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DORIAN

What the hell is she doing?

I double-check her location.

Our trackers ping her location with military-grade precision. A quick check through Zenith’s DMV integration confirms the vehicle registration, one of countless data streams we process daily.

This is the license plate registered with the California Department of Motor Vehicles in her name. But what is this place? A fifty-five-plus neighborhood? She said her parents are still in Connecticut. Does she have a relative who lives in California? Or is this somehow work-related?

Geoffrey Cromwell

Why are you in California? Did something happen?

The message notification fades from my screen.

When I left to follow Caroline, I didn’t take any steps to hide my travel, but it’s annoying that Geoffrey has the information. He probably called Jay. And now that I know he’s my half-brother, he may feel justified in inquiring.

Are there other half-siblings with NDAs swearing them to secrecy? I’d bank on it.

Dammit, Dad.

The small new construction home piques my curiosity more than Geoffrey’s nosiness. The man has always been too interested in my affairs for my taste. Now, at least I understand why.

A woman pushing a dog in a stroller waves at me, and I wave back. She’s probably wondering why I’m sitting in a parked car.

This isn’t Caroline’s home address. An hour away from Santa Barbara, it wouldn’t be the address of someone she’s dating, would it? She said she’s not dating anyone.

How annoyed will she be to learn I followed her here?

When she drove away, I spiraled into a free fall.

It felt like I was watching her leave all over again.

I packed a duffel, jumped into my SUV, and drove to a small private airport where I store my plane in an on-site hangar.

By my estimation, I tailed her by an hour.

Seven years ago, I watched her leave and did nothing. I’m not repeating that mistake.

Besides, Nick’s warning repeatedly flashes like a red stock alert. If she’s safest with me, and she wants to be in California, then I’ll come to her.

I enter the address into Google, but there’s no owner associated with the information that populates the screen.

I call my assistant.

“Mr. Moore.”

“Jay, pull up the title owner for this address.”

I recite the address to him on the phone.

“Just give me a second.”

Clicks sound through the receiver.

“By the way, did Geoffrey Cromwell call you today?”

“No, sir.”

Interesting. How did he know I left Colorado?

“Okay. I have it. The property is owned by Aurora Skye Calloway. Closed on the property about three months ago.”

I stare at the house, my mind eerily quiet.

“Mr. Moore, do you need anything else?”

“No, thank you, Jay.”

What the hell is she doing at my mother’s home? This isn’t research. She landed and came straight here.

Why?

I won’t find out unless I ask. I could wait to see if she tells me what she’s doing, but we’re past games.

The late-morning sun glints off the roofs of the homes on the west side of the street, casting a golden glow, while a young Hispanic teen pushes a lawn mower two houses down.

These yards are postage-stamp size, but it’s surprising to see so much grass.

I thought with all the water restrictions, there wouldn’t be so much green.

Not that any of that matters. I exit the car and stand on the sidewalk. What to do now?

I’ve no memory of Aurora Calloway and no wish to meet her. I’ve explained this to Caroline more than once.

Did Caroline know I’d follow her? Is this her way of winning an old argument? Of forcing my hand?

No. I shake my head, having a conversation with myself on the sidewalk.

If Caroline is here, it’s with my best interest at heart. She’s never worked against me, only with me.

The door opens. A woman with long, straight steel-gray hair and a colorful, patterned skirt and Birkenstocks steps onto the front stoop. She hugs someone inside the house. Blonde hair comes into view. My peripheral vision blurs as I home in on the two women.

Caroline steps outside. She stops and holds a hand over her eyes as if confirming that the sun isn’t playing tricks on her.

Yes, Caroline, I’m here. Why are you?

Caroline holds Aurora’s hand, saying something to her that I can’t hear. She steps off the porch, and I sense Caroline approaching, but my sight remains locked on my mother, standing still in the doorway.

I don’t know what I expected Aurora Calloway to look like, but bohemian hippy isn’t it.

“Dorian,” Caroline says. “You followed me.”

My gaze remains locked on Aurora. The tank top she’s wearing reveals lean arms one would expect from an active lifestyle.

Casting aside her hair color, she appears younger than her sixty-some years.

Like all of my father’s wives, she’s undeniably attractive.

I’d accuse her of being as vacuous as his other wives, except she’d look more at home at a pro-choice rally than Neiman Marcus.

The world sees me as a business titan, a man who can buy anything or anyone.

But standing here, I feel like that abandoned kid again.

The difference is now I understand power; real power isn’t about money, it’s about control.

And this situation—my mother, Caroline’s presence—none of it is under my control.

“She goes by Rory.” Caroline touches my arm, and I flinch. “Would you like to meet her?”

“Are you friends with her?”

How long has this been going on? Anger unexpectedly stirs, and I clench my hands, seeking control.

Caroline’s rapid blinks and wide eyes tell me she didn’t expect my anger. Neither did I. But it’s here.

“Your mother knows your father’s history. I came here to?—”

“To what? Meet the woman I said I never wanted to meet?”

“To learn more about your father’s background. To find out if you have more siblings. How often he used to travel out of the country, because we don’t have the records from back then. To learn if there are any missing pieces of the puzzle that we should be aware of.”

“You want me to believe you came here as part of the investigation?”

“It’s the truth.”

“Didn’t you just tell me you believe I’m being set up?”

“Yes. And this is part of that investigation.”

I study her light blue irises. Her posture and poise convey an elegance that the media painted as aloof and snobby, but they got her wrong. She’s intelligent and passionate. Driven. The anger lessens. Perhaps it stems from desperation, but I believe her.

She should’ve worked with me on this, but I understand.

“What did you learn?”

“A day hasn’t gone by that she hasn’t thought of you. Your father threatened her and forced her hand. His lawyers fabricated evidence that she’d been an unfit mother. She didn’t have the resources to fight his claims, and his attorneys had connections with the judge.”

“None of that clears my name.”

She glowers.

With a huff, I give in. If this is the topic she wants to cover, fine. “Did she share how much he paid her?”

“Only what was in the prenup. Not a dollar more. And she had to wait years for that.”

That actually tracks. Not the threatening of an unfit mother, but limiting the payout to contractual obligations. I always imagined the payout to be one that she perceived to be massive. To some, a million is a life-altering figure. To others, it’s a weekend getaway.

“The prenuptial agreement granted her two million dollars. She used the money to buy a home in Los Angeles, and she remarried. They had a happy marriage and two children together. He passed away about eighteen months ago. She sold their home and retired here. She has one daughter who lives in San Francisco and one who lives in Chicago. You have two sisters.”

She sounds hopeful. What is there to be hopeful about?

“I can tell…” She flattens her palm against my chest, like I’m a dog she’s trying to calm. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Will we?

“Your mother didn’t know about Geoffrey. She thought you were his first child, and he did nothing that made her suspect otherwise. But your mother always wondered about you. She has a search on Google that notifies her every time your name appears in an article.”

“Would you quit calling her my mother?”

“Fine. Rory. She was twenty-five when she married your father. Said the age difference caused quite a stir, as he was twice as old. She’d worked as a personal trainer at the gym he attended.

The trainer your father hired had been sick and asked her to fill in for him.

She says it was love at first sight.” Caroline waffles her head slightly. “Until it wasn’t.”

Until someone else caught my father’s attention. That fits the pattern.

“You should meet her. She said she’s written to you, but she never received a response.”

I recall a couple of letters. I tossed them, assuming she wanted a handout. Instructed Jay that he should recycle any correspondence from Aurora Calloway.

“I think you’ll like her. She worked as a physical therapist but recently retired. She has a garden in her backyard, and she’s building a?—”

“Caroline. Stop.” The woman remains on the front step. The yard is so small, she may hear us.

“I’m not ready.” It’s the most honest I’ve been with Caroline. In all those years of her pushing me, I wasn’t ready. “I don’t know if I’ll ever?—”

“She didn’t leave you willingly. Put yourself in her shoes. She had no money. He cut off her credit cards and accounts. His lawyers played nasty. She didn’t see a way to beat your father in a broken justice system that caters to wealth.”

A slight dizziness hits, and a familiar warning pain pulses behind my temples. I have Vicodin in my bag, but I don’t need it. Breathe. Focus.

“Did you learn anything useful?”

A buzzing in her handbag catches her attention, and she pulls her phone out.

Her mouth opens slightly, and her eyebrows lift.

“What is it?”

“There’s been an explosion. Five simultaneous detonations across the country.”

A terrorist event will kickstart emergency protocols. Futures are going to nosedive.

“Dorian, we’re under attack.”