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“It’s not.” Paul unclipped his leather binder and retrieved a file. “It’s a small tech company.”
I felt the pit in my stomach rise to my throat. What was my dad doing in tech?
“This is what I have? A tech company?”
“You still have all the other properties, but you no longer own a majority in any of them. Kennedy Martin does.”
“Stop saying her name.” I waved my hand in the air.
“Well, most people do call her queen of the Crescent City.”
I stared at him. “I didn’t need that.”
“Sorry. It’s been a long few days.”
“Why don’t you go home. I’ll read these and we’ll meet again after the funeral service.”
“Yes, sir.” Paul rose to his feet.
I was about to correct him. My father was the sir. But he was gone. I was the head of the Corbans. “Good night, Paul. Thank you.”
“I’ll see you at the church in the morning.”
I leaned into the chair, prepared for a moment alone when my mother walked into the study.
“You’re done with your meeting.”
I looked up from the statement on the tech company. “Yes.”
She looked happier. Lighter. She carried a glass of wine with her. “Your father would be pleased to see you sitting there.” It wasn’t sentimental the way she said it. Just a matter of observation.
“Maybe.” I kicked away from the desk and stood. “I thought you had gone to bed.”
“I changed my mind.” The glass dangled in her hand. I wondered how many she’d had. “It’s strange upstairs.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t thought about her sleeping in the room she shared with my father. “Why don’t you move across the hall? We could have that taken care of for you tomorrow.”
She shuddered. “What? You think I’m afraid of your father’s ghost or something?”
I eyed her. My mother, Felicia Corban, an anomaly to all mothers. Graceful and beautiful. But cold and unaffectionate where her children were concerned. Her moods were hard to read. Her thoughts even harder.
“I have no idea. It would be understandable.”
“We haven’t slept together in years.” She sank onto the small loveseat. “We haven’t shared a bed, much less a room. Your father’s ghost can try to haunt me all the fuck he wants.”
She was drunk. I had to listen closely for the way she began to slur the end of her words.
“Mother, why don’t I get one of the maids to help you to your room?” I realized I didn’t know where that was. I didn’t know shit about my family. My parents hadn’t shared a room in years? What the fuck? It was bombshell after bombshell tonight. I didn’t want to know more. I couldn’t.
Maybe the light in all of this was Seraphina. She and Brandon were expecting a baby. They had their own house now and were out from under the Castilles’ roof. She was the only sane one left.
“Did Paul tell you about her?” she carried on.
“About who?”
“You know who,” she hissed. “That whore you used to follow around with puppy dog eyes.”
I grimaced. “Kennedy.”
