Chapter 10
Grant
Grant had been dozing when the door to his suite had slammed open. He was immediately awake. He reached for his rifle and then realized he didn’t have it. Operating on autopilot, he grabbed the knife from the sheath on his calf and crept to the wall, crouching along it toward to the bedroom door. Just as he was about to reach for the handle, the door slammed open, and a large man with a rifle stormed in, Kate screaming behind him. Grant didn’t even think. He just reacted. He sprang outward, tackling the man at the knees. The attacker didn’t fall hard. He rolled, not loosening his hold on the gun. Then he was upright, rifle aimed at Grant’s head while Grant had his knife at the attacker’s throat.
Then there was yelling and screaming from Kate; Grant could barely remember. He recalled thinking he wanted to kill something or someone. The police and the fire department came, and Kate sorted them out.
Grant went outside to fume. The adrenaline left him, and his hands started to shake in the cold night air. He realized he was still holding the knife. Panting, trying in vain to control his breathing, he shakily put the knife in its sheath.
“Grant?” It was Stefan. Grant ignored him. The butler slowly approached him.
“Why don’t you come inside? The police are leaving.”
Still silent, Grant watched the emergency personnel pack up and drive down the tree-lined road.
“He called me a rapist. I didn’t hurt Kate,” he said slowly, wetting his lips.
“I know,” Stefan said soothingly. “It was just a misunderstanding. It happens.”
“He was going to kill me.”
“Your father’s had a rough year. Kate is like a daughter to him, especially since… well. I’m sure you two will talk about it.”
“I don’t want to talk to him,” Grant growled. “I should just leave. I don’t know why I even came here.”
“Please stay,” Stefan implored. “He’s been so excited ever since Kate tracked you down. I haven’t seen him this happy since, well, before the separation. Everyone is on edge. This is new territory. There are bound to be some bumps on the way. Your father is in the library. Why don’t you go see him?” Stefan gave him a gentle shove toward the door.
Grant allowed himself to be led downstairs to a wide hallway.
“Right in here,” Stefan told him. Grant crept into the library. His father, Walter Holbrook, stood up from the table where he was seated.
“Thank you, Stefan. You can leave us now,” the older man said. He looked at Grant sadly. Grant didn’t look at him, just watched the flames in the fireplace.
“This was not how our first meeting was supposed to go,” his father said softly. “Can we start over? I’m Walter Holbrook.” He extended his hand for Grant to shake.
Grant ignored it.
He swallowed, took a deep breath, then said, “I only came here for my payout.”
“I don’t understand,” Walter said, wearing a confused look.
“You clearly already have kids, and I know you’re divorced or whatever. You probably don’t want all your rich floozy friends to know you have a bastard child running around, so just pay me, and I’ll leave, and you’ll never have to see me again. You can go horseback riding with your real children and play tennis and walk around that stupid little downtown. I don’t care. I just want the money, then I’m out of your hair.”
He looked at his father. The man was crying quietly. That was not the reaction Grant was expecting.
“Why are you crying? This is your own fault.”
Walter shook his head and said in a wavering voice, “My children… they’re dead. You’re the only one left.”
“Come again?”
Walter looked at him sorrowfully. “I ended up marrying your birth mother. After you were given up, we parted ways, but we reconnected several years later and had several more children. There was something not right about her; I see that now in hindsight. She had separated from me and was going to take me to the cleaners in the divorce, she said. She took my kids away.”
“What did she do with them?” Grant asked, hoping this story wasn’t going where he thought it was going.
Walter shook his head. “It was Christmas Eve. She had taken up with this fly-by-night contractor who was renovating a run-down old Victorian mansion. Her parents were there. They lit a fire. The contractor claims that the embers were all out before he dumped them in the bin in the butler’s pantry. But the house burned down.”
Grant could see the utter devastation on his father’s face.
“My wife,” Walter spat the word, “chose to save herself. Her parents tried to rescue the children, but they didn’t make it. My in-laws were right by the windows with the children when the fire department found them. The fire chief told me that they had melted.”
Grant winced at the description.
“The contractor and my wife got out unscathed. Oh, she played the role of the grieving daughter and mother well enough at the funeral, but I could tell she didn’t actually mean it.” Walter had a dark look on his face, the tears etching the lines of grief.
“I’m sorry,” Grant said. He knew what it was like to lose friends that were closer than family, but he didn’t know what it would be like to lose all your children.
“You are my only child,” Walter said. “When I was younger, more naive, I liked to be strong, stoic, and pretend I was above emotions. But I don’t care anymore.” Walter stepped in front of Grant. “Please,” he said. “Please, I am begging you to stay. Don’t leave. I don’t want to lose you. I will go insane. I will physically lose my mind. The thought that I had a son out there was the only thing that kept me from killing myself.”
“Okay, okay,” Grant said, feeling very uncomfortable. “I’ll stay. At least for a few weeks.” He cautiously patted Walter on the shoulder. His birth father dragged him into a hug.
“Whatever happens, we can all work through it,” Walter said. Grant couldn’t lean into the hug. He wasn’t so sure.