Page 111 of Blind Prophet

I sent her the list of employees, everyone with access to my father’s office. She’ll investigate, but it won’t go anywhere. If these events are coordinated, it’s not being done by someone serving as an employee or advisor. No, only someone with a narcissistic personality and alpha drive could plan to destabilize the free world, and that personality wouldn’t survive serving others.

Our syndicate was filled with the kinds of personalities that conceivably could play Prophet. Nick floated that word a few times, implying my father wanted to play that role. Someone so powerful they could see the future, which of course, in the modern world, means mold the future as one planned. I don’t believe it’s any of the men in our group. We all wanted market stability. Were we willing to play in the sandbox with criminal organizations and bend a few rules? Certainly. But destabilization is directly counter to market stability.

She’s way off. Both on my father’s employees and on the syndicate. But I’ll let her discover that on her own. I once treated her as if her job didn’t matter, and I won’t make that mistake again. This time around, I’m going to support her. Although, I can’t say that I love that she’s working for the Sullivans. She may not believe that an investor plays an active role, but if an investor wishes to play an active role, he does. And I’m not certain those brothers are trustworthy. I’ll have to touch base with Nick. He’s still searching for the person who put a hit out on him, and like everyone else, I’m sure he still believes it’s conceivable I’m guilty. But I wonder…what does he think of these Sullivan brothers?

He’s the one who told me to keep Caroline here, to keep her safe. What does he know?

Caroline closes her laptop and announces that it’s time.

Resigned to her departure, I wheel her luggage to the door, leading her to the outside. As if underscoring how much has changed since she arrived, instead of an unseasonably warm fall day, the temperatures shifted with a brutal cold front, and snow covers the leaves from yesterday.

Given it’s cold, I set her luggage in the SUV, opting for warmth over the golf cart experience. She closes the door as I crank the heat. There’s a deadness in the air that I can’t shake. There are no similarities to when she left me last time, yet I feel like I’ve done this before. Back then, she hailed a yellow taxi, and I watched her drive away from the dining room window and later through the security video. Back then, it had meant the end of our marriage.

She taps away on her phone as I reverse out of the garage, creating fresh tracks in the freshly fallen snow. After she leaves, I’ll call Nick. His guys might be better positioned to monitor darker trades, those done through multiple shell accounts to avoid detection. If it’s an individual, a group, or a country doing this, for certain, they’ve positioned their holdings to benefit. That’s what we should be searching for. In every downturn, someone benefits. And you had better believe if the downturn is planned, the planner will benefit.

“How was your father?” The question sounds like small talk meant to fill the silence.

The younger version of myself would have answered fine and left it there. But…I’m not that same person. “He’s the same. I learned something while I was there, actually.”

I could’ve told her last night, but I needed to clear her name, and then she suggested the bedroom and nothing else felt relevant. I loved holding her in my arms as our conversation waned and she slipped into sleep.

“What?” She flips her phone on her lap, screen side down, giving me her full attention, at least until we’re at the gate.

“I’ve got a brother.”

“What?”

I half-laugh at her incredulous expression, a perfect mirror to my reaction.

“Yeah. I mean, he’s like twenty years older. Different mothers, obviously. But I’ve known him my whole life. Dad had him sign an NDA. Can you believe that?”

The guardhouse and gate come into view, and I lighten the pressure on the accelerator to slow her departure.

“Who is it?”

“Geoffrey Cromwell.”

“His financial advisor?”

“The one and only. He knows you. I assume he was at our wedding.”

“He’s the man I saw from the helicopter. He was talking on the phone. I didn’t get a good look at him. Does he look anything like you? Is there a family resemblance?”

“No.” It’s funny she thinks about things like that. It never crossed my mind. “I assume he looks like his mother.” I refrain from sharing that his mother was a prostitute. That feels like private, irrelevant information. “Of course, he’s mostly grey now, in his sixties, so I’m guessing it would be hard to see any family resemblance on either side.”

“When did you find this out?”

“Yesterday. Dad wasn’t doing well. That’s why I went over.” That, and because I needed to calm down, but there’s no point in rehashing that. “Geoffrey was in the room with him. Dad rambled in that way he does. Incoherent thoughts. But he mentioned both his sons being in the same room.” I lift a shoulder—half-shrugging, half-steering the car. There’s not much to share. “We talked. He said he never said anything because of an NDA.” I release my frustration with a sigh. “Dad loves his NDAs.”

“How’d you take it?”

I come to a stop in front of the guardhouse. A uniformed man I don’t recognize steps outside, and I wave him away, signaling I want more time.

“Did you get angry?”

That’s what she would assume.“I offered to go to dinner with him. Get to know him.”

“But you said you’ve known him for decades.”

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