He’d grown up in this environment and should be used to it, yet his father’s world was completely alien to him. Derek Moody did his best to appear a respectable businessman, but Jason knew he had a sideline or two. His father was, for want of a better word, a gangster.
‘Remind me again, what are you using the house for?’
The question brought him back to why he was here. His father spoke with a pleasant baritone, but with a flinty undercurrent if you listened hard enough. As Jason turned to face the suit-clad figure across from him, he was all ears.
‘A halfway house. I’ve already told you that a hundred times.’ Impatience crept into his voice, and he hated the way it made him sound like a spoilt brat, never mind that he was almost thirty. ‘For people who come out of prison and have nowhere to stay.’
‘Just checking.’
Infuriatingly calm, Derek Moody started opening the small pile of letters on his desk, slicing through the top with a paper knife. Jason gritted his teeth. How like his father to do his admin during a conversation with his only child.
‘I think you’re wasting your time,’ Derek said. ‘Housing murderers, rapists and paedophiles. Just scum.’
‘I’m not offering a home to either paedophiles or rapists.’ Jason felt his hackles rise. ‘As for the “scum” you’re referring to, I want to help the little people, the small fry who always pay the price while the big fish get away scot-free.’
‘The big fish, eh? Anyone particular in mind?’ Derek’s eyebrows rose.
Jason felt his cheeks grow hot. ‘You know what I mean. The pot dealer who’s sent down while the organised crime boss gets rich. The hired gun who takes the fall so the posh git can inherit his wife’s money. The ones who work for those who always pay their way out of trouble.’
‘You’re an idealist, son. How sweet.’ Derek put down the paper knife and rested his chin on his folded hands. ‘Why don’t you come and work for me instead? Business is booming, and I’m sure I could find something useful for you to do.’
‘What? Cooking the books? Acting the goon, like Jones?’
His father’s mouth curved in semblance of a smile. ‘You have a strange perception of what I do. I’m a run-of-the-mill property developer …’ Jason scoffed, but his father ignored him. ‘True, I sometimes circumvent a law here and there, and, yes, I didn’t get to where I am without making a few enemies – that’s why I need “goons” as you call them – but there are worse characters than me out there. Where would you draw the line? What sort of crime would qualify for a room in your house?’ Derek smirked. ‘Murder? Fraud? Rolling over little old ladies? Do you keep a score? Allocate points based on evilness?’
His father was mocking him. Not only that, he was demonstrating that he had the means of unearthing every little detail about his son’s life if he chose to. Derek Moody knew exactly what sort of people were already living in the house Jason had been renting from him for the past six months. It was frankly galling.
‘Do I get the house or not?’ he snapped.
He met his father’s ice-blue stare across the desk and cursed the fact that it was like looking at a mirror image of himself. Why couldn’t he be more like his mother, all blonde and peaches-and-cream? He’d be happy looking florid and jowly like his uncle if it meant not having to share the angular jawline, the thick dark hair, and the well-defined cheekbones with the man in front of him. Hell, he’d even settle for resembling one of his mother’s Pekingese dogs. Anything not to be like his father.
Derek said nothing, just opened another letter with a ritsch. The sound set Jason’s teeth on edge.
‘The lease is coming to an end, Dad. I need an answer.’
Still his father said nothing, but instead scanned the letter he’d just opened.
‘I have a lot of plans for the place,’ he continued with a sigh. ‘You know, new plumbing, rewiring, refurbishing the kitchen.’
Finally, a response. ‘Where are you going to get the money for that? If you think—’
‘I’ve got my stall. I work six days a week there, so it’s doing all right. I was going to do most of it myself and just pay for materials, and besides, I don’t expect to be able to do it all in one go.’
‘My son, the plumber,’ Derek mused and tossed the letter aside. ‘No, is the answer.’
‘No?’
White-hot rage suddenly welled up in Jason, taking him by surprise. Gripping the arm rests hard to restrain himself, he wondered how it would feel to leap across the desk and throttle his father. Or push him through that big window behind him just to see if he would bounce on the ground four storeys below. He could imagine the sense of release after years of pent-up anger, the rush of adrenaline, the freedom …