Page 114 of Sins of the Father

“Yep. And sorry about the other night. I can bring her over this weekend if you want.”

“Please do.”

“Hi, Beth. You look gorgeous,” Harper says.

My mom nods. “You, too, dear.” She leans in and kisses Harper on the cheek then turns back to me. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I don’t want to be here. Dudmeyer required me to attend. And Maximillion called me again today and said I’m going to head his finances for the campaign.”

The color in my mother’s face drains. “I told him to leave you alone.”

I snort. “Guess there’re two of us he can’t do that with.”

Her eyes nervously glance at Harper then return to me.

“She knows,” I say.

Shame and betrayal pass through my mother’s face. It catches me off guard. I wasn’t trying to hurt her, but I did.

In thirty-five years, I’ve never disclosed my mother and Maximillion’s relationship to anyone. Quinn’s closest friends were sworn never to tell a soul. Jamison knew. But I’ve always been the keeper of her secrets. I didn’t even tell Quinn when I first found out. She discovered it all on her own.

A bell chimes and my mother stands straighter. “I have to go. Do not let him pressure you into anything.”

“You don’t have to worry about that, but we’re talking this weekend. Whatever you’re involved in, you need to tell me.”

“I’m not involved in anything.”

“Fine, whatever you know then, Mom.”

“Drop it, Steven.”

She turns to Harper. “You really do look lovely. I’d like to see Hope this weekend.”

“You can see her anytime. I promise I’m not holding her hostage,” Harper chirps.

My mom’s face brightens. “Thanks.”

“Of course.”

She gives me a final glance, but I can’t understand what her expression means. All it does is make my stomach pitch.

I have a nagging feeling Maximillion got my mom involved in something terrible. It’s been gnawing at me since the weekend, and I fear for her.

Harper links arms with me. “Let’s get a drink.”

We go into the main room. It’s set for over one thousand people. The biggest names in Chicago are here. Executives from major companies, some entertainment industry natives of the city, politicians, nonprofit leaders, and the wealthiest of the area’s top families. They are all here in their best attire, drinking champagne, wearing fake smiles while in trivial conversations. The room has round tables that seat ten. Red, white, and blue decorates the room in a soft glow, but it’s nothing like what you’d see at a Fourth of July or Memorial Day picnic. Hundreds of thousands of dollars have been spent on lavish centerpieces, several-hundred-dollars-per-person meals, and musicians who will perform live.

It all adds to my disgust.

The waitress stops to offer us champagne, and I take two, then hand one to Harper. We engage in several boring conversations with people who suddenly want to speak to me only due to my sudden fame.

They’re so dull, they make me look exciting.

Harper is polite and adds to the discussion but also has a charismatic way of moving us in and out of the groups of people.

It only makes me admire her more.

After so much torture, I murmur in her ear, “Want to sit down and end this charade?”

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