Page 104 of Owen

I pulled over at one of the small viewing points along the perimeter, and as I stood there looking down, my stomach flipped at the enormity of the height. An image of the sheer horror my mother and father must have endured as their car crashed down the jagged rock face came into mind.

The reality of their deaths suddenly hit me so hard, I felt like it slapped me in my face, as guilt ferociously engulfed me like a noose around a neck. My breath caught in my lungs and I felt like my chest was going to burst because regardless of their cruel parenting, nobody deserves to die the way they did.

They were human, after all. Flesh and blood.

My parents.

Now gone.

I can’t change what has happened.

And even if I did come back when they asked me to, even a miracle couldn’t have saved the business or them going under.

Driving back down to the estate, along the winding roads on the outskirts of town, I realize I don’t enjoy driving my sports car as much as I used to.

There are no raspberries being blown or inarticulate words drifting over my shoulder from the backseat because there is no backseat.

The sooner I box up my house and leave my old life behind, the better.

Camilla said she has some details about the business and estate to discuss. I think there is nothing to talk about because, quite frankly, she can have the whole lot. But I agreed to meet her here as I didn’t want to meet her anywhere near a Sanderson.

This is more of a peacekeeping exercise.

Inside the house now, I move out of the foyer and amble down the hall toward Dad’s office, where Camilla said to meet her. Humming away to myself, I’m almost pleased that this may be the last time I step foot in this godforsaken place.

My humming stops dead as I enter the room to find Richard, sitting behind my father’s desk, with his Satan son, Gideon, standing by his side, like Daddy’s good little soldier.

“Owen.” Richard gives me a curt nod as I walk further into the room. It’s only then I notice Camilla sitting as straight as a poker on the brown leather Chesterfield sofa on the far side of the fireplace.

Then the penny drops: she’s helping them. I was a fool to think her intentions were anything but good.

“Richard. Gideon.” I greet them, then nod briefly in Camilla’s direction.

Unlike those friendly and cheerful, always playful women I waved farewell to this morning, these people are more like strangers than family.

“Sit, please.” Gideon points to the chair across from the desk.

“I think you’ll find this is my fucking house and I don’t need either of you telling me where to sit.” I stare Richard down, ignoring Gideon. “And you’re sitting in my rightful place. It should bemetellingyouwhere to sit, not the other way around.” I hope my confident words sound braver than I feel. “I’ll stand.”

Gideon rubs his forefinger across his bottom lip. “You’ve got bigger balls than your father ever did.”

“I’m nothing like him,” I sneer.

“Which is a damn shame really, as we could have been a powerhouse together, all four of us.”

“I’m not a thief, nor am I cruel or corrupt. I don’t gamble, so please don’t mark me with the same branding iron as him.”

Richard’s devious laugh sounds demonic when he says, “Not a fan of Daddy dearest then, no?”

“Fuck you, Richard. What do you all want?”

Gideon steps forward, pushing a pile of paperwork across the desk. “Read.” His one-word answer has my back up.

Picking up the papers, I skim-read them impatiently. The words become a blur as I reach the final page. “Denied?”

“What you’ll see there, Owen, is a classic case of insurance fraud. Your father deliberately had the printing works set fire to with the intention of claiming on his insurance. His claim was denied.”

In disbelief that my father would stoop so low, unable to stand, I drop into the seat and stare at the report. “He was desperate,” I mumble to myself.

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