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slipped a notch. Fire-hot tears stung the corners of her eyes. She dashed them away with the back of her hand and shot to her feet.
    Think! She lurched into action, pacing back and forth across Eugene's office while her mind tried to sort through the rubble. Her fingers coiled together, nervously twisting and retwisting with each step. "The railroads, the mills, the banks ..."
    "Insurance companies, trusts, farms," Eugene added. "They're all going under. There's simply been too much rash speculation in the last year. European banks are cutting off credit. They want their money back."
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    "I knew times were uncertain, but this ..." Her words trailed off as she turned to look at him. "I ... I always thought I'd start being conservative later . . . when I was old."
    Eugene's pale lips worked, but no sound came out.
    She mustered a small laugh. "So what exactly does it mean?"
    He glanced down at the leather-bound folder on his desk, and as he did, the color seeped out of his cheeks. A knot of fear tightened Emmaline's stomach.
    "It means you're broke."
    The breath she'd been holding whooshed out of her lungs. She lurched into nervous pacing again, her fingers twisting painfully together with each step. "Broke is a relative term. . . . Do you mean I have to cut back my spending at Bloomingdale's, or that I can't afford the upkeep at my summer house anymore?"
    "I mean," he said softly, "that after this month, you won't even own the summer house. You're severely overextended, and the bank has no choice but to call your loans."
    She whirled on him. "Call my loans? Eugene—"
    He cut her off with a wave of his colorless hand. ' 'Let me finish while I have the nerve. You used all your cash, the summer house and its furniture, and the furniture in the Dakota apartment to collateralize your loan for the railroad and textile stock. Now that stock, and your other stocks, are worthless. If you can't make your payments next month, we'll have to repossess it all. We've already seized your cash." His voice shook. "I'm sorry."
    Emma's hands balled into white-knuckled fists as she pivoted away from the pity in Eugene's eyes. It was all

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    Kristin Hannah
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    she could do to keep from screaming—but if she started, she was afraid she'd never stop.
    "You can keep your jewels," he offered quietly. Hysterical laughter bubbled in her throat. She clamped her teeth together to keep the sound from slipping out. "Jewels?" she repeated in a thick voice. "I don't have jewels. I put my money in what I believed in—this country. The United States has to grow; you said it yourself. We need railroads, and banks, and farms, and factories. That's where my money is, Eugene, and you damn well know it. Not in diamonds and pearls."
    "Every decision you made was a good one, Emma; you're just ahead of your time. The rest of the world doesn't think as clearly as you do." He pushed back in his chair, and the sound of wood scraping on wood seemed thunderous.
    Emma winced, her lips pressed into a white line to keep from screaming or crying or otherwise making an idiot of herself in front of the one man who mattered to her.
    He was beside her in a heartbeat. "Em ..." His reassuring voice coiled around her throat, making breathing difficult. She felt the whisper-soft flutter of his breath against her cheek. "Here," he said, "take the portfolio. Maybe you'll find some hidden asset. Something I missed."
    She lurched sideways, afraid she'd succumb to the compassion in his voice and let herself cry. Tears never did anyone any good. She pinched her nose, hard, to keep the moisture at bay.
    He reached toward her.
    "Don't touch me," she hissed. She couldn't bear it; not now. One touch and she'd shatter into a million pieces. She grabbed the folder from him and hugged it to her chest like a shield. "I must go," she said shakily.
    "Emma?"
    "I'm fine, Eugene. Truly." She forced her chin up a notch and squared her shoulders. "But I have to go