Page 51 of Played

I findmy father in his study, puffing on a cigar.

He urges me to take a seat, and I comply out of habit. “Where is Mother?”

“In bed with a migraine.”

I refrain from rolling my eyes. More like she passed out following the bottle of wine she drank after having to endure the agony of texting me.

“I didn’t expect a visit from you today,” he says, eyeing me with suspicion.

I shrug. “I got a text from her. I came to talk.”

“Ah.” He stubs his cigar out in the black marble ashtray on his desk. A present I bought him when I was fourteen and trying to appease him for something. It doesn’t exactly surprise me that he’s hung onto it. I bet he tells visitors that his son bought it for him, making out like he’s a contender for father of the year. “Your grandfather’s will.”

“His airtight will,” I say, reminding him of Nathan’s words.

“Let’s not sully this with lawyers and paperwork, son. We’re family.”

Son? Despite everything and as much as I hate to admit it, that word still means something to me. I see right through his scheme to get me on his side, but I still bend. “What exactly did you want to discuss, Father?”

He runs his tongue along his top teeth. “Your grandmother meant for that money to go to your mother, her daughter.”

I shake my head. “That’s not what Grampa or the will says.”

“Your grandfather was a sick man. If he’d known your mother was?—”

“If he’d known she was only going to get the million she knew about, you mean? He did know that. He knew all about it. Yeah, his body was sick, but his mind was sharper than anyone else I know. Don’t you dare try and tell me he didn’t know how this would pan out.”

His right eye twitches and anger radiates from him like heat from the sun, but he keeps a lid on it. Which tells me he’s eager to keep me here and talking because any other time he wouldsimply let it rip and tell me what a constant disappointment I am to him. He clears his throat. “What could you possibly need twenty-five million dollars for, Kyngston? We could come to an agreement. A few million, even five, would set you up for life.”

“You and Mother are living in a mansion filled with her pretty stuff. What the hell do you need twenty-five million dollars for?”

His jaw works. “Will you at least consider coming to some sort of settlement, son?”

The fuck I will. But saying that would put a swift end to this conversation, and I have things I want to know. I change the subject instead. “I heard you earned the former mayor a fortune on the stock market. So work must be going well?”

My father walks the fine line between morally bankrupt and respectable enough for his services to be courted by the rich and powerful from all walks of life—city officials to drug lords. At least in his working life, he’s all about equal opportunity. It makes for as many enemies as friends, but he has enough powerful people in his debt and in his pockets to drift through life without consequence.

“It’s good. As always. It’s a shame you didn’t take the same path, Kyngston. You could have made something of yourself.”

I ignore the barb. “I like my job.”

“Oh, yes. A private investigator.” He manages to make the title sound like an insult, but I’m immune to his disdain.

“Yeah. It’s interesting. The case I’m working right now, for instance. It’s a real head-scratcher.”

He takes the bait, too curious not to. “And what is that?”

“It’s a disappearance. Cassidy Jones.”

If he recognizes her name, he doesn’t show it outwardly, but he’s always been a master at hiding his true emotions when he needs to.

“Young girl. Daddy issues. Cops seem to think she up and left to get away from him.”

His right eye twitches again. His only tell. “Yes, well, some children are ungrateful little shits like that.”

I don’t let that barb get to me either. The man taught me all of his best moves in that regard, I’ll give him that.

“Thing is, she has no history of running away. No evidence that would support her leaving and starting over somewhere else.”