“When will I get to meet your Becka?”
The words pierced Beckett. Your Becka. But she wouldn’t be, not really. The sooner his father understood that and the sooner that Beckett could take care of all the legal aspects, the better off he would be.
He pulled away from his father and stood. “It’s not likely that you will meet her.”
“What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I meet your daughter?”
“I’m signing away custody to the girl’s aunt. I have no desire to raise a child. But it is an heir, Papa. I read the contract. She fits the description, which means I will control VDKI and fulfill your requirements. Everyone wins.”
His voice held a bitterness that ran deeper than Beckett realized. Was he angry with his father for putting him in this situation? Or with himself for his past actions that had led him to this point, where he had a child with a now-dead woman who had meant little to him? His life felt like it had lost its firm center and was an unsteady mess. He needed to get his balance back and quickly.
Sander stood stunned. Beckett shrugged off his father’s hand and left the conference room, wishing that having the last word felt as good as he had imagined it would.