Page 43 of His Daughter

He was quiet for a moment. The eggs arrived. The waitress refilled the coffee without being asked.

"Kira left me," he said. He picked up his fork and pushed the eggs around the plate. "Lena’s birth mother… I didn’t know she was pregnant. I only found out after Lena was born. I still haven’t been able to reach her." He set the fork down. "It's strange, isn't it? You almost adopted my daughter before I knew she existed."

"It's something."

"It's insane is what it is." The crooked smile appeared. "The universe has a very aggressive sense of humor."

I smiled back. He was right.

It was utterly insane. There was also the history we had. We never spoke about it. But sometimes, when he came back from work and I was feeding Lena in the kitchen, I’d catch him looking. His blue eyes would lower, start from my feet and stop at my lips.

Just as he was doing right now.

TWELVE

DECLAN

Roland Caine sat across from me like a man who owned the table. Well, if we were being factual, it was his table.

We were in his office, on the forty-eighth floor of a building he'd purchased in 2003. Every inch of it was designed to remind you of that fact. His face was everywhere.

Julian would have a laugh when I told him about this.

"Mr. Hale." He stood when I walked in. He extended his hand. "I've been looking forward to this."

I took the hand he offered. "So have I, Caine." I unbuttoned my jacket and sat. Graham took the chair behind me and to the right. He was silent.

“So…you’ve come to talk me out of my business.”

I laughed. “On the contrary, I’ve come to show you I’m the best thing for your business. I know all about your company.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

I nodded. “I know your father ran a print shop in Queens. He had thirty-two employees. He printed church bulletins, local newsletters, and the classifieds for three different newspapers. When those newspapers folded — one in '88, two more in '91 — it took the shop with them. Bankruptcy. And that was where you came in. You were twenty-three, right?"

I didn’t wait for him to respond. I continued, "You bought your first radio station. WKRN, a little AM station in Jersey City. Borrowed every dollar. From AM radio to FM. From FM to local television. From local to cable. From cable to digital. Did I miss anything?"

He chuckled and pulled out a leather portfolio. "Not quite. Let me show you what the machine looks like today." He pushed it toward me. "It's all there — audited financials, subscriber data, platform metrics. I don't hide the numbers. I built this with my hands, and I'm proud of every digit."

I took the bound report and passed it behind me without looking. Graham took it.

"I'll have my team review the documentation. Thoroughly."

"Of course. I'd expect nothing less."

Caine shifted and talked about his company a little more, trying to hint at why he couldn’t let go easily. Then the conversation came to an end, quicker than I expected. He unbuttoned his jacket. He picked up a photograph from his desk and turned it toward me. "My wife, Evelyn." He set the photo down but kept his fingers on the frame. "She's hosting a charity gala tonight. Pediatric cancer research. Her passion project." He looked at me. "If you're serious about this acquisition, you should be there. These things aren't just parties, Declan. They're where the real conversations happen."

"I'd be happy to attend."

"Good." He leaned forward. "And, Declan, don't come alone. I'm an old-fashioned man. I like to see who a person surrounds himself with. Tell me more about them than any balance sheet." He smiled. "Bring someone. A partner. A friend. Whatever you call them these days."

The smile I gave him was the polished one. "I'll be there."

We shook hands. Graham and I walked to the elevator together. Once the doors closed, I turned to him.

"The documentation. How does it look?"

Graham adjusted his glasses. "I reviewed it while you were talking."