Synopsis:
THE RULES
1. Listen carefully
2. Do your research
3. Trust no one
4. Run for your life
Harriet Reed, a novelist on the brink of literary stardom, has just gotten engaged to Edward Holbeck, the heir of an extremely powerful family. Even though Edward has long tried to severe ties with his family, news of the couple’s upcoming nuptials has the Holbecks inching back into his life . . . and Harriet’s.
As Harriet is drawn into their ostentatious and lavish world, the family seems welcoming. So when Edward’s father, Robert, hands Harriet a cassette recording, allegedly of a book he’s been working on, she is anxious to listen to it.
As she presses “play,” it quickly becomes clear that she isn’t listening to a novel. She’s hearing a confession. A confession to a grisly crime. A murder.
Suddenly, the game is in motion.
Feeling isolated and confused, Harriet must figure out if this is part of a plan to test her loyalty . . . or something much darker. What is it that Robert sees in her? Why give her the power to destroy everything?
This might be a game to the Holbeck family, but losing could prove deadly.
Review:
Author Catherine Steadman is the author of the New York Times bestselling Something in the Water, as well as Mr. Nobody, The Disappearing Act, and The Family Game which was a New York Times Editors’ Choice and 2022 Goodreads Choice Nominee for Best Mystery or Thriller. She is also an accomplished actress. She portrayed Mabel Lane Fox in Season Five of Downton Abbey, has performed other roles in both United States and English television productions , and appeared on stage in the West End for which she was nominated for a prestigious Laurence Olivier Award. She grew up in the New Forest, Hampshire, but resides in North London with her husband and daughter.
The Family Game opens with a prologue in which Harriet Reed reveals, in a first-person narrative, that she is lying on the parquet floor of the grand entrance hall of the Holbeck family’s upstate New York Mansion. Harriet is bleeding and struggles to stand up, the diamond in her engagement ring twinkling in the light. She also notes that she faced death twenty years earlier, but survived and is determined to do so again. “A girl with a past tries to marry into money and all hell breaks loose. “We all know how that story ends,” she wryly observes, before the action moves back to November 21.
Harriet arrived in New York City four months earlier. She is a successful author – her first published novel is a bestseller that has so far sold over a million copies. She eschewed relationships until she met Edward Holbeck at a gala thrown by her publisher, and she feels as though she has finally paid for her past mistakes and can now allow herself to experience real happiness. She has started a new life, complete with new friends, and soon she’ll have a new family to get to know. Harriet was just eleven years old when she lost her own parents in a tragic accident. She is adamant in her belief that her future with Edward looks bright. She loves him deeply, in no small measure because “he saved me.”
Edward does not rely on his family’s fortune. Rather, he is an entrepreneur in his own right in the midst of negotiating to sell his company for a staggering sum. Edward is plainly as smitten with Harriet as she is with him. He stages an elaborate proposal at the Rockefeller Plaza ice skating rink where he presents her with the ring that belonged to his great-grandmother. The Holbeck family is not just wealthy. John Livingston Holbeck, Edward’s great-great-great-grandfather, was one of America’s Gilded Age tycoons. The family’s history is as storied – and notorious — as those of the Morgans, Vanderbilts, Rockefellers, Andrew Carnegies, and they wield unparalleled and far-reaching power, with a stately family home in Manhattan. But Edward has kept Harriet away from his family, explaining that they are controlling and domineering, and have caused problems in his personal life and relationships in the past. His relationship with his father, Robert, has been particularly strained. Robert has long been rumored to be involved in payoffs, blackmail, and questionable foreign business deals, although he has never been criminally charged. “Which makes the sudden appearance of this family ring now on my finger all the more interesting,” Harriet muses.
But meet them she does when she is finally summoned to afternoon tea at an exclusive members-only club on the Upper East Side. It soon becomes clear that the family is capable of meddling in Harriet’s affairs and the meeting has been arranged specifically to convince her to assist them. Edward’s sister, Mathilda, bluntly asks Harriet to help bring Edward back into the fold. “Will you help the family out? We want him back; we want to keep him where we can see him. We think this engagement is just wonderful.” And promptly tricks her into bringing Edward to Thanksgiving dinner.
Harriet soon discovers that when the Holbeck family gathers in their gothic castle — which boasts all the expected accoutrements in addition to a massive and frightening maze, trails through the adjacent mountain, a treehouse, and an abandoned well – their family traditions include playing bizarre and dangerous games. Harriet is concerned not just for her own well-being, but that of the children who, in her estimation, are far too young and impressionable to be included in such activities. Nonetheless, she knows that she has to participate in the competition, and it would be in her best interests to win. So she puts on her game face, determined to show the family – especially Robert – that she intends to become a member of the family and will be a formidable addition.
That’s because Robert sends her a mysterious cassette tape. It has been created with a Dictaphone and before she can listen to it, she has to secure the proper equipment. Once she does, she is shocked at the contents of the recording. It has been created by Robert. As she listens to his voice, she realizes how naïve she has been. She should have realized that with all of their power, the Holbecks would never allow her to marry into the family without vetting her. Robert has, of course, had a complete background investigation conducted and learned her secret. It’s a secret Harriet has never told anyone . . . and never intended to reveal it. Twenty years ago, she committed an act that could have profound consequences if discovered because no statute of limitations would bar her from being held to account for her actions. But she has always been confident that no one witnessed her behavior. Robert, however, is highly intelligent and savvy, and from the evidence gathered during the investigation has been able to draw inferences and reach conclusions. He makes it clear that if Harriet does not follow his directions, she will regret it. He also confesses that he has engaged in criminal behavior, along with his rationale. And emphasizes that he will not hesitate to take further draconian action if Harriet does not accede.
Steadman keeps the story’s action moving at a steady pace, gradually revealing details about Harriet’s past, the heinous act she committed, and her reasoning. She wisely makes Harriet not just a believable character, but a likable one and she is, in a number of ways, sympathetic. Steadman challenges readers to ponder the moral and ethical implications of Harriet’s decision and question what they would have done in Harriet’s place all those years ago. Harriet is bright, has sustained horrible losses in her life and, in many ways, deserves the happiness she believes she has found with Edward. Robert is the obvious villain in the tale, a confessed murderer who is wielding his power to ensure that Harriet complies with his demands. Edward is also bright and likable. He’s a caring, attentive partner to Harriet who is happy to be on the brink of formalizing his commitment to her and seemingly willing to interact with his family to the extent necessary in order to ensure his legacy as a member of the Holbeck clan.
However, in Steadman’s capable hands, readers discover clues along with Harriet that not all is as it seems. When the family gathers to celebrate Christmas, the rules of the latest game are outlined. Harriet is given the option by Edward and others not to participate since she did so well in the previous competition and has shared with the family news about how much is now at stake for the happy couple. However, not being a competitor is not a viable option, in accordance with the terms outlined by Robert. The game, however, quickly becomes completely beyond the realm of all reason . . . and Harriet begins discovering bodies in various areas of the vast estate. She knows that she could become one of them if she fails to discover precisely what Robert’s real motivation and intentions are, and is shocked when she discovers, along with readers, that her presumptions have been erroneous, and the stakes are even higher than she originally believed. Steadman deftly ramps up both the dramatic tension and the tale’s pace as it hurtles toward the shocking revelation of the truth.
The Family Game is an inventive and clever thriller in which the setting – that eerie, multi-story castle set in a remote area of upstate New York – effectively serves as an additional character. Even though many readers will correctly guess the largest plot twist well before it is revealed, that does not detract from the sheer fun of going on the perilous journey with Harriet to see if their hunch is accurate. Steadman’s narrative establishes a cinematic quality that makes both the characters and their plights vivid visceral, illustrating again that she is an accomplished storyteller.
Excerpt from The Family Game
1
Fairytale of New York
Monday, November 21
Christmas lights twinkle in the rain as I duck down Fifth Avenue—reds, greens, and golds glimmering in reflection on puddles and glass as I dodge along the busy sidewalk, my phone pressed tight to my ear.
“And the good news is, it’s looking like we’re going to hit the million-copy sales mark by the end of this week! We did it, Harry!” my literary agent, Louisa, cheers on the phone. Her voice is as warm and close as if she were bundled up against the cold beside me in the sharp New York City chill. I try not to think of the three and a half thousand miles of distance between New York and London—between me and my old home and its soft, damp grayness — but every now and then the pangs of homesickness wake and stretch just beneath the surface of my new life. It’s been four months since I left England, and the pull of home is somehow stronger now that winter is setting in. New York can be cold in so many ways.
“For all intents and purposes,” she continues with glee, “here’s me saying you are now officially ‘a million-copy bestselling author.’?” I can’t help but yelp with joy — a surreptitious half skip in the street. The news is incredible. My first novel, a runaway bestseller, has been on the charts since publication, but this new milestone isn’t something I could ever have dreamed of until now. New York swallows my ebullient energy greedily. I could probably lie down on the sidewalk and start screaming and the festive shoppers would just weave unfazed around me. It’s an oddly terrifying and yet reassuring thought.
“We’ll be getting another royalty payout from the publisher at the end of the quarter,” Louisa continues. “So Merry Christmas, everyone!”
It’s funny, it’s only November and yet it feels like Christmas is here already. I look up to the halos of light hanging above me, holiday decorations, sparkling from shop windows, strung in great swaths high over the main drag of Fifth. Everything seems to be moving so fast this year, a whirlwind, a whirlpool.
“How’s it going over there?” Louisa asks, snapping me back to reality. “Settled? Happy? Are you living love’s young dream?”
I let out a laugh of surprise because yes, as smug and as self-satisfied as it may sound, I really am. After so many years alone, after pushing relationships away, perhaps I’ve paid in full for my mistakes and I can put them to bed. Maybe I’m finally allowed a little happiness.
I shake off the dark thought and grasp back onto my new life with both hands. “Well, we’ve got furniture now at least. Not sure I’ve quite worked out the subway yet but I guess I’ll get there in the end. Or I guess I won’t,” I add jokingly.
The truth is, while I know I am beginning to get a feeling for New York City, I realize I am trying to settle into a city that does not settle itself. The crowds, noises, faces, people, that frenetic fight-or-flight energy. I suppose it’s only been four months—?I know it can take a lifetime to become part of a city, to find your place. And the world I’ve landed into here, with Edward, the new circles I find myself moving in, his rarefied life, that is something else again.
“And how is your dreamboat, how is Ed?” she asks, as if reading my thoughts. I slip past a gaggle of tourists in front of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, its bells tolling anachronistically alongside towering glass and steel.
Louisa was with me the night I met Edward; I shiver at the memory of the look she gave me when I first brought him over to meet her. That silent swell of pride I felt to have my arm hooked through his, the pride anglers must feel cradling their outsized shimmering catches. Though I can only credit chance and timing with my iridescent prize. In fact, it would probably be more accurate to say Edward plucked me from the stream than the other way around.
I would be lying if I said Edward’s background, his habits, his rituals — —so alien to me — hadn’t lent him a strange additional attraction. His world is different from mine, everything he does invested with the subtle shimmer of something gilded. Not that I knew who he was when he first spoke to me.
We met at my publisher’s annual Summer Gala in London, a lavish, star-studded party packed with bestselling authors, high-flying editors, and super agents. That year it was being held at the Natural History Museum, the vaulting Victorian architecture festooned with bright bursts of tropical flowers: orchids and heady-scented lilies. Waiters in white tie, ferrying champagne high above the heads of the mingling household names, debut authors, and reviewers. It was my first big author event, my book having only just come out the week before and exploding directly onto the Top Ten. I’d bought a ridiculously expensive emerald dress in celebration and then spent half the night trying not to spill booze and canapés down it. Nervous, and completely out of my depth, I let Louisa usher me from important contact to important contact until I finally managed to escape the madness for the relative calm of the loos. I am no shrinking violet but too much noise, too many faces, triggers old wounds and sets my senses to a different frequency.
It was on the way back from the toilets, empty champagne glass in hand, that it happened. At first, I thought it was nothing, just my heel snagging on something, causing a little stutter in my step. But the snag turned into a halt, a tug, and a hot blush rising as a glance back confirmed that my high heel was firmly wedged in one of the museum’s tiny, ornate floor vents. Victorian central heating.
I gave another tug and the heel seemed to loosen, but a few passing eyes found their way to me, and I panicked. I tugged again, harder. And with a retrospectively impressive show of strength and an extremely loud metallic clatter I somehow managed to completely dislodge the 150-year-old wrought-iron grate from the stone floor, still attached to my Dior heel. The noise and spectacle now attracting the gaze of everyone in the vicinity.
With a deep desire not to prolong the experience but totally unsure what else to do, I hitched my dress and—drained white with shame—half lifted, half dragged the entire wrought-iron grate back toward its gaping floor hole. The grate clanked and banged as I tried to get it back in, all the time with my heel firmly attached. And that’s when he saved me, a firm hand on my back, that warm American accent, his voice low, reassuring, like home.
“Okay, okay. I see the problem.” His first words to me. And though, of course, he meant the problem with my shoe, and the grate—and that he could fix it—to this day I like to think he meant he saw the larger problem, with everything, with my past, with the holes in my life, and that he could fix those too. Listen, I’m no damsel in distress, trust me, I’ve survived a lot more than most, but you can’t underestimate the overwhelming power of someone swooping in to save you after a lifetime of having to save yourself.
Those eyes looking up at me, filled with such a disarming calm, with an inborn certainty that everything would all work out just great. The warmth of his skin against my bare shoulder blades. I did not have time to put up my usual barriers, to insulate myself or pull away from intimacy, because there I was, stuck.
He dropped down on one knee, like a proposal, like the prince in Cinderella, this impossibly handsome man, and as he gently wriggled my mangled shoe loose from the grate with my hands on his strong shoulders, I felt something inside me shift. A hope, long tamped down, flickered back to life in the darkness. And the rest is history.
Here I am a year-and-change later, having moved a continent and my entire life to be with him.
“Ed is doing great,” I answer, though we both know it’s an understatement. Ed’s start-up company turns over more money in a month than the literary agency Louisa works for does in a year. Edward is doing immeasurably well, but we’re British and we don’t talk about stuff like that. Besides, Louisa is well aware of who Edward is, the family he comes from. He’s a Holbeck and with a surname like that, even without family investment, success was almost inevitable. “I’m actually on my way to meet him now. He’s taking me skating.”
“Skating?” I hear the interest pique in her tone. She’s desperate to hear about him. About the Holbecks. Somehow, I managed to bag one of America’s wealthiest bachelors without even trying and everyone wants to know how I did it, why I did it. But more important, they want to know: what are they like?
For that, of course, there is Google. And God knows I did a deep dive or ten in the weeks after meeting Edward. Generations of wealth, woven into the fabric of America since the Gilded Age, shipping, communications, and of course that ever-present shadow of questionable ethics. There is no end to the op-ed pieces on them, the gossip column space, the business section dealings with the Holbeck name, and yet the air of mystery they maintain around themselves means one can never quite be satisfied. They remain elusive, mercurial. That, with their presumably ruthless brand of magic, is a heady and alluring mix.
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