I was no longer in control of my actions. The decisions I was making were based solely off my raging emotions. I spent all night placing the final pieces in their proper places that connected all the dots I couldn’t connect before. I ignored every single phone call from my former boss as I drove to the massive building I’d been summoned to.
I knew my cowardly excuse for a boss wasn’t going to bring it up with Mr. Kent, but I would.
I requested a meeting with Mr. Kent at the gates and told the woman who I was. I stormed past her and shoved my way into the elevator before anyone could stop me. My hands were fidgeting as I rode all the way up to the penthouse floor, my mind at a standstill for the first time since I’d taken this case. I knew what had happened, and I was going to let Mr. Kent know that his plan didn’t go unnoticed.
His brow furrowed when he saw me. “Miss Conwell, to what do I owe this pleasure?”
“You can save it,” I said coolly. “All I want to know is why.”
“Why, what, Miss Conwell?”
“I know who you are,” I said.
“Yes, we’ve met before and talked on several occasions,” Mr. Kent said.
“Don’t play coy. You won’t like me if you play coy.”
I held his gaze, and I noticed the light twitch in his brow. His facade was good, I would give him that. It had me swayed for the longest time before I got to know Zach. His son. The young boy he’d manipulated and abused for the majority of his life. Once I became emotionally invested in this case, I saw right through his disgusting little act.
“Miss Conwell, why are you here?” Mr. Kent asked. “I’ve already paid for your services.”
“I’m here to tell you that I figured it out,” I said.
“I know. You gave me the information I needed to track down the thief.”
“No,” I said. “I figured out who you are and why you were so interested in Zach Harte.”
I watched his brow twitch again as I took a step toward the man sitting at his desk.
“You’re a control freak. You thrive on giving orders and punishing people when they aren’t followed. You bow to no one, and you don’t care about who you run over in order to get the success you figure you’re afforded. At one point in time, people would’ve called you a decent man, an honest, hardworking individual with a beautiful wife who was blossoming with pregnant life.”
“Don’t you dare talk about Melissa,” Mr. Kent said.
“And then you got greedy. Melissa was the fun little trophy wife you had at your side when you attended functions, parties, and end of the year celebrations, but when she had Zach, she changed, didn’t she?”
“Get the hell out of my office.”
“She changed when she had your son,” I said. “Zachary Malachai Laine. Only he changed his name when he turned eighteen. To Zachary Harte. After his mother’s maiden name.”
I could see the anger flaring in his eyes.
“I’ve seen the hospital reports. I know about the abuse. I know how Melissa died, and I know exactly who Zach blames for that death. I know about the demons she was haunted with and the nightmares she suffered at your hands because you were too hellbent on finding success to recognize the fissures occurring in your family.”
“You know nothing about my family,” Mr. Kent said, banging his fist on the desk.
“I’ve seen her gravesite,” I said plainly. “Where Zach had her buried after she committed suicide.”
I saw his forehead twitch again.
“You’ve been there?” he asked.
“Yes, with your son,” I said. “She’s buried with your last name on her headstone. You wanna know why I figure that was?”
He stayed silent, but I could tell I had his full attention.
“I know when a broken family is trying to reach out for each other. I have a feeling that the information Zach has on his computer about you and your company is his way of trying to connect with his father, the father he remembered before you turned into a raging drunk.”
“He’s my son. All I wanted to do was check up on him and make sure he was okay.”
“By painting him as a criminal,” I said. “Answer me this. Did you start drinking because of the pressures of being a father, the pressures of being a businessman, or because you didn’t understand how to balance the two?”
I watched Mr. Kent clench his jaw as he debated what to say to me next.
“I’m not the man I was back then,” he said. “Not anymore.”
“No, you’re not. You’re obviously sober, but your anger is still there. Your need for control is apparent in every facet of this company, from the wrought iron gates and the intercom out front, all the way to the man in the elevator. You control, and when you feel you can’t control others, you dangle what they want most in front of them to get them to respond.”
“I do not,” he said.
“You did it with me during our first meeting. When you dangled that manila envelope in front of me. Taunting me with information just to get me into your office. You were sizing me up, Mr. Kent. What you didn’t realize was that I was sizing you up, too.”
He got to his feet, and I began backtracking toward the elevator. I wasn’t stupid. I knew if he lunged at me he would be able to knock me off my feet. If his anger got the best of him and he leapt at me, he could pin me down and I wouldn’t stand a chance.
No use in risking anything else to make sure this man knew I understood.
“Just to let you know, my former boss has all this information,” I said. “Just in case it should come in handy for anything later on. And as far as Zach goes, the fact that you would brand your own son a criminal just to have someone check up on him tells me two things.”
“And what two things are those?” Mr. Kent asked.
“One, that you have no desire to actually reach out to Zach. You only have a desire to have information on him. And two, you drank because you couldn’t stand the pressures of being a father.”
“How the hell could you possibly come to that conclusion?” he asked.
“Look at where we’re standing,” I said. “When it came down to being a good businessman, being a good father, or fusing the two, you chose.”
I watched Mr. Kent look around his opulent office before his eyes settled back onto me.
“Your son turned out to be nothing like you,” I said as the elevator doors opened. “Be thankful for that.”
“I am,” he said. “Trust me.”
His words took me aback, and I snapped my head around to look at him. Gone was the pompous and sophisticated Mr. Kent, and in his place was a crumbled, broken old man. Lines I hadn’t seen before appeared upon his cheeks and underneath his eyes, and I watched him age an entire decade right in front of me.
Then I saw something completely unexpected. I saw Mr. Kent wipe a tear away from his eye.
“Get out,” he said.
“Mr. Kent, if you want to reach out to your son—”
“I said, get out.”
“He has that information on his computer for a reason.”
“If I have to throw you out, I will ban you from this property, Miss Conwell. Do not think for one second that my payment for your services is not refundable.”
There was that control again. I snickered and shook my head. I took one last look at Mr. Kent before I stepped in the elevator, and I watched him long enough to see him heave his shoulders.
Then the doors closed, and I left Mr. Kent to his thoughts.