Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
After all, isn’t rape a sort of murder? Murder of the soul.
Sly had found Gordon because the old man’s money was what he was interested in. Chandler being disinherited, that only helped Sly. Ethan and Chandler’s alliance, that is the thing to watch.
So, the old man found out? He must have. It’s why he disinherited Chandler. Has to be. Claire was his golden child, and he learned the truth of who hurt her and why she disappeared from his life.
I go back over the conversation in that hotel room. The way he spoke about Horatio wasn’t with hatred. It wasn’t with love, either, but what did he say? Something about learning too late what Horatio had done for his daughter.
He never once called Horatio Ophelia’s father. I did notice that throughout the conversation. I wonder if Ophelia did. But she wouldn’t. I did because I knew what to listen for.
And I understand now the urgency with which Horatio needed to keep that secret. He’s right. It will destroy her if she knows. A child of rape. Worse.
“Jesus Christ.”
I recall the old man’s words when Chandler left the penthouse via the elevator.
I’d prefer he used the balcony and made a final exit but no such luck.
I’d thought it was strange but not out of character for the man I met.
When I’d asked about the sitting duck comment, what had he said?
He has enemies enough. And what he did for my daughter, well, I learned that too late of course, but I remember.
He knows. He surely knows.
I blink and, as if waking, look around to take in my surroundings and realize where I am. I am driving up along the cliffs, up toward the chapel. I turn around and head back to Sinistral, to the hotel. I take out my phone as I drive and message Nigella to keep Ophelia there. She sends a thumbs up emoji.
I pull into the lot of The Sinistral and park the SUV. It’s a quiet night. I stop at the concierge desk to ask her to call up to the penthouse and let Carlisle-Bent know I want to see him. Just like this morning, I am sent up right away.
I’m not sure what I expect to see when I get up there, not sure if Chandler will be there or what I will do if he is. When the elevator doors open, I find the old man in his chair, although he’s wearing pajamas now and has a blanket draped over his legs. The nurses are all there, but Chandler is absent from the room.
“My granddaughter is not with you?”
“I need to talk to you. Alone.”
He takes a moment to study me, then nods. “All right. Out. Everyone out.”
“Mr. Carlisle—”
Gordon turns his head to face the male nurse. “I said out. You may return once Silas and I are finished. I’m sure I can survive that long without your care.”
“Sir—"
“Get. Out.”
The nurse bites his tongue, and I can guess the old man is not easy to work for.
“Yes, sir,” he finally says. I wait for all three of them to leave and the elevator doors to slide closed.
“Chandler?” I ask.
“He won’t be back. I am making sure of that.”
“Why is he here? Why do you let him near you, considering?”
“Ah.” He knows I know. He rolls the electronic chair into the living room, and I follow. “Get us a whiskey.”
I do. I could use one. Or three. I hand him a tumbler and take a seat across from him. The old man’s eyes follow me keenly. He’s sharp.
“He’s not your son, not by blood.”
“No.”
“And you disinherited him two years after your daughter ran away. After she died.”
I see the pain that causes him.
“You gave him your name.”
“That was a mistake that will be corrected. As to why I allow him near me, believe me if I could avoid it I would. He belongs in the ground. I should have put him there when I learned the truth. But it’s a little late for that now and, well, what do they say? Keep your enemies close.”
“You never once referred to Horatio Hart as her father.”
“Hayes. His last name is Hayes.”
“And after Claire’s death, you stopped attempting to find them.”
“I had found them by then. I never lost them again.”
“But you let them be.”
He nods and sips his whiskey.
“Why?”
“It didn’t matter anymore. She was gone. And I wasn’t sure if I could look at the girl. Not then. Not when I knew.”
“Not when you knew who her father was.”
He nods gravely. From the breast pocket of his pajama shirt, he takes out a cigarette. “Get me that lighter.” He gestures behind me.
“Is that a good idea?”
“For heaven’s sake, how much longer will not smoking this cigarette buy me?”
I shrug a shoulder, get the lighter and light his cigarette. He takes a long drag, then coughs so hard, I think he’s going to die. I take the cigarette from his hand and put it out as he closes that oxygen mask hanging from the arm of the wheelchair over his nose and mouth and draws deeply from it. A few moments later, he clears his throat and faces me.