Chapter 36
Griffin
I sit in my home office, going through a million emails and overviewing project plans.
Business has been good for many years and shows no signs of abating.
I’m a wanted man. My designs, my building skills, my extremely knowledgeable teams, all in high demand.
And I like it. It keeps me busy. Keeps me focused.
Keeps my brain from sinking into thoughts and feelings that aren’t worth remembering.
It also keeps my bank balance growing to an obscene amount, so much so, I have no idea what to do with it all.
I have investments. I’ve got real estate. I’ve got my own jet. None of it matters, though. None of it has ever been my driving force.
But the woman who shares my bed and her son who rests down the hall have my full attention.
They got home from the bakery, her working hard to build something for herself and her son. The two of them are now well known in Whispers, the locals supporting her like I never knew they could.
Now they’re part of my life, this is how I spend my days. In my home office, on calls. Video conferences to review site plans with my team managers. I’ll have to start flying out to sign off on plans and builds soon, but so far, I’ve managed it all okay.
Because the thought of being away from her makes me nauseous. Not sure how it happened. Not sure what magic voodoo that woman has over me, but she has cast her spell and left me entirely at her mercy, and I don’t ever want to leave her side.
It’s not a feeling I know well. But with her, it feels natural.
I rub my eyes, my vision blurring from all the computer work, and sigh when my cell rings.
“Sawyer.” Sitting in his office for most of that day and telling him everything that’s happened was both cathartic and overwhelming.
I’ve never been to therapy. I spoke to a woman at child services once as a kid.
I still remember her purple hair and dark eyeliner and the way she smelled of cigarettes so thickly I almost choked being next to her.
She had a cackly voice to match her bad habit.
But after one session, I knew it wasn’t for me. What good could come of talking about all the bad things in life? So instead, I ran. Got in trouble, ran again. Ran all the way to Whispers, where I’m still running. Until now.
“Hey, Griff. So I have some information.” He’s not jovial. Not making jokes. This is Sawyer in lawyer mode, and I feel the heaviness settle in my chest, knowing I’m not going to like what he’s about to say.
“Go on.”
“Well, your father was released early. Seems he had some notable good behavior while in jail, a model prisoner, by the looks of his record.”
“Model fucking prisoner…” I mumble, my shoulders tensing and my stomach churning.
“So he served his time but had close to five years cut off his total sentence, which means he’s now out.”
“Fuck.” I knew this day would come. He didn’t get life, even though he took theirs. He was charged with second degree manslaughter. From what I understand from the records, his lawyer pushed that the incident wasn’t premeditated. He was under the influence and his violence was uncharacteristic.
If you had asked me, it was very characteristic. Happened every fucking Friday night. And again on Sunday if his football team didn’t win. But nobody asked me. As a twelve-year-old, I was whisked into foster care and never looked at again.
“Looks like he’s living in a housing support service somewhere in Missouri.”
I pull in a deep breath. I travel to a lot of places, but Missouri is one place I’ve never been back to. I left as a delinquent teen and never once returned.
“He has restrictions. Needs to check in weekly with his parole officer. Not allowed to travel out of state. He’s working at the local supermarket, stocking shelves, but otherwise, so far, he’s been pretty quiet. Sticking to his requirements.”
“Piece of shit…” I’m not happy. Not happy that this is happening. Now or at all. I remember the phone call I got a month or so ago, along with that more recent text.
“When was he released?” I ask out of curiosity.
“Looks to be two months ago,” Sawyer tells me, and I nod.
The puzzle pieces fall into place. I never once visited him in prison.
Never once wrote. He didn’t either. Not sure why he’d be trying to contact me now.
But I remember his voice like I spoke to him yesterday.
I know it was him who called me that night.
I never changed my name or identity. One quick look online, and there’s a variety of articles and media about me.
Including my billionaire status. Even though I keep my life as low-key as possible, my business speaks for itself, and people like to brag to their friends and strangers on the internet when they move into their luxury mansions.
My name is mentioned repeatedly in those posts.
“I had a look over everything. Given his parole conditions, I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
“It’d be his death sentence if he came looking for me.” I don’t carry a gun, but maybe that’s something I need to consider.
“As your lawyer, I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. But when I spoke to his parole officer to clarify these things, he mentioned that your father was wanting to talk to you. Reach out to you.”
“He tried. I don’t want anything to do with him,” I grit out, never wanting to think of that asshole again.
“I thought as much. I’ll go back and reinstate a no contact and ensure he’s aware and that should be the end of it.
Now, on to the other things you needed. Adoption in this state is reasonably straight forward.
In your case, given that there isn’t a father on Tommy’s birth certificate, and no one has claimed paternity, then if adoption is something you and Savannah want to look at, I could get the paperwork started without any delay.
Did Savannah want to start that right away? ”
I clench my jaw.
“She doesn’t know about it yet.” She will. I’m waiting for the right time.
“Ahhh, yeah, might be best to talk with her and see if that’s something she wants to do before we start anything.” He has slight sarcasm in his tone, lightening the mood a little.
“Anything else I need to know?”
“I have the paperwork for the trust fund for Tommy all sorted, so I’ll email that to you to review and sign. His schooling, college, his entire life will be all set up, thanks to you.”
“Good.” Not sure how Savannah will feel about that either, but it seems I’m on a roll with my lawyer now, no point stopping at criminal activities and whereabouts.
“Alright, if I find anything else, I’ll let you know. You guys coming to the kids’ baseball game on Saturday?” Sawyer's tone has moved into relaxed friend and father mode. Baseball is one of his loves, third to that of Annabelle and the boys.
“I’ll speak to Savannah.”
“Really? Shit, you are a changed man. I ask you every week and you never come. I guess it’s true what they say…”
“What who says?” I bark.
“A leopard can change its spots.” He laughs, and I hang up on him. But my lips quirk. Asshole.
I sit in silence for a moment, gathering my thoughts.
The two items I gave Sawyer ran parallel in my head.
I want to do right by Savannah. I want to provide, protect, and love.
Tommy too. I don’t know if I can be the father figure he needs.
Thinking of my own father, I hope my skills in that department are better than what I grew up with.
He doesn’t even belong here. He shouldn’t be allowed to live.
He should’ve rotted in jail for the rest of his miserable life.
I lean over, opening the bottom drawer of my desk, and pull out the box. A wooden box I made two decades ago and the only thing I would grab if there was a fire. But I haven’t opened it in years. Can’t. Couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t deal.
Sucking in a breath, I unlock it, the click of the small lock echoing around my quiet office. I lift the lid slowly, like danger is lurking. My head pounds, my breathing labored, and I swallow past a sudden lump in my throat as I stare at the contents.
There he is. My brother. The only photo I have of him.
His hair is ruffled, because no matter how many times Mom asked him to brush it, he never did.
His grin is wide, full of teeth. He had big canines, and I always teased him for being a vampire.
He’s leaning over his bike. We were fixing the chains since they had come loose that day.
My eyes sting as my heart feels like it’s breaking all over again. I remember him like he was here yesterday. He’s forever ten years old to me.
I put the photo down and look at what else is in my box.
One of the things not many people know about is when a kid goes into the system, they take nothing.
They get driven away, placed with emergency foster parents, with nothing but the clothes on their backs.
Our house was sold, bills were paid, no money, no assets, nothing.
But that emergency foster carer I had for those first few nights ensured that I was brought some things from home.
She could tell I was traumatized. She could tell I needed something.
Anything to hang on to. I’m forever grateful to her for that.
Hence why one of the first things I did when I came into some money was ensure she had some.
Had my legal guy at the time deliver it to her anonymously.