Brave Enough(57)

There are two letters inside, one on plain, white copier paper, the other on thick, creamy stationery. I unfold the white one first.

Dear Mr. Barton,

My name is Franklin Evans. I am the lead attorney for Randolph Consolidated as well as the personal counsel for Jameson Gregory Randolph, Jr. I realize this will come as a surprise to you, but I beg you to read the enclosed letter in its entirety and then call me at my home number, listed below. There are some very important matters that we must attend to regarding the death of your father and his estate.

I look forward to hearing from you,

Franklin J. Evans, Esq.

I set the first letter in my lap and unfold the second, my heart thumping heavily against the inside of my rib cage. Some primal, intuitive part of me knows that I will not like what I find within the rich, vanilla folds of the second letter, but I have to know. The gloves have come off. The fight has gotten dirty. And in a battle like this, information is power. I’ve heard my father say that all my life, but I never thought it would hit so close to home one day.

Tag,

This is probably the first you’ve heard of me and I’m not going to apologize for that. Your mother and I made the decision jointly to keep you removed from my world, to let you grow up outside the dog-eat-dog business that she hated so much. I doubt she ever even told you about me, but I’m your father. Your biological father, that is.

I met your mother many years ago when she was working as a maid here at my home. I was married, but she was young and beautiful and I was accustomed to taking anything I wanted whenever the mood struck me. But your mother was different. She wasn’t like the other women I’d grown used to. She was kind and wholesome, too good for a man like me. That’s why when she told me she was pregnant, we decided to part ways. She could never have been happy here and I wanted to do right by her for once. That’s why I let her go.

I didn’t know it at the time, but my wife was barren. It wasn’t a concern until I had my first heart attack just over a year ago. Since then, I’ve been trying to convince Stella to tell you about me, but she refused. She wanted to honor the memory of the man you’ve always known as your father. I understand that, but I find that I can’t abide by her wishes any longer. I have an empire that I’d like to see live on after I’m gone, a legacy that should be passed on to the next generation of Randolphs. I don’t want those greedy bastards on the board to take control, so I have to bequeath my shares and all my personal holdings to someone. I’d like that person to be you.

I don’t expect that I’ll be alive very much longer. This might even reach you after I’m gone. I just ask that you at least hear what my man, Franklin, has to say before you walk away from your inheritance.

Although you didn’t know it until now, on the day of your birth, you became Jameson Gregory Randolph III. Regardless of the name your mother gave you, your blood is Randolph. Live up to it.

Sincerely,

There’s simply an illegible swirl where a name should be, as though Tag’s father signed this as a business memo. I can’t even imagine receiving a bomb such as this. A letter out of nowhere, changing my entire history. And, likely, my entire future.

My heart is torn, part of it feeling great sadness and empathy for Tag, the other part feeling even more betrayed than I did a few minutes ago. His deception runs deeper than I thought and it’s even worse than my father suspected. The man I know as Tag is the person behind all of my current misery. He’s the face behind the company that’s threatening my world. He’s the reason for . . . everything. He’s the reason I was being coerced to marry Michael. He’s the reason my father closed my trust fund. He’s the reason my family stands to lose everything Dad worked so hard for. He’s the reason my soul is shattered.

On the flip side, he’s also the reason I found hope, the reason I fell in love, and the reason I want to go back to bed and never wake up. For a split second, he was everything good. And now, he’s everything bad. How could this be? How could I be so blind?

A crushing sensation settles over my chest, as though Tag physically kicked me right in the vicinity of my heart. With heavy limbs, I replace the envelopes, taking great care to put the key where I found it and roll the dust cover back into place.

Numbly, I make my way out of the cabin and back to the main house. When I get back to my room, I pull out my other suitcase and start filling it with the remainder of my belongings. I never unpacked from our honeymoon, so there isn’t that much to gather. I stop at the small desk that sits in one corner of my room and I scribble a note for Tag.