“I expected to see you sooner.”
“I’ve been busy. It’s good to see you’re well though.”
“Don’t be so flippant. Why aren’t you supporting your brother?” he stands up, trying to gain height.
I sit down. Letting him win that battles because my mother taught me to pick the battles I wanted to fight.
“Shouldn’t the question be, why aren’t you supporting your son? He’s made some questionable statements this week – unless you’ve endorsed them. I haven’t been sure recently.”
My father looks away, gazes to his left as if he’s thinking how best to talk himself out of this.
“You had a job to do…”
Attack. What he’s best at.
“No. You think I had your job to do.” There’s more I could say, but I leave it there. “What was it you were trying to get in touch about?”
“Blair. I assume you’re still in touch with her?”
His brow creases and the lines are deeper than usual. I know about the oil off the coast of Scotland, the treasure that’s been kept hidden so Paden wouldn’t face pressure from continents for the hidden riches stored there.
“I am.”
“Is she going to abdicate?”
“No.”
My answer takes him by surprise.
“All my sources say she’s going to give up her right to the crown once her father’s died. Lachlan is ready to step in.”
And there it is. Lachlan has an agreement. As king, as with any monarch, they wouldn’t benefit from the oil directly. The profits would filter back into the economy; everything for the people. An agreement with another country would moot this, potentially.
My father wants Lachlan to be king. My father benefits financially from a deal with another country, as long as it isn’t England, where any such deal would be fraudulent given his position of power.
“She isn’t going to abdicate.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she’s told me.”
“Can you change her mind?”
I start laughing.
“Isaac, if you think anything of this woman, you’ll persuade her to step away. She wasn’t brought up to do this…”
“Neither was Lachlan.”
“He’s different…”
“And why’s that, William? What makes him different when he grew up fourth in line to the throne to Blair’s second? How does that make him better prepared?”
My father blanches. “She’s too delicate.”
“She’s not for sale. I think that’s what you mean by too delicate.”
He looms over me.
