Chapter 14: Eight Months

"You're Richard's son," I said.

Geoffrey's grip on the pages tightened.

"I read the letter," he said. "It says I'm not his blood."

"It also says he raised you and loves you. Your eyes stopped on the first half."

He looked down at the paper for a long time.

"He loved Rowan's mother," Geoffrey said. "He loved me anyway. Is that what you're telling me?"

"I'm telling you he wrote both sentences."

He folded the pages and put them in his breast pocket, and he stepped out of the elevator at last.

"Camille knew," he said. "She put this under my door because she knew."

"Then ask her."

"Now?"

"She's in the boardroom with the buyers' lawyer. I saw them go in at nine."

We took the stairs, because Geoffrey said he couldn't stand a closed box.

The boardroom was on forty, with a table for sixteen and a view of the river.

Camille stood at its head in a navy suit, with her curls pinned back, adjusting a stack of folders.

Across from her sat Brandt's counsel, a thin man with a leather portfolio.

The older executive from Geoffrey's office, the one who had cleared his throat on Tuesday, sat by the window with a legal pad.

Camille looked up and smiled.

"Geoffrey. And Ms. Clifford. We're early, but I'm glad you're here."

"Sit down, Camille," Geoffrey said.

"We have a vote at two."

"Sit down."

She sat.

Geoffrey took the letter out of his pocket and put it on the table in front of her.

"You gave me this at six o'clock this morning. How long have you known?"

Her smile stayed in place, but her eyes went to the lawyer.