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"You know, Griffin," I begin, walking deeper into his study. The room is still imposing, all these years later. I became a made man in this room, a sworn part of the Empire. "It's funny you should bring up the pennies Mum left me. I remember it being hundreds of millions."
"What would you know about her will?" he snaps. "You were a petulant, annoying little boy when she died. You still are."
"It's just that the Kellers are so rich," I continue. "Actuallyrich, I mean. They had money before they went into crime. Generations of it. Old money shit. You never did." I pin him with a harsh gaze. "Isn't that why you married her in the first place?"
He bristles a bit. "What the fuck are you on about?"
"That's what you always said, wasn't it? Mum was your trophy." I grind my teeth. "I figured you meant because of her beauty, but now I know that it’s because she was from a wealthy family. Her money built the Empire."
"Your mum and I had a partnership," he says. "We shared the same goals. That's what marriage is about, you bellend. Advancing shared interests."
I'm clenching my hands into fists inside my pockets.
"Really? Because some parts of your story don't make sense to me."
I don't even give him the chance to interject.
I've been stewing on this for a while.
I need to get it all off my chest.
"Like the part where she had been planning to divorce you—and take all her money with her before she died."
There's a crack in his facade now.
His jaw goes slack in disbelief.
I let him ruminate on that while I pace the length of the room, ending up beside one of the windows that look out onto the yard. Conveniently, this room has a view of the greenhouse.
I fold my arms behind my back.
"I think you overplayed your hand, Griffin," I say after a long moment, finally turning to him. "You crossed a line when you approached Alize at the party. You put your hands on her." My anger flares, memories of what I saw on the CCTV footage flashing in my mind. "And then you took her fucking gun so she couldn't defend herself when she most needed to. Almost as if you knew she was going to be attacked.”
He laughs like I told a joke.
"That's what this is about?" He stands suddenly, putting his palms flat on the desk. "That bitch has you wrapped around her finger, and for what? I would—"
"You would rather die than have her taint our family tree? Yes, I know. She told me everything that you said." It's taking all my self-control not to fly off the handle. Not yet, at least. "She thought you were being racist. But that's not how you raised me, as horrible as you are. I was confused about why you would say that."
"Get out of my study," Griffin says. "Now!"
I don't move an inch.
"I will leave you alone, if you can just answer a question for me." I can tell that my father is on the edge of losing his cool. He could have Ben and a few other guards here in a second. "Did you hire Michel Moreau to kill Mum?"
Griffin Duke looks like a deer caught in headlights.
He bares his teeth. "You delusional motherfucking—"
"You didn't destroy all her journals like you thought," I cut him off. "I found one of them in the floorboards of her old room. And ironically, it's filled with everything that I thought you wanted to get rid of when you destroyed all her stuff."
It's at that moment he seems to realise where the conversation's heading.
But he's old and fucking slow.
I get my gun out before he can get his.
The thrill surging through my veins is unmatched. There's a small, tiny part of my brain that wonders if I should feel bad about this–pointing a gun at my father. But the memories of how he treated Mum, of how he's treated me, of how he's treated Alize burn those concerns to ashes.
