Page 232 of Titus

I looked directly at him.

Christian leaned back with a hard expression, “You really don’t know?”

“Trust me, we’d be having a very different conversation right now if I did.”

A humorless laugh escaped him. “Your father destroyed my family.”

I said nothing.

“He blacklisted us.” Christian stood. “He ruined our reputation on the West Coast.” He laughed again. “Nobody wanted to be associated with us.”

He pointed toward me.

“Suddenly, investors disappeared, business relationships disappeared, invitations disappeared.” He took a long gulp of his scotch and slammed the glass on the desk. “Everything disappeared.”

I watched him, seeing he was no different from my old man behind a desk, drinking himself into a monster that would eventually trip and fall into its grave.

“My father spent years trying to rebuild,” he said, pouring himself another glass. “Years.” His jaw tightened. “It wasn’t until your old man died that people slowly started taking our calls again.”

He shook his head and looked out of his window.

“But by then?” He spread his hands and looked at me. “The damage was already done. So don’t sit there in your arrogance and pretend that one day the favor wouldn’t be returned.” His eyes met mine. “The name Hawk has cost my family more than you’ll ever understand.”

“And I was supposed to pay for your family troubles in business with that man?”

He looked at me. “You inherited everything.”

I almost smiled. “No.” I shook my head once. “I inherited the mess that man left me.”

“You inherited an empire,” he scoffed. “A goddamn fortune.”

“I inherited a father who spent his entire life burning people to the ground. You should be thankful your family survived him and left you able to rebuild.”

He eyed me and sat back in his chair.

“I spent fifteen years cleaning up after Herbert Hawk,” I said.

Christian’s expression didn’t change. “I don’t really fucking care about your sad story, Hawk.”

“I never asked you to,” I said flatly.

“I also don’t care what you knew, and I don’t give a fuck what you didn’t know.” I watched him take another big gulp before he pointed his glass at me. “I don’t care that you spent years fixing things.”

I simply stared at the man, seeing the same misery I saw in my father. They were both sad, wretched little men who couldn’t succeed in business by being honest.

“When people looked at you…” His voice dropped. “They saw success. When people looked at me… they saw what was left.”

Jesus. This wasn’t about facts. It wasn’t about me. It wasn’t even about Herbert anymore. This man needed someone to blame for his inability to survive in this world.

I looked at him for a long moment, then picked up my glass.

“A shame that you look at business as something personal because⁠—”

“I should’ve known,” he interrupted me, still on his own train of thought, “that you’d walk away a free man. You people always land on your feet.”

“You think that’s what happened here?” I said, standing and setting my glass on his desk.

“I think money buys a lot.”