Page 25

DORIAN

Judith is one of my father’s ex-wives. Caroline looks nothing like her. I’ll never understand why some days he’s on his game and recognizes everyone, and others, he gets confused easily.

“Dad, do you need some water?”

The glass on the side table is empty. His hand shakes slightly as he turns, following my line of sight.

“Will they serve lunch at the board meeting? Wine? Cindy. She has it under control. Is Cindy here?”

“Dad, you don’t attend the board meetings anymore.”

I shove my hands into my pockets and watch him absorb this news. The nursing staff prefers that we tell him lies about meetings being rescheduled.

I don’t play that game. The staff’s approach is kinder, but it also exacerbates his confusion.

His gaze roams the room. “Where are the straws?”

I sit on the end of the chaise lounge across from him. He does better when I’m closer and near his height.

Why is he alone? Through the discrete camera in the corner, I know the security team is monitoring, but we have a full medical staff to ensure he’s got round-the-clock care.

All of them—vetted, with top-level clearances and iron-clad NDAs—play the assisting-the-powerful-executive game.

He shouldn’t be alone, but perhaps the nurse left him to sleep.

Caroline comes forward, gingerly sitting on the end of his chaise lounge, just beyond his feet.

“Mr. Moore, it’s been a long time,” she says with tenderness befitting a hospital patient.

He startles, and recognition clicks behind those fading blue irises. “Oh. She’s your ex-wife. All contact should be through lawyers.”

We’re not getting divorced, Dad.

That’s what I want to say. But hell, he’s probably right, once again. He always had a knack for predicting outcomes.

“Why is she here?” Years ago, that question would’ve been shouted. Today, his voice cracks, and his unfocused gaze has me wondering yet again what he sees.

“She wanted to see you.”

“Is it Thanksgiving?”

“No, Dad. That was over a week ago. Remember?”

“You let the staff off. It was just us.” Yes, he remembers.

“We used to have a room full of people at Thanksgiving. The entire board one year. In New York. Best city in the world. Now, executives live the world over, but there’s no city like New York.

Sheila. She was great at spearheading events.

Fantastic entertainer. The best of the best. Beautiful.

A charmer. You need to find a woman like Sheila. ”

Dad looks down at his lap, and his expression changes—confusion, then embarrassment. I don’t need to lift the blanket to know what has happened. If he’d agree to wear protective undergarments as recommended by his physicians, this wouldn’t be an issue.

Where the hell is the staff?

I exit his office, noting the red light on the security keypad. The room wasn’t locked. The security alarm isn’t on, but this early in the day, it wouldn’t be.

“Hello!”

A door opens at the end of the corridor, and a young man and woman in business casual attire exit.

If Dad had his way, everyone would be in business suits, but we broke him of that policy years ago.

It’s too hard to find nursing staff willing to either live on-site or commute to the property.

The cleaning staff doesn’t wear uniforms either, but we have them avoid him so they don’t cross paths.

Based on the flush of the woman’s cheeks, it’s clear why these two weren’t with my father. I don’t care about fraternization, but they need to do their fucking job.

“Mr. Moore,” the young man says.

I should probably know his name. But I’m bad with the homecare staff, as we source them through an agency. It’s a revolving door.

“My father had an incident.”

“Is he hurt?” The woman’s eyes widen, and her fingers go to her mouth.

“He soiled himself.”

I hate saying those words. He’s got the world’s best doctors, and they’ve done shit to prevent his decline.

She nods.

“We’ll handle it,” she says, flattening her hands across her middle.

She’s right to look nervous. If he had hurt himself, it would be her fault. I hire round-the-clock care for a reason.

“Are you leaving now?”

“Yes. I left a…” Friend is on the tip of my lips, but I won’t diminish Caroline. “My wife is with him now. We’ll get out of your way.”

“Dr. Suresh is due in thirty minutes. For another treatment.”

Every week, my father undergoes experimental stem cell treatments.

He’s on Dr. Suresh’s cutting-edge protocol—a combination of targeted immunotherapy and neural regeneration techniques that cost more than most companies’ annual R&D budgets.

The goal is to extend longevity, sharpen his mental acuity, and slow the progression of his dementia.

The FDA hasn’t approved it yet, but when you have the resources we do, you get first access to the most promising treatments.

I have no idea if it’s helping or hurting. But Dad chose this course years ago, and he places all his trust in his treatment team.

“Is he still handling the treatments well?”

“Yes. This course is better. The nausea has abated.”

“He looks like he’s lost weight.”

“He has,” she agrees, positioning herself next to me while the young man falls behind us. “His comprehensive annual physical is scheduled in two weeks.”

“We’ll know if anything is causing his weight loss then,” I say, filling in what she’s not saying.

“Yes, sir.”

I open the door and am taken aback by the scene before me. Caroline’s hand rests over my father’s. She’s sitting next to him, and he’s entranced.

Yes, Dad, she is beautiful.

“Mr. Moore, it’s time for your next meeting.” The woman’s bright tone catches his attention. He breaks away from Caroline’s touch and lifts his hand to point. His fingers tremble, and his forehead wrinkles in confusion.

“What meeting do I have?”

I really need to talk to his medical team. How can we expect him to keep things straight when people lie after I’ve corrected him?

The woman takes his hand and guides him out of the room. Physically, he’s in great shape for his age. The two knee replacements and double hip replacement he endured during his seventies are still holding up.

I don’t know what process she goes through to clean him up, and I don’t want to know.

When he comes back, he’ll be disoriented.

Understandably. He’s a powerful man, yet he loses control of his bowel movements.

His mind weaves in and out of the present.

His conversation weaves. A random person might not notice, but I do. This isn’t the future he wanted.

They leave the door open, and Caroline and I watch the two of them travel down the corridor, presumably to his bedroom. The man lifts the blanket he was sitting under and leaves, mumbling, “I’ll be back to clean up.”

“Shall we go?” I ask Caroline.

Her straight spine might appear cold to a random onlooker, but I see the sadness and concern lurking in the depths of her light blue eyes and the downward turn of her graceful lips.

Her trademark poise attracted me all those years ago, when she entered a pub of tipsy men.

Even now, I’m still drawn to this woman, with a softer side she shares with few.

“I’m so sorry,” she says to me.

Why? I didn’t bring her here to receive pity. I’m not the one suffering a loss of dignity.

“How long has he been like this?”

“How long have I suspected, or how long has he been under in-home care?” I step to the door, ready to leave.

“I saw a news alert just last week that Halston Moore backed the Homestead Act. That he met with Senator Williams.” She slips her thumbnail to her teeth, thoughtful.

Her eyes flash to me when she grasps the truth.

“Why are you covering for him? Why not announce his retirement? Or let him drift into obscurity?”

I remain quiet. She’ll figure it out.

“He retains a board seat at Bedrock. You’re chairman of the board, but if he’s on the board, you control his vote. Hasn’t anyone gotten suspicious?”

I glance down the empty corridor, where my father disappeared.

“Dorian. You said you’d answer my questions.”

“And I will,” I say, the response harsher than intended.

“Given his age, no one questions his reclusive nature. The existing board members are, if not friends, close associates from his early investment days. They backed my satellite ventures when everyone else thought private space infrastructure was a pipe dream. They understand I’m capable, that it’s a family company, and they’re content to let us handle succession quietly.

” I adjust my Patek Philippe watch—a habit from my post-Oxford days, when I was still learning to navigate board rooms. “The SEC filings are impeccable, Caroline. Everything’s disclosed within legal parameters.

“About five years ago, the Bedrock Advisory board urged him to pass the chairman’s reins to me, his son.

I suspect they had suspicions back then.

” The accusation in her expression annoys me.

“Should he retire? Yes. Absolutely. You try telling him that. What you just saw? It’s a bad day.

He has lucid days. He’s holding on with all he has.

That meeting with a senator? It probably happened.

People fly out to meet with him all the time. ”

“You don’t know if it happened?”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

Her eyes narrow into slits. “How, pray tell, am I looking at you?”

“Like you don’t trust me.”

Her hands flutter by her sides, a posture of frustration. She’s seconds away from closing down and retreating.

“If I wanted to know if he met with someone, I could find out. I have full access to his calendar. His staff reports to me. But I don’t care.

Williams is a putz. He’s the one who probably put out that press release.

That Homestead bill of his is smoke and mirrors with no substance.

Political showmanship. You know the game. ”

“How does it benefit you?”

“It doesn’t.”