Page 74 of Blind Prophet

Almost as if sensing us, his head jerks, and his eyes snap open.

I brace for his greeting, fully aware that I was never his favorite.

His gaze roams the room as if remembering where he is. After taking in the windows, the fireplace, and the fur, he zeroes in on me.

“Judith.” He sounds confused. “What are you doing here? All communications should go through my lawyers.”

“Dad, this is Caroline. You remember Caroline, right?”

CHAPTER17

DORIAN

Judith is one of my father’s ex-wives. Caroline looks nothing like her. I’ll never understand why some days he’s on his game and recognizes everyone, and others, he gets confused easily.

“Dad, do you need some water?”

The glass on the side table is empty. His hand shakes slightly as he turns, following my line of sight.

“Will they serve lunch at the board meeting? Wine? Cindy. She has it under control. Is Cindy here?”

“Dad, you don’t attend the board meetings anymore.”

I shove my hands into my pockets and watch him absorb this news. The nursing staff prefers that we tell him lies about meetings being rescheduled.

I don’t play that game. The staff’s approach is kinder, but it also exacerbates his confusion.

His gaze roams the room. “Where are the straws?”

I sit on the end of the chaise lounge across from him. He does better when I’m closer and near his height.

Why is he alone? Through the discrete camera in the corner, I know the security team is monitoring, but we have a full medical staff to ensure he’s got round-the-clock care. All of them—vetted, with top-level clearances and iron-clad NDAs—play the assisting-the-powerful-executive game. He shouldn’t be alone, but perhaps the nurse left him to sleep.

Caroline comes forward, gingerly sitting on the end of his chaise lounge, just beyond his feet.

“Mr. Moore, it’s been a long time,” she says with tenderness befitting a hospital patient.

He startles, and recognition clicks behind those fading blue irises. “Oh. She’syourex-wife. All contact should be through lawyers.”

We’re not getting divorced, Dad.

That’s what I want to say. But hell, he’s probably right, once again. He always had a knack for predicting outcomes.

“Why is she here?” Years ago, that question would’ve been shouted. Today, his voice cracks, and his unfocused gaze has me wondering yet again what he sees.

“She wanted to see you.”

“Is it Thanksgiving?”

“No, Dad. That was over a week ago. Remember?”

“You let the staff off. It was just us.” Yes, he remembers. “We used to have a room full of people at Thanksgiving. The entire board one year. In New York. Best city in the world. Now, executives live the world over, but there’s no city like New York. Sheila. She was great at spearheading events. Fantastic entertainer. The best of the best. Beautiful. A charmer. You need to find a woman like Sheila.”

Dad looks down at his lap, and his expression changes—confusion, then embarrassment. I don’t need to lift the blanket to know what has happened. If he’d agree to wear protective undergarments as recommended by his physicians, this wouldn’t be an issue.

Where the hell is the staff?

I exit his office, noting the red light on the security keypad. The room wasn’t locked. The security alarm isn’t on, but this early in the day, it wouldn’t be.

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