Page 77 of Blind Prophet

“You didn’t divorce her.”

“Dad?”

“She’s no good for you. She’s not the right choice.”

“Dad. Let’s sit.” I meet the nurse’s gaze. “Drink some tea.”

“I’ll cut you from my will. You don’t believe me, but I will. Don’t let her make a fool of you.”

That’s a threat from the past. One he tossed around with regularity. Today, it’s meaningless. I’m wealthy in my own right. I don’t care about his will, although it’s likely, as his only child, I’m his sole beneficiary.

“Geoffrey agrees. She needs to go.”

Geoffrey and I agree about my father’s care. We agreed long ago that Geoffrey would agree with any nonsensical rant he spews, but he would act as a prudent financial advisor and run any significant changes by me. Geoffrey encouraged me to seek a conservatorship so I would have legal standing over Dad’s businesses. I have authorized our legal team to proceed down that path, but I haven’t pushed them to speed it along. I have a healthcare directive, and that feels sufficient. There’s a more significant legal concern regarding his board seat, but as I told Caroline, many on the board are his friends. Forcing a member off the board is distasteful and reeks of disloyalty.

“Dad.” I adopt a stern, calm tone, one I’ve found to be effective. “Caroline is the best thing that ever happened to me.” My gaze drifts from my father to the woman I aim to win back. “Letting her walk away was the biggest mistake of my life. She’ll always be welcome in my home because I love her. I never stopped loving her.”

There. That’s what I should’ve said years ago.

The ice from earlier melts in Caroline’s irises, shifting to shimmering pools. She and I have so much to talk through.

Dad opens his mouth to speak. Whether he loses track of his thought or needs water, I’m not sure, but I push forward, speaking for Caroline’s benefit.

“You’re a talented, intelligent man, but your track record for picking wives is appalling. And when it comes to Caroline, you’re dead wrong.”

The nurse drops a straw into a cup for my father and offers it to him. She holds it for him with a patience I do not possess.

“Thank you,” I tell her.

She nods.

“We’ve got him,” she says. “Before, he was napping. We were just down the hall.”

I hold up a hand and offer a congenial smile. I’ll mention the incident to the house manager. She handles the staff and can process the performance feedback through the appropriate channels.

I take Caroline’s slender, chilled hand in mine, and we leave my father’s office side by side. I don’t glance backward, as it’s best if we leave quietly. The nursing staff will manage him for the rest of the afternoon. If he gets too worked up, they’ll sedate him.

We return to the electric Garia luxury cart—one of several vehicles stationed around the compound. The regular Mercedes convoy seems excessive for on-property travel, though I note Jenkins, head of security, watching from his discreet position near the garage. That’s one of the problems with Dad’s numerous staff. Someone’s always watching or listening.

It’s not until I engage the cart’s reverse that Caroline speaks.

“Did you mean that?”

“I’m not one to say things I don’t mean.” I press the accelerator forward.

She’s silent as we whip along the path.

Fuck. That sounded harsh.

“I’m not good at these things,” I admit. My statement catches her attention. “But yes, I meant it.”

“You said Geoffrey moved to be near your father?”

That’s not where I expected her to take this conversation.

“Yes. Like I told you, he’s my father’s financial advisor. He’s…” I take a minute to consider how best to describe Geoffrey. “He’s semi-retired. Dad’s his only client. They’re close friends. Moving out here was partially his idea. He saw Dad struggling. Getting frustrated when his memory started slipping. Confusing words. Events. People.” She witnessed that herself. “I don’t know that Geoffrey loved the city. The move was probably a welcome change.”

“Is he close to your father’s age?”

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