Page 15 of Old Money

That incident had raised a few eyebrows, and gotten a little more than the usual finger-wagging coverage in the tabloids.

Whit Yates was confronted while leaving a fundraiser at the Met one night—stopped cold in his tux by a handful of reporters asking for comment on his son’s alleged use of a drug that some doctors now claimed was more lethal than morphine.

Where had he gotten the pills? Was it true one of the kids he’d dosed had needed to be resuscitated?

And why was Patrick, son of Senator Whitney Yates—a self-proclaimed admiral in the war on drugs—facing no criminal charges whatsoever?

In response, Whit Yates had offered a polite half smile and a shake of the head:

“Boys will be boys.”

Then he’d literally waved them off and walked away.

He hadn’t even noticed one of them had a cameraman with them.

It was the kind of moment that would’ve gone viral today—the tux, the blithe smile—and even in the late ’90s, it left a good scuff on Yates’s burnished reputation.

But it didn’t amount to any actual consequences.

It just underscored the fact that families like the Yateses didn’t face the same sort of consequences as everyone else.

People tutted, shook their heads and changed the channel.

I dug up the clip on YouTube last month, while gathering tidbits on Whitney and Liv.

But to my surprise (and dismay), it wasn’t as galling as I’d expected—two decades and a raging opioid epidemic later.

The callous comment just read as clueless.

Whit Yates, with his crisp tuxedo and salt-and-pepper hair and that easy, unbothered wave—he seemed more archetype than human.

He had the same toothy charm as Patrick, but none of the simmering vitriol beneath.

He seemed like someone who knew he was untouchable.

He was probably right, I realized—even more so these days.

Whit Yates is a former senator now, but a profoundly influential one.

He and Liv still put their might and money behind their favored candidates, and a photo of them at a fundraiser is considered a potent endorsement.

Age has made them even more immune to criticism.

They grew up in a different time. That’s how people talked back then .

(They’re not nearly as old as everyone seems to think.

Then again, they do live in the land of indoor smoking, and golf at a whites-only club.) Furthermore, they’re even wealthier than they were in the ’90s, now that Liv Yates has inherited her own family’s legendary fortune—and the dubious title of “fourth-largest private landholder in New York state.” In other words, I don’t stand a chance against the Great Yateses as an entity—and frankly, I’m less interested in them. Patrick’s the one I’m after.

***

“Alrighty!” Officer Jessie announces, startling me back to the present. “All set here.”

I stand, twisting the sour look on my face into something like a smile.

She slides another paper across the desk.

“Confirmation doc—that’s yours to keep,” she says, talking in her sing-song voice again. “Just need your filing fee. That’s four hundred dollars, and yes, we do take cards.”

Of course it is. Of course you do.

“Processing time is ninety days,” she continues. “But I can’t imagine it’ll take that long.”

“Right,” I say, handing over my credit card. “Slow summer.”

“Oh, it’s not even that,” she says, tapping her keyboard. “No, archived records take forever. But case records like these —”

She stops, her eyebrows raised, with a tiny but audible gasp. Her hand jerks up toward her mouth, but she forces it back down. This girl has got to get a better game face.

“I’m so sorry.” She shakes her head, her voice lower—older now. “I just, I saw the case information.”

She gestures to my file of forms, closed beside her keyboard ( their forms now).

“And I recognized your name.” She winces. “I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s okay,” I say, quickly and quietly, placing a hand on the desk. “It’s fine, it’s not really a secret that I’m—”

I bend my head, looking pointedly at the file.

“I certainly don’t expect to be anonymous in here .”

I give her a little laugh, but she just blinks at me with a look of grave concern.

“Of course you are,” she says, distressed. “I mean, I’d never discuss—not with anyone in here. Not like that, like gossip.”

She sighs and taps the space bar, embarrassment drifting across her face.

“No, I know the case, obviously. But I was little when it happened. And my family wasn’t really a part of that scene, you know?”

She taps her nameplate: Applebaum. Suddenly, I’m embarrassed. All those parties I attended with the Dales, thinking I was an outsider.

I nod.

Jessie cracks a smile.

“I’m just saying, it’s not like you walked in here and I thought, Ah-hah! It’s her! She’s here to get the case reopened! ”

My stomach leaps into my chest, and I look around instinctively, ensuring we are indeed alone. But Jessie’s laughing now.

“No, Alice, I recognized your name because I used to go out with a friend of yours,” she says, relaxed into her cheery self again. “Well, a friend of your brother’s.”

“Oh.” I peer at her, catching up. “Oh! Jamie Burger, yeah!”

“You remember him?”

“He basically lived on our couch in high school, so yes,” I say, continuing without thinking. “And I’m actually working for him this summer, at the club.”

Her eyes go wide.

“Wow.”

“It’s a temp gig,” I add. “Anyway, yes, I still know him.”

We nod at each other silently. Am I dealing with Jamie’s friendly ex or Jamie’s ex who happens to be friendly?

“Me too—still friends, don’t worry,” she chuckles, answering my thought. “You kind of have to be around here.”

“Small town.” I shrug.

Jessie points at me.

“Small village ,” we say together. A bit of local semaphore.

We both laugh more than necessary, relieved to have the awkward, whispery moment behind us.

Jessie double-checks her computer screen and hands my credit card back to me.

She asks me to say hi to Jamie, and I tell her I will.

I zip my bag shut, and look up to say goodbye and thanks, but Jessie’s face has changed again.

Still friendly, still wide-eyed, but with a brittle tension.

“Are you?” she asks softly. “Are you trying to get it reopened?”

I look back, speechless. Her eyes are locked on mine, her face so clearly trying to say something, and for the first time, I can’t read it.

“I don’t know,” I answer. “Maybe.”

“I just wondered,” she says, eyes still steady. “Because, as I’m sure you know, there will be a public notice of this request.”

What?

“It’s village law,” she says, nodding. “Anytime someone requests records, they put a notice in the local newspaper. Usually within the month.”

I nod slowly, trying to think.

“Alice?” Jessie tilts her head, pulling my focus back. “It might be sooner than that. Slow summer. You know?”

I step back, my body pulling me toward the door, wanting to move—to get going on something .

“Right,” I say, taking another step. “Thanks for reminding me. I’ll—I’ll keep an eye out.”

I turn, hurrying for the door, glancing back as I pull it open. She smiles.

“I will too.”