Page 202 of Titus

Jim leaned forward. “What’s that?”

The old man’s eyes narrowed. “Someone was aware of companies that even Herbert Hawk’s attorneys were unaware of.”

The room went completely still as I looked at Jim. Jim kept looking at the folder, and for the first time since I met with the man after Titus was arrested, I watched genuine surprise cross his face.

The patriarch closed the folder. “That,” he said quietly, pointing at the book, “is where I believe your answers begin.”

“May I take this?” Jim asked. “The legal departments from my company and Titus’s company are scouring everything they can to find at least some direction to prove Titus didn’t know about the companies. That they were buried long ago.”

“Please,” he said. “I have no need for them anymore.”

“Thank you,” Jim said. “I will have them returned when this is over.”

Señor Valdéz nodded, then looked at me. “I hope you find the answers you’re looking for.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Always.”

After leaving the estate, I stayed quiet as Jim silently studied the documents we’d been given. They looked older than sin. It was clear that whatever had happened dated back to Titus’s youth.

I truly hoped this would give the men and their legal teams a starting point for determining who had set all of this in motion and dragged the Valdéz family into the middle of it, never realizing that their search would ultimately lead to an innocent man sitting in a federal detention center.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

I stood in the doorway of my father’s study as rain hammered against the windows overlooking the estate, the smell of whiskey permeating the room as it always did.

He struck the desk with his crystal tumbler, then looked me directly in the eye. “Look at you.”

His tone was filled with disgust, as it usually was, but it became even more pronounced when he was drinking heavily.

My father sat behind his desk, a nearly empty glass of bourbon dangling from his fingers, half-drunk. That usually meant he was about to say exactly what he thought. The dangerous thing about Herbert Hawk wasn’t that he lied… it was that he rarely did.

His eyes moved slowly and disapprovingly over me. “You have your grandfather’s eyes and his soft heart. God help you.”

My lips clenched, sensing where this was headed… again. At sixteen, all my friends envied my life. They dreamed of living in this estate, but that was because they hadn’t seen this side of my father. If they had, they’d be happy with their parents’ apartments and smaller homes.

“Your mother tells me you’ve been helping employees again.”

I didn’t answer him. I’d learned years earlier that defending myself rarely improved these conversations.

His lip curled. “You helped pay a man’s debts and apparently convinced one of the workers to move to California to follow his dreams…”

He smiled in disgust as he took another drink.

“Since when did I raise my son to be a goddamn therapist?”

I clenched my jaw, the room suddenly feeling ten degrees warmer.

“You know what your problem is, Titus?” I stayed silent, and he replied with a humorless laugh. “That’s your first problem,” he said, pointing at me with the glass in his hand. “You’re afraid to speak up.”

He struck his glass against the desk again.

“God damn, you remind me of my father,” he said, taking another drink.

I continued to remain silent, allowing the insult to land exactly as he intended. My grandfather had died years before I was born, yet somehow, he managed to disappoint Herbert Hawk on a regular basis.

He reached for the bourbon, pouring more into his glass. “My weak father actually believed people would do the right thing.” He took a sip. “He believed loyalty mattered.” Another sip. “He believed honesty mattered.”