The Angels' Share (The Bourbon Kings #2) - J. R. Ward Page 0,73

You are upset because I failed to acknowledge the kid you had with another man?”

Oh. God. “She’s innocent in all this.”

“Innocent? FYI, that was the reading of her grandfather’s will in there, not a criminal proceeding. Guilt or the relative lack thereof is not relevant.”

“You ignored her.”

“You know …” He tapped his forefinger in her direction. “From what I understand, you’re the last person who should be accusing anyone of ignoring that girl.”

“How dare you.”

Samuel T. stared out over the long, undulating hood of the Jaguar. “Gin, I don’t have time for this. I have to go talk to your brother’s wife’s attorney right now—and that, unlike your little stamping display of—”

“You just can’t stand anyone telling you you’re not God.”

“No, I think I can’t stand you, actually. The God thing is a side issue.”

He didn’t wait for any further commentary from her. He started the engine, pumped the gas a couple of times to make sure it caught, and then he was off, following the path the executor had forged down the hill, away from Easterly.

Gin watched him go. Inside of herself, she was screaming.

About Amelia. About Samuel T. About Richard.

Mostly … about herself and all of the mistakes she had made. And the sadness that came with knowing that at the ripe old age of thirty-three, there was not enough time left in her life to right the wrongs she had wrought.

Lane went around to the back, hoping to catch Edward before he took off. Undoubtedly, his brother had come up the staff way because there had been news crews parked at the front gate since the suicide story had broken. And also, undoubtedly, Edward was in a hurry to leave considering what the will had read.

There were no words adequate for what their father had done: Cutting his firstborn out of an inheritance was at once totally in character for William, and yet a cruel surprise as well.

A final fuck you that could not be countered, the dead carrying a trump card into their grave.

So Lane wanted to … say something … or check in or … he had no idea. What he was clear on was that Edward would no doubt not be interested in anything he had to say, but on occasion, you just had to try—in the hopes that the other person, in a quiet moment of reflection, might remember that you had made the effort even if it was awkward.

There was no Red & Black truck in the short line up of cars by the business center, but Lane did find an old Toyota parked next to the red Mercedes he’d given Miss Aurora. Had to be what Edward had come in, but his brother wasn’t behind the wheel, wasn’t limping in its direction. Wasn’t anywhere to be found, actually.

Ducking in the rear door to the kitchen, Lane found Miss Aurora at the stove. “Have you seen Edward?”

“Is he here?” she asked as she turned around from her pot. “You tell him to come see me if he’s here.”

“I don’t know where he is.”

Lane made a quick survey around the first floor and then paused at the stairs. There was no reason for his brother to bother with the effort of going up to the bedrooms.

“Where are you?” he said to himself.

Heading out into the gardens, he went across to the business center. All of the French doors were locked on the side that faced the flowers, and he had to go further around to the rear entrance with its coded lock.

As soon as he was inside, he knew he’d found Edward: There were overhead lights on again—so his brother must have turned the electricity back on.

“Edward?”

Lane walked down the carpeted hall, glancing into empty offices. His phone had been blowing up with calls from the board chair, each one of the pissed-off senior vice presidents, and even the corporate lawyer. But not one of them had dared come to Easterly, and that told him he had something on them. And even if that bunch of suits was busy disappearing evidence from downtown headquarters? It didn’t matter. Jeff might dislike him at the moment, but that anal retentive numbers cruncher had saved files of everything that had been in the network before the whistle had gotten blown.

So any changes were just as incriminating as the malfeasance that had required a cover-up.

As Lane proceeded to his father’s office, he was aware his heart was pounding and that his mind had retreated behind a wall