They were in their Denver mansion, one of the city’s grand old behemoths that had been built a century earlier with his great grandfather’s mining fortune. Although it was beautifully designed and a historic landmark, it was also drafty and uncomfortable. The large windows couldn’t keep out the winter cold, the furnace—added decades later—didn’t adequately heat the rooms, and when it rained, the roof leaked. The family rarely spent time in it. His fussy sister, Brittney, preferred New York City. His lazy brother, Dustin, thrived in Los Angeles. His aloof, distant mother favored Santa Fe, while Lucas didn’t really live anywhere. He liked to travel, and he enjoyed the freedom of being able to move on whenever he wished to leave. The four of them didn’t get along. His parents’ marriage had been a train wreck, filled with bitter arguments and incessant conflicts. He and his two siblings were the survivors, raised by nannies and housed at boarding schools. As a child, he’d seldom interacted with Jacquelyn. He’d seen her on holidays and short summer breaks when he was home between camps. He hardly knew Dustin and Brittney. Yet they’d made the trip to Denver. They were money hungry, intent on hoarding what was theirs, and only the potential loss of millions could have lured them to congregate.
