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DORIAN

She pulls a seat out from the kitchen table and directs me to sit across from her. I do as she asks, and it occurs to me that I don’t think I’ve ever sat at this table.

I always sit at the kitchen counter to eat.

If I dine with my father, we eat at his house.

I don’t entertain. If it weren’t for my father, I would vacation in Colorado, not live here.

I built this house to have a space to retreat to when needed.

Caring for my father can be challenging, even with a round-the-clock staff.

She opens her laptop, and I itch to flip it around to see if she’s written up her points.

Did she see a therapist who listed our issues and recommended solutions?

“There are those who believe you’re behind…” She avoids my gaze.

A cold dread spreads from my chest to my fingertips, numbing as it travels.

“Illegal activities.”

Our serious conversation has nothing to do with us? I should’ve known.

“We’ve collected evidence.”

“Who’s we?”

Back straight, shoulders back, she’s addressing me with a formality I recognize. I’m in my home, in sweats and a thermal, and she’s addressing me like we’re in a board meeting. Suddenly, Caroline’s desire to change out of my shirt and talk in a common area makes a lot more sense.

“Arrow Tactical Security.” She swallows and clears her throat. “And others.”

“Who hired Arrow?”

My interruption to her presentation throws her, evident by her right eye’s twitch.

“What?”

“Arrow. I’m familiar with the firm. Jack Sullivan is the primary investor. Countries hire the organization. Which country hired Arrow Tactical to investigate me?”

Come on, Caroline. You had to know I’d ask . Given they know she’s here, they know I’m asking.

“Do you know Jack Sullivan?”

I raise an eyebrow and link my hands beneath the table, keeping my calm.

Jack and Liam Sullivan inherited Sullivan Arms, a leading gun manufacturer, but they’ve grown the business into a global weapons manufacturer.

I’m told Liam Sullivan leads R&D, and rumor has it, he’s expanded into weapons of mass destruction and drones.

From what I gathered, Jack Sullivan is an investor in Arrow Tactical and has nothing to do with day-to-day operations.

“This project is a joint effort by intelligence agencies around the world.” She slides the laptop a couple of inches to the side but keeps it within easy striking distance. She must have something on there to show me.

Intelligence agencies. International investigation. My fingers drum the tabletop. I hold government contracts all over the world. I’m investigated all the time.

“Don’t keep me waiting. Please, share the details of the investigation.”

If she’s here, and there’s an international investigation, we’re not talking about minor regulatory violations or accounting malpractice.

“What do you think I’ve done?”

“I don’t…” She stops herself, and her lips press together. When she lifts her gaze to mine, I sense her determination. “Over the past year, minor attacks have been occurring around the world.”

She has to be fucking kidding. That’s what this is?

“Baltic Sea wire cutting, attacks on electrical substations, an EMP attack?—”

“That EMP attack cost me forty next-gen satellites and upwards of a billion dollars in classified government contracts. It’s the kind of loss that makes the Pentagon nervous.” My jaw clenches.

“Covered by insurance.”

Unfuckingbelievable. “Insurance doesn’t cover the strategic implications of losing military-grade orbital infrastructure.”

She turns the computer around. On the screen, I read through an exchange between CS and SF.

“Caroline Scott? Using your maiden name at work?”

She hasn’t legally changed her last name from Moore. If she’d done so, I would’ve been notified.

“Are you innocent?”

Way to bypass the question, Scott . “Of attacking the world?” I scrub my hands through my hair, aiming to corral my thoughts.

She believes this bullshit. And if she can believe this, she doesn’t know me. Definitely doesn’t love me. This weekend hasn’t been about us working things out or even closing things out. It’s been a ploy.

I push up from the table. I can’t sit there.

The screen on the mobile lights up. I don’t give a shit who’s contacting me, but I’m on autopilot and head to the counter.

ALERT: Explosion at Orange County Utility Leads to Extended Blackout

I flash the phone screen to Caroline. “Do you think I did this, too?”

I can’t deal with this. I need space.

“Where are you going?”

I don’t bother answering.

With one loud slam of the door, I’m out, charging away.

I’m halfway to the winding path when it occurs to me she can take an Uber into Denver.

Let her.

Leaves crunch beneath the thin layer of snow, and a biting cold slices through to my skin.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

I spin around, returning home.

Within seconds, I fling the door open right as my phone lights up.

Geoffrey Cromwell

Your father wants me to inquire if you made the requested changes to your portfolio.

Isn’t Dad drugged?

The drugs probably made him just lucid enough to fall into his worry track on whether I’m taking his investment advice. Fuck me.

Through the open doorway, I shout, “I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere.” Leaving will probably piss her off, but she’s got to understand. “I need to calm down, but I will return.”

There. That’s mature.

I’ve never been to a therapist, but I have to believe that’s what he’d tell me to say.

The door slams with an earsplitting loud bang.

I didn’t quite mean to slam it, but it’s a heavy fucking door.

The walk to my father’s house passes in a blur. By the time his house comes into view, I’ve got some ideas on how to prove to Caroline that the accusations are meritless. She’s going to feel like shit once I prove I’m not the asshole she believes me to be. Or will she?

Maybe this is all one big work project. She didn’t plan on spending the weekend.

Of course, Nick also mentioned the attacks. Is he the entity funding Arrow’s investigation? He told me to keep Caroline here.

Is more going on than I read in those messages between Caroline and SF?

I’ve always assumed Putin was behind the crap going on around the world.

He’s the worst kind of greedy because what he wants more than anything is power and for history to see him as one of Russia’s great leaders, which in his mind requires expansion, treating the world like a Risk board for megalomaniacs.

China’s Xi isn’t much better, but Europe doesn’t fit into his near-term or even mid-term goals.

My father’s house is quiet as I enter. It’s always quiet. He has plenty of staff, but they’re relegated to other sections of the house.

A light glows below the door to my father’s office suite. I rap against the door and push it open without waiting for a response.

My father reclines in his chaise lounge, eyes closed. Geoffrey sits behind his desk, tapping away on a keyboard.

He starts at my entrance. He’s in a suit, like always. The lamplight reflects on the gray strands, swept back and styled. With one quick scan of the room, I confirm the absence of nursing staff.

“Are you here because of my text?” He looks genuinely surprised, which is fair, because he didn’t ask me to come over. Typically, when he texts, I respond in kind.

“Wanted to check on Dad.” And for the thousandth time, my investment portfolios are not your concern, Geoffrey. “Have you seen his nurse?”

I’d like to find out how much they had to give him for him to settle down. If I’d known seeing Caroline would disrupt his day so significantly, I wouldn’t have brought her around.

My shoulder muscles burn, and I stretch my neck to the right, kneading the tight muscle. Dad’s eyelids flicker, like he’s waking. Or maybe he’s in REM.

“Why did you send me that text?” Clearly, Dad has been sleeping.

“Going through my to-do list. Like I said, I didn’t expect an immediate response.”

That’s fair. I often leave it to my assistant to respond to Geoffrey.

“I’ve been checking in with you on your—” I hold up a hand to stop him from continuing.

“I know.” I’m sorry , is on the tip of my tongue, but I bite it back, because Geoffrey’s still not in the right here.

He’s fully aware he could back off and not bother me every time Dad tells him to, and Dad wouldn’t register if it was done or not.

He’d probably love to manage part of my portfolio, but it’s not gonna happen.

Unlike my father, I only hire the best, especially when it comes to portfolio management.

“Why is Caroline back?”

Does he remember her? Did he come to our wedding? Probably. Dad’s invitation list numbered in the hundreds.

“Does she want something?” Geoffrey’s question strikes me as intrusive, but depending on what he overheard Dad saying this afternoon, maybe it’s not. “Did she tell you why she’s here?”

“What did Dad say to you?”

“Dorian.” There’s a rattle in Dad’s throat.

“Are you thirsty?” I step to a bar cart that’s over to the side.

Top-shelf alcohol bottles still adorn the bottom, but the pitchers on top are now water and orange juice.

I pour Dad a highball glass of water and bring it to him with a straw, sitting on the edge of the chaise.

Alcohol isn’t recommended, and whereas I thought we’d fight forever on that point, in the last year or so, it’s almost as if he’s forgotten to argue over his beverage choice.

His hand trembles as he reaches for the glass, so I keep hold of it as he sips.

A shadow falls over the rug, and I look up to find Geoffrey standing over us.

“Has he been sleeping long?”

“No,” Geoffrey answers.

“My two sons,” Dad says, bringing my attention back to him.

“What?”

These days, Dad rambles about the strangest things.

“I’m glad you’re both here. With me. My sons.”

Geoffrey sits sideways on the chaise across from me, hands together in a prayer pose, elbows on his thighs.

“Do you know what medication they gave him? Has he been rambling…”