Page 142 of Blind Prophet

“It’s a safety precaution,” Geoffrey says.

He wants privacy. The man holding a gun on me is trusted to kill me, but not to hear Geoffrey’s threats.

I slip the headset on, and Geoffrey’s voice continues. Which means he’s watching from somewhere. There’s a video feed to this room.

“Seven years and you never divorced her.” His voice carries a note of genuine curiosity. “I had theories, of course. Never imagined she’d become the perfect asset.”

“What do you want with her?”

“Isn’t it obvious? She’s collateral. Money isn’t sufficient incentive when someone has more money than he can spend in a lifetime. Am I right?”

My hands clench at my sides. The headset suddenly feels too tight, the leather sticky. Each word from Geoffrey slides like a blade between my ribs, the pain so terrible it awakens terror. He’s found my one true vulnerability.

“What do you want?”

This situation is why the loved ones of any powerful or influential person need security.

“I want you to listen.”

The man with the suit has backed up to the door. I’m not sure if he’s giving me the semblance of privacy or listening for activity on the other side.

“I’m listening,” I say.

“I doubt it,” Geoffrey says in that same ingratiating tone he uses when counseling me. “You spent your life blind and deaf to everything going on around you. You blindly pledged your allegiance to our father while he held you at arm’s length. Never questioned if all he told you about your mother might be inaccurate. Never sought her out. You assumed the worst in the woman while never questioning the man. A man who, time and time again, cut business deals that favored him, bulldozed laws, a man whose sole purpose was to build a legacy in name and fortune. And you worshiped at his feet.”

“You sound angry.”

“Do I?” Silence follows Geoffrey’s question, as if he’s giving the question merit.

I circle the room, pacing, passing the one exit and the man with a gun.

“Anger is not an emotion I feel. You know, I’ve spent a lifetime watching you from afar.”

I wish I could say the same. I haven’t paid nearly enough attention to Geoffrey. He was just one of many circling Dad’s orbit. At least until Dad’s gravitational force weakened, and I moved him to Colorado permanently, all to protect his integrity and reputation.

“I also watched our mothers. Of course, my mother raised me. She loved me. But I was curious. I wondered if our father treated our mothers equally. If you’re curious, he gave millions more to my mother. She was a bigger threat. He couldn’t bear to let the world discover his penchant for prostitutes. Interestingly, the adultery claims never bothered him.”

“They wouldn’t,” I hear myself say. “It bothered him endlessly that I didn’t follow in his footsteps.”

The press speculated about my faithfulness. Caroline’s, too. We did our best to ignore the lies, but we wouldn’t be human if, at times, doubt didn’t fester. But I was faithful until long after the day she packed her bags.

“He believed you were too soft. He was right.”

What about Geoffrey? How closely did he follow in our father’s footsteps?

“Did you marry?”

“You really know nothing about me, do you? You trusted me with our father, let me spend more time with him than anyone else, and yet you know so little about me.”

“I grew up trusting you. I don’t recall a time without your presence.”

This fact won’t win him over. But it’s the truth. I didn’t give him my portfolio to manage because I saw him as an extension of my father, and I wanted my independence.

“You shouldn’t blindly trust anyone, Dorian,” he says, still using the too-familiar tone that I hate. The one that conveys he’s wiser.

Why is he doing this? Is this personal, or is our relationship immaterial?

“Was your mother Russian?” That’s one theory, that she raised him to do this.

---