mouth with his napkin, then dropped it on the table. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said.

I ducked out of sight.

As soon as the president left, Blanchard spoke again, now more animatedly. “Volkov is going to bring us all down. This scandal he’s involved in is not going away anytime soon. In fact, I see it getting worse. Every day that we keep Zendy Industries alive with his name as one of our co-owners is a day that we risk losing everything.”

I heard the sounds of passing plates, and then Mrs. Campbell said, “Surely, Treyton, you exaggerate.”

“Not at all. In fact, he’s the one spearheading this sell effort. At first I dismissed the idea, just as you’re dismissing it now. But think about it. He may be desperate for funds to cover his legal bills, but he’s right. We need to sell now, while Zendy’s at the top of its game. Not later, when Volkov’s troubles expand to include us all.” Blanchard made a sound, like a tsk. “It’s just a terrible shame that our fathers insisted on that unanimous vote.”

There was silence for a long moment, with only scraping sounds of silverware on china and bodies shifting in seats.

“My father would not have wanted me to sell Zendy. Not this soon after his passing.”

“Elaine,” Blanchard said. “I know you’re suffering still from the loss of your father. I offer you my sincere condolences on his passing and on Sean’s, but we have very little time to make this decision.”

“I disagree. We have ten years.”

Blanchard took in a sharp breath. I assumed it was Blanchard, because he then said, “Perhaps you misunderstand. We have to wait ten years only if we decide not to sell at this time.”

“And that’s what Sean advised me to do.”

The silence was so heavy I felt it in the kitchen. Bindy watched me with wide eyes. The chicken on her plate remained untouched.

“I hate to say this, Elaine, but if that’s what Sean advised you, he was wrong. In fact, as distasteful as it sounds, I’m now beginning to wonder… if that’s why he shot himself.”

I heard Mrs. Campbell gasp. “No. No. Of course not.”

“Can’t you see it, Elaine? He might have believed he disappointed you by giving bad advice. He might not have seen any way out but to take his own life.”

“Treyton, that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. And I will thank you to not discuss Sean’s death anymore. That subject is closed.”

I heard him sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“Yes, well, I would also like to table the Zendy discussion as well. We can talk about it another time.”

A long moment of silence. “Just remember one thing, Elaine,” Blanchard said. “Our window of opportunity won’t stay open for long. And once it’s closed, we won’t have another chance to sell for ten years. There are buyers out there now. The time to sell is now.”

“Actually, now is the time for two old friends to enjoy dinner together. No more business discussion tonight. Are we agreed?”

I couldn’t see Blanchard’s face, but I could imagine it as he said, “Whatever’s best for you.”

When they moved onto other topics, including the exploits of Blanchard’s kids, I pulled the sorbet-filled oranges from the freezer and began to prepare them for serving. I liked to allow the sorbet to soften slightly for easier eating. Bindy broke the silence in the kitchen by asking, “How much do you know about this Zendy situation?”

I shrugged, shooting a look toward the other room. Even though she spoke quietly, I worried about being overheard. “Not much.” I didn’t want to tell her what Sean had shared with me. For some reason it seemed to be a betrayal of trust. I had no doubt that if Bindy perceived any value in my musings, she’d scurry to share them with Blanchard at her first opportunity.

The girl watched me work. Halfway between anxiety and expectation, the expression on her face told me she was hungry for any specifics I could give her. Little did she know that when it came to the First Family’s business, I was as mute as a mime.

“Why all the fuss?” I asked, lowering myself into a chair opposite Bindy’s so we could talk like girlfriends sharing a common concern. “I mean, really. Why can’t the three other people sell and leave Mrs. Campbell to hold on to her share?”

“That’s the thing,” Bindy said. She seemed to fight back her natural reluctance to talk about her boss’s business. Maybe she believed she’d glean some vital information from me. Bringing her head closer to mine, she whispered, “According to the company history, the four men who founded the company never wanted their children to sell. Zendy was set up as a research company with the mission of bettering the world. It’s done that. In fact, the company has done it so well that it’s made billions on research. Most of that money goes to philanthropic causes.”

“Oh.” I was beginning to understand. Although I trusted Sean’s instincts, it had made no sense to me to put an investment on hold for ten years with no promise that the current successes would continue. I knew there had to be more to the story. “And Mrs. Campbell is reluctant to sell, because…?”

Bindy glanced toward the doorway leading into the dining room. “They can’t hear me, can they?”

I shook my head.

“The company looking to acquire Zendy intends to change its mission.”

“How so?”

“Zendy is worth more in pieces than it is as a whole.” She licked her lips. “If they sell now, Zendy will be split up into smaller units and sold off one at a time.”

“What will happen to the philanthropic agenda?”

She shrugged, then gave a slight giggle. “That’s one of the downsides. But that’s a small price to pay for all the good the four partners can do with the proceeds.”

“I understand now why Mrs. Campbell is opposed to the sale.” I remembered her comment on Thursday, arguing that the new owners might not respect the same goals.

“That’s it,” she said.

“Sounds like Senator Blanchard is tired of giving away the money to the needy and wants to collect the proceeds of the sale for himself.”

Put that way, my reflections made Bindy squirm. “It isn’t Treyton,” she said. “It’s that Nick Volkov. You heard about all the trouble he’s in.”

“There’s no way he’s hurting for money to pay for legal counsel,” I said. “I don’t buy it.”

“You have no idea how deep he’s in debt.”

“But you do.”

She looked away. “I know stuff,” she admitted.

I had a sudden thought. “Is Senator Blanchard planning to run for president?”

When her eyes met mine in that immediate, panicked way, I knew I’d struck a nerve.

“No,” she said unconvincingly. “He’s the same party as President Campbell. That would be silly.”

“True.”

I stood and finished setting up the serving trays, arranging the sorbet so it would look pretty as well as appetizing. I peered into the dining room and saw that both Mrs. Campbell and Senator Blanchard had pushed their empty plates just a little forward. They were done. Moments later, I had their places cleared and dessert served.

Back in the kitchen, I asked Bindy, “And so why are you here?”

“I told you. We thought that this dinner was involving more people.”

For some reason I doubted her. But I couldn’t think of any other plausible reason for her presence, so I let it go.