His grandfather turned grey, but Dare refused to give a damn. If he wanted forgiveness he was barking up the wrong tree with him.
Finally Benson levered himself out of his chair and pulled an envelope out of his desk drawer.
Handing it to Dare, he sat down to wait. ‘Read it,’ he urged when Dare just stared at it. The postmark was Australia, where they had lived until Dare was six, at which time they had moved to America.
Knowing he wasn’t going to like what was inside, he skimmed his father’s handwriting, wincing internally at the shockingly angry letter that would have had the Pope thinking twice before reaching out again.
Then he saw the signature and swore; his startled gaze caught Benson’s remote one. ‘My mother didn’t write this.’
‘I know,’ Benson said as if in pain. ‘Now. I know that now. When I received it twenty-seven years ago I was too proud to question it. And to my shame, I never tried again.’ Silence filled the room as Dare stared at the nasty letter.
‘And now you’re dying and want to put everything right.’
‘It’s not exactly like that. Three months ago, before I knew my breathing issues were more serious than old age, I saw a photograph in a doctor’s surgery. It was some society event in New York and I recognised Rachel straight away. I don’t expect you to understand but after seeing her face again...nothing else mattered.’
Dare didn’t say anything while he worked through what he’d just discovered. He couldn’t imagine how he would respond if he had been in the same situation. Maybe he’d have done the same thing...
‘Does my mother know about this letter?’
Benson shook his head. ‘I haven’t shown her yet.’
‘Don’t,’ Dare decided. ‘My father spun so many stories when I was younger I spent most of my youth believing he was a secret-service operative. He used to confide in me and tell me my mother didn’t understand and it wasn’t until his death that I realised he was just a low-level conman with stars in his eyes.’ Dare sighed and handed the letter back. ‘And fortunately for you my mother won’t need to see this to forgive you.’
‘Unlike you.’
‘Yeah, unlike me.’ Though right now he couldn’t say how he felt.
His grandfather sighed. ‘A chip off the old block.’
Dare’s eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘That’s the second time you’ve accused me of being like my father.’
‘Actually, I was thinking that you reminded me of myself.’ He pulled a face. ‘Bitterness burrows deep, Dare, like a tick, and eats away at you slowly, just like a parasite.’
‘I have a great life. Nothing to be bitter about.’
‘Yes, you’ve done well for yourself. It interests me that your company is a brokerage firm.’
‘More hedge fund,’ Dare corrected. ‘I raise capital nowadays rather than trade stocks.’
‘Capital you can use to buy companies to disband, perhaps?’
Dare shrugged. ‘If the company warrants it. Not all companies can be turned around.’
‘What about BG Textiles?’
‘What about it?’
‘We’re experiencing some trouble.’
‘So I’ve heard.’
‘Heard, or helped create?’
Dare’s eyes narrowed. ‘What are you implying?’
Benson sighed. ‘If I might borrow some of your directness, someone is stalking my company. Is it you?’
Dare laughed. ‘Why would I want your company?’
‘Perhaps to seek vengeance for the past.’
‘If you were any younger, I’d deck you.’
‘It would be a nice addition to your portfolio,’ Benson persisted. ‘And you did expand into the UK this year.’
‘I opened an office in the UK because of opportunity, not vengeance. In fact I’d forgotten I even had European relatives until you contacted my mother. Whoever is after BG Textiles, it isn’t me.’
Benson took a moment before nodding. ‘I believe you.’
‘I don’t lie.’
‘I get that. And to be honest I doubted you were the type who would work behind the scenes to bring the share price down, but I had to ask.’