“Small, intimate. Exclusive. That’s the kind of image I see for you. And it’s a perfect rags-to-riches story, a perfect narrative. It’ll play well…”
As if he weren’t there, they dove into quiet segments of conversation, debating his look and his persona, his approach and his marketing capacity. Then, when they hit a lull, Alanis waved a man at the end of the table, dressed all in black, toward the center of the room.
“Daniel, we’re just going to get you hooked up to the sound equipment so we can listen to this again later, all right?”
“Sure.”
For a few moments, the sound engineer fidgeted with his guitar and the microphones, setting them into place as the executives resumed their whispering. Daniel, not invited to help or to give his input in their discussions, turned his attention to the television.
And his heart dropped. Samantha was on television. Samantha was on television. She was on television, and the chyron below her read: MP’S DAUGHTER SPEAKS OUT ABOUT ABUSES IN ELITE CLUB.
“I’m sorry,” he said, interrupting, “What’s going on?”
The group of execs turned to the silent TV, but Alanis was the one who answered.
“Oh, that? Yes, it’s a big thing, apparently. Samantha Dubarry, Lord Dubarry’s bastard, is talking about… Oh, what’s it called, Trevor?”
“Animal, Animus…something or other, one of those posh clubs that’s been part of Oxford for centuries now.”
“Yes, and apparently, she’s blowing the whistle on the whole thing. It’s not an official club, of course, so it’s not like Oxford can do anything about it, but she’s called a press conference this morning and said she hoped… What was it she said?” Alanis reached for the remote, rewound the footage, and turned up the volume. In the small space, Sam’s voice shot straight for his heart.
“…these men, who grow up to be titans of industry and heads of state, do their cruel operating in the shadows. And I was one of them. I hope that by shoving them, and myself, into the light, they might be exposed. And in being exposed, I hope they finally put an end to their reign of terror.”
Alanis muted the press conference, but Daniel couldn’t stop staring at the television. Sam had… She had… She was risking everything to make it right. Her father would hate her for this. Her peers would despise her. But she was trying to fix this.
To make sure no one like him was ever hurt by them again.
The song in his back pocket burned.
“I heard she was starting some sort of fund to help their victims.”
“I heard—”
Alanis cut off the baseless speculation with a wave of her hand. “I’m so sorry, Daniel. We’ve become thoroughly distracted. How about a song, then?”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Reaching into his back pocket, he removed the seventh song from its place in his notebook. Maybe, just maybe, he was ready to sing it. “I think I’ve got one in me.”
…
When Samantha entered Ashbrooke Manor that night, exhausted from the emotional toll of the day and still sporting her sensible press conference wear, she knew nothing would be the same. She knew she’d lost her father. And she’d probably lost him forever.
The night was dark, wrapping itself around the house like an impenetrable fog, leaving Samantha caught between despair and hope. Despair because she knew what was coming. But hope because she knew she’d done the right thing.
Sure enough, no sooner had she slung up her coat on the rack than a voice rang out through the house, shattering the stillness of the place.
“Samantha! May I see you in my office?”
Her father wasn’t wasting any time.
“Yes. I’ll be right up,” she called, steeling herself.
You have to know that you don’t need his love or his approval, she thought, not for the first time since she’d begun planning this.You couldn’t go through life being a monster of his creation, no matter what it got you.You couldn’t live the life he wanted for you. Not if it meant hurting more people and hiding yourself away forever. Thomas placed a soft hand on her shoulder.
“Are you going to be okay?”
“Yeah. I have to face him sometime.”
“Okay. I’ll be right down here if you need anything.”
