Page 102 of Blind Prophet

“But he looked out for you?”

He raises a shoulder, and the movement exposes a glint of his gold Rolex. “I’ve done well.”

“Of course, he did well,” Dad says. “Moore blood. And I looked out for him. Pushed him. Pushed both of you.”

There’s clear pride in his tone, pride that, at least with me, he doesn’t deserve. Gloria Hawkins raised me. She put up with unreasonable demands from my father to remain in my life.

A sense of unease sets in. “Do I know your mother?”

Please tell me it’s not Gloria. How old is Gloria? Would the math even work?

“You never met her. He insisted she keep her distance. The same way he kept your mother away.”

My mother left us, but maybe Geoffrey’s mother left Dad, too. His wives always left him, eventually.

A vision of Caroline flashes.Like father, like son.

There’s a knock on the door, and the weekend help files in.

A woman dressed in leggings and a zippered sweatshirt, presumably his personal trainer, asks, “Mr. Moore, do you think you might be up for a walk before bedtime?”

“It snowed,” he says.

“We won’t go outside. We’ll walk around the indoor pool. Or, if you’d like, you can swim.”

She looks to us for direction.

“Since he’s up, some movement would be good. He’ll sleep better,” I say, standing and backing away, giving her the all-clear.

She helps him up, and he slowly shuffles out of the room, back hunched slightly, his hand on the nurse’s arm for balance.

Geoffrey moves to the desk, opens the briefcase he always carries, and gathers his things.

Now it makes sense. Geoffrey’s always around, even on the weekends, because he’s watching out for his ailing father. I’d thought he was always trailing Dad because it’s what Dad expected from his employee, or because maybe he aimed for inclusion in Dad’s will. But no, they’ve been functioning as father and son.

“If you’d told me?—”

“NDA,” Geoffrey snaps.

“Should we… Do you want to…get dinner sometime?”

Geoffrey cocks his head. The light reflects off his spectacles.

“There’s no need to force a relationship where one doesn’t exist.”

Right.

“Did you shift to a conservative mix?” he asks.

“My investment strategy?”Is he really going there?“I’m covered.”

I’m on the fucking board of one of the world’s largest financial investment firms and, together with my father, own a majority stake. I have the world’s brightest geniuses managing my portfolios. That’s really what he wants to ask me about?

He gives a curt nod and moves to leave.

“Geoffrey—”

“This changes nothing between us. I could be your father. We’re too old to feign closeness.”

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