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)
He gives me a tight smile, refilling his tumbler and holding it up in mock toast before swallowing it down in one go.
“What do you want, son?” he asks.
“I’ve changed my mind.”
There’s an infinitesimal raising of his eyebrows, but otherwise he doesn’t react.
I take a piece of paper off his desk and pick up his pen, a fountain pen that’s probably worth several thousand dollars. Who the fuck pays that much money for a stupid pen?
I start to write.
“I want you to stay away from Ophelia. You and your family. You do that, and the loan becomes a gift, and you never find out what it’s like to be one of those people down on the street.”
His eyes narrow as he looks at the piece of paper before him. It’s just a few sentences but it’s enough. It states that the loan I made him is canceled on the condition that he and his family never have contact with Ophelia again. The amount would then be considered a gift. I hold the pen out to him.
“Why would you do that?”
“I don’t want her hurt any more than she’s already been hurt. She’s been through hell and back and you know it.”
He studies me. “That’s not the reason. I don’t buy it.”
“Doesn’t matter what you buy. Agree, and your company is saved. Don’t, and you lose everything. And I will take every single thing you own. You’ll be less than those you were just looking down on. But none of that will matter for long because if you go near her, I’ll fucking kill you.” I hear myself say that last part and wonder where it came from. It’s true. I know that. But never once has it been a conscious thought.
He raises his eyebrows, tilts his head to study me some more.
“Why?” he asks.
Love. But I don’t say that out loud. “For reasons you wouldn’t understand.”
“What are you afraid of?”
I stand up. “Are you signing or not?”
He grins, and I know I’ve given something away I didn’t intend to. “So, I sign this, and I don’t go near that girl—”
“And neither does your family.”
“And that’s it. I get the money and my company, and you and I go our separate ways.”
“Forever.”
“Sounds like a dream. Too good to be true if you ask me, though. What’s your game?”
“No game.” I check my watch. “You have thirty seconds before the offer expires.”
“She pregnant?”
That surprises me. “It would be none of your business if she was. I just want you gone. I want you all gone.”
“You’d give up the very thing you’ve been after for pretty much your whole fucking life? You’d give up your quest to watch me fall? For her? Just walk away when you’re so damn close to burying me?”
“Yeah. I guess I would. Guess you’re not that important after all.”
“Huh. Maybe you have more of your mother in you than either of us ever knew.” He picks up the pen, looks at the sheet of paper, then up at me again. He snorts, then signs.
I take a picture of the signed document with my phone and send it to Nigella to get it sorted. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled with me. I look at Sly, who is leaning back in his seat, holding a freshly poured tumbler of whiskey.
“Goodbye, son. Can’t say it’s been nice knowing you.”
“Ditto.”
20
OPHELIA
Idrink my glass of wine and pick at the chicken while I sit at the kitchen counter alone, growing more and more annoyed. When Silas isn’t back by the time I’m done eating, I get up and go into the living room where the fire has long since died down. I crouch down in front of it because Silas knows how to build a fire. He used to do it at the Fox house and at his little cottage all the time. The way the wood is stacked here, though, there’s no way it would burn past the few tiny sticks used for kindling. I decide to light it myself while I wait for him to return.
The poker leans against the wall where he left it and I pick it up to spread the ashes and charred wood around. That’s when I notice partially burnt pieces of several sheets of paper at the very back of the fireplace. I reach for them and pull them out, the parts that are charred flaking off.
There are several pages that are stapled together, and half of the stack is unreadable. Well, more than half, but I can make out some of the words on the first sheet. I’m not quite sure what I’m looking at. But then I turn the first page to glance at the second, the paper crackling as more blackened chunks drop off, and read my father’s name along the charred edge.
Was Silas burning these when I walked in on him? Had he intended on building a fire at all or had I come back too soon and interrupted his real task? Had he lied to me?