“Daddy!” Kaitlyn screamed again with such terror in her voice that William assumed she had seen what he was watching too. Then he realized could it be the gunman? He looked at her. He was certain the gunman was dead.
But was he?
But Kaitlyn wasn’t looking at the gunman slumped down beside her. She was looking out of the front windshield and pointing with pure fear in her eyes. And that was when William realized the shock of shooting somebody and seeing his own security guys likely dead put him in a stupor that made him forget he was still driving too. He quickly turned around to regain control of his own car.
But it was far too late.
He had already left the street, jumped a curb, and was heading straight for a brick building. He turned that steering wheel with every ounce of strength he had so that he could swerve away from that building and avoid a head-on collision. But all he managed to do was cause the backend of his car to swerve right into that same building with a violent crash. His backend of his car was halfway inside the storefront, and his front end was outside. The crash was so violent that the neon sign on the building had dropped down and landed on top of hishood. But it kept flashingPumpkin Pies for Sale.Pumpkin Pies for Sale. When he hated pumpkin pies.
His airbag didn’t even deploy because the front end of his car, thanks to his maneuver, wasn’t touched.
But when he quickly turned around to check on his beautiful little girl, he couldn’t see her nor could he see that gunman for the mangled mess that was the back of his vehicle.
His heart was pounding as he jumped out. Other motorists and business owners who had heard the crash of the security vehicle even before his car crashed, were running from everywhere coming to his aid.
He searched the wreckage. They searched the wreckage. The police and fire departments came and searched the wreckage too.
But when William got a peep of his little girl some of that mangled metal was removed, he knew they had been searching in vain.
And he remembered, as if it was a telling tribute to just how fucked up a father he was, that it was his first day as the custodial parent of his daughter since the end of his long, drawn-out, messy divorce.
The very first day.
Which meant his ex-wife was right: He was too irresponsible to take care of a little girl. All he knew was work. How could he care for a child?
The well-meaning shop owners tried to console the man they all knew in Westchester County as one of the richest men in the world.
But what were they consoling him for when it was all his fault. He knew none of this would have ever happened had he not been so selfish as to demand full custody of his daughter just to spite his cheating ex-wife when he knew he had no time to be afulltime parent. When he knew he was ill-equipped to take care of anybody. And they were trying to console him?
He didn’t then nor ever would deserve consolation.
CHAPTER TWO
ONE YEAR LATER
“Sir?Sir?”
It was a peaceful Sunday morning as William Skeffington stood on the balcony of his Midtown Manhattan penthouse apartment that overlooked Times Square and watched the city that never sleeps slowly wake up. He took another sip of his coffee. He slept three straight hours last night. Which were two hours more than he usually slept. And even that wasn’t enough.
“Sir?”
“I heard you the first time, Benjamin. What is it?”
“Your staff has arrived.”
William exhaled. All he needed. The predictability of his life was choking the life out of him and he was sitting back and letting it. As if it was a slow burn, or a slow suicide, of his own making.
Would it ever change?
“Thank you, Benjamin,” he said to his house manager.
Benjamin gave a slight bow, and then closed the French doors that led out onto the balcony and left.
William sipped more coffee. He had showered already and dressed, except that he put on his smoking jacket rather than his suit coat. Because every morning he had a big fat cigar as he stood out on his balcony in New York or in the gourmet kitchen at his home in Chicago. It didn’t matter which. Every single morning he had to have that one cigar. That was his routine too.
And every single Thursday he flew out to New York for meetings and more meetings and even more meetings and then he flew back to his home base of Chicago every Monday morning. Like clockwork. Like a man stuck in a gilded cage even though the doors were wide open.
His phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the Caller ID. It was a friend of his. A lady friend. Somebody he took out to dinner the other night but refused her advances the way he took other ladies out to dinner and refused their advances too. Now she wanted more. Thought she’d get to the front of the line if she kept badgering him. He almost blocked her number. He wasn’t giving more to her or any other human being on this planet ever. He had nothing left to give.
