Kingdom Fall
“Mom.”
“Elizabeth,” she said, which threw me off.
“Is something wrong?”
“I got the strangest call earlier today.”
I didn’t like the sound of that.
“The person on the other end asked if I had a son. I didn’t think anything of it and said yes. Then he asked what he did. When I told him it was none of his business, he asked if I had a daughter. I told him my son the lawyer would sue them for harassment if they called back.”
“You lied?”
“Of course I did. But I’ve called Matt several times and he hasn’t returned my call. I was just about to call you.”
“I’m fine. I’m sure it’s nothing.” But I knew better. “Let me see if I can get Matty on the phone.” We ended the call about the same time Striker walked over. In a hushed tone, I asked, “How is he?”
“Still in recovery. She wouldn’t tell me more than that. She said she’d page the doctor to come speak to me. We’re to wait in the private waiting room.”
“Private waiting room?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“Yeah, Dad donates to this hospital.”
Of course he did. I nodded because being snarky right now wasn’t a good idea. We took the elevator up to a quiet floor with less hustle and bustle. Things were certainly private—Striker had to enter a code on a keypad to get us into the waiting room. The nurse must have given him the number. As soon as we entered, his phone rang.
“Yeah. Is it done?” he said into the receiver.
I couldn’t hear what the other person said.
“Good. Do I need to sign anything?” He listened. “Good.”
When he ended the call, I asked, “Who was that?”
“That was my lawyer.”
“Oh.” I sat back. I didn’t want to protest because I’d been the one who had said that once we were back in New York, I wanted out of the marriage.
He eyes were steady on mine when he said, “I bought the island.”
“What?”
“It was compromised. I had to un-compromise it and my relationship with the previous owners. So I bought it, or rather the organization Mr. Black owns did.”
“Mr. Black?” I couldn’t seem to say more than two words. I hadn’t exactly grown up poor, but my parents couldn’t buy an island on the fly.
“He made a few purchases. He’s also a proud owner of a Lexus 350 yacht.”
“You bought the boat?”
“Seeing as I wasn’t able to return it, it felt like the right thing to do.”
“So you bought a yacht and an island that quickly?”
“Not today. I started the process when we landed in Ireland.”
He hadn’t moved and neither had I. Nor did I speak.
Striker said, “I know you don’t like rich guys.”
Not thinking, I blurted, “They get away with murder.”
“I’m not that guy.”
“And yet you bought a freakin’ island like that.” I snapped my fingers.
“Only because I endangered the person who did me that favor. Is this going to be a problem?”
I stood because I needed space. “I mean, I get it. I should be thanking you. This is all my fault, or my brother’s. Either way, it isn’t yours. But damn. You own an island. You grew up with parents who lived in a twenty-thousand-foot mansion a block from Central Park.”
“A half of a block. And I could live without the money. It hasn’t done me many favors in my life.”
Debatable, I thought. “Let’s not talk about this. You are who you are. Not like you had a choice of parents. We’re here for your father. That’s all that matters right now.”
He held out a hand, and I went to him.
“Thanks for being here,” he said and kissed my knuckles. “You didn’t have to after everything.”
If he meant when he broke up with me, then yeah. But if we tallied the score on things we’d said and done to each other, we’d come up even.
I bent and kissed him. He cupped my face and drew me nearer. I might have crawled in his lap if not for the door opening.
“Mr. King.”
I shot upright, feeling the sting of embarrassment paint my cheeks. Not wanting to look ridiculous, I sat down slower and took Striker’s hand.
The doctor introduced himself and gave Striker a rundown of the surgery. I wasn’t a doctor and didn’t understand all of the terms. Like laser angioplasty, which they’d apparently tried before but it hadn’t been effective. Now they had to do a triple coronary artery bypass graft. It could take six weeks for him to completely recover before he did the simplest of tasks, like driving. If his father didn’t take his medication and change his diet, stress, and activity level, he’d risk having a stroke.
“When can I see him?” Striker asked.
“He’s being moved to a private room on this floor. Once he’s there, I can give you the okay for a very short visit. Then I would suggest you go home and come back tomorrow. Though I must insist that his stress level remain low at all times.”