The low winter sun cast long shadows from the Gothic spires of St. Mary's School for Girls.
Shane loosened his dark blue tie, the silk still carrying faint traces of cigar smoke and the tension of Wall Street. He casually wrapped it around his wrist, a gesture that made Volker, leaning against the front of a sleek Cadillac LaSalle, shake his head in quiet exasperation.
The young Irish trader, who had been orchestrating chaos on the New York Stock Exchange a week ago, now adjusted his shirt collar nervously, like an older brother walking a fine line between pride and embarrassment.
"The calla lilies in the back?" Volker asked, glancing at the sedan where two assistants carefully held the bouquet wrapped in silver paper.
"They stayed chilled in ice the whole way, just as you instructed, sir," one of them replied.
Light footsteps echoed across the golden ginkgo leaves carpeting the front steps.
"Brother!" Mary's voice, clear and sparkling, cut through the early winter chill.
She bounded down the steps, clutching her books, her school uniform skirt fluttering with every step, her red curls bouncing like fire in the sunlight.
She stopped sharply before Shane, and the ginkgo leaves kicked up by her Oxford shoes landed neatly on his polished leather shoes.
"You've lost weight," Mary observed, her bright blue eyes scanning her older brother for traces of the past weeks' trials. "But… the cigar smell is lighter than before." She sniffed his collar deliberately, catching the faint tobacco trace.
Her fingers brushed against Shane's platinum cufflinks—gifts from Old Henry after the Union Pacific bond campaign, engraved with the date 10.28. The other gift, of course, was the Cadillac LaSalle itself.
Shane, with a small flourish, produced a box of Vienna chocolates wrapped in chestnut-colored kraft paper. "Vienna chocolates," he said softly, "and... tickets for The Jazz Singer at the Paramount this weekend — the first talking picture in the world."
Mary's eyes widened. But before she could speak, her hand darted into his inner pocket, pulling out a folded blueprint.
A floor plan of a Bay Ridge apartment unfolded between them.
"Two south-facing bedrooms?" She circled one spot with a pencil. "Brother, can I take the remaining room for my piano studio?"
Before Shane could reply, her pencil stopped at the master bathroom. Her eyes widened. "Wait… this jacuzzi is bigger than the principal's!"
Volker coughed, and the assistants behind him stifled laughter.
"Moving day is next week," Shane said, slipping the theater tickets into Mary's Latin textbook. "You'll meet Tom and Linda… and a few of your brother's interesting associates." He gestured to the men in suits standing behind him. "They're all trusted friends."
Dusk fell like a veil, dyeing the ginkgo-lined avenue in soft purplish-gray. Shane slowed his pace, recounting the past month's "office routines" as if they were mundane errands rather than high-stakes Wall Street gambits.
Mary stopped, and her Byron's Poems textbook bumped against Shane's chest. "Brother, page 17—read it later." Her mischievous eyes twinkled in the moonlight.
At the dormitory door, the streetlights flickered on. Shane slipped a kraft paper envelope into her hand. "Final payment for the piano teacher—keep it safe." He winked.
Mary threw her arms around him, pressing her head against his chest. Shane froze, then gradually relaxed, letting the faint fragrance of mint shampoo and calla lilies blend with the lingering tension of his recent battles.
"See you at the theater this weekend!" she exclaimed, breaking away and sprinting up the dormitory steps, her red curls flying in the breeze.
Shane watched her disappear through the stained-glass door. Opening Byron's poetry book, he found a small pencil sketch tucked between the pages—a caricature of a Wall Street figure with devil horns and a mischievous grin.
He smiled faintly, thumb tracing the pencil marks. All those dangerous moments he had tried to hide had already been reimagined through his sister's eyes.
The evening breeze flipped a page, and Shane's eyes caught Byron's words: "Truth is in the fold of a jest, as a pearl in an oyster." He carefully tucked the sketch into a secret pocket near his heart, the warmth of his sister's embrace still lingering.
The Cadillac LaSalle's engine rumbled, its taillights streaking two deep red lines across the twilight streets. Shane leaned back, fingertips brushing the gilded poetry cover. Outside, New York's lights shimmered along the Hudson like scattered gold coins.
"Back to the hotel first?" Volker asked.
"To the company," Shane replied, his cuff glinting under the tungsten streetlights. "How is the German glass for the Manhattan department store's Christmas windows coming along?" He rolled down the window, letting the winter air wash away the last remnants of Wall Street's tension.
The streetlights reflected on the car window, merging with the spires of St. Mary's School in the distance. On the windowsill, the bouquet of calla lilies remained bathed in moonlight, quietly waiting.
Inside, Mary laughed with her roommates, savoring the Vienna chocolates. Outside, the Cadillac LaSalle rolled to a stop at the company warehouse. Tungsten lights illuminated the brass sign of East Coast United, and workers moved crates labeled in German.
"Mr. Fletcher from Manhattan Department Store came to sign the contract personally," Volker reported. "He prepaid a 30% deposit, impressed by our… special transport channels."
Shane's fingers tapped the document as his gaze swept the warehouse. "Tell Fletcher we can open an exclusive freight channel for his goods," he said. "After all, we value Manhattan Department Store."
On the second floor, Vik leaned out the office window, waving a telegram: "News from Montreal! Payment for that batch of 'medical alcohol' has cleared!"
Linda whispered from behind, but cheers erupted downstairs before she could finish.
Volker produced a brass key. "The new office is ready," he said. He pointed to the glass partition on the top floor. "Through these windows, the full brilliance of Manhattan across the river can be seen."