Page 12

The way he says it makes my skin prickle. I straighten in my chair. “Why?” When he doesn’t respond straight away, the penny drops. Crap. “You don’t seriously think I did this, do you? Bloody hell, Da!”

His expression hardens. “It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve stolen something.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. “Christ.” My laugh is bitter and humourless. “It doesn’t matter how many years pass, does it? You’re never going to let me live down the things I did as a teenager. I’m thirty-one now!” I shake my head, fury rising hot and fast in my chest. “So that’s it? Items go missing from guests’ rooms, and your first thought is it must be your own son? That’s why you summoned me here? Jesus. You really do have a low opinion of me, don’t you?”

I’m on my feet now, though I don’t remember standing. My hands are clenched at my sides, my pulse hammering in my throat.

Da holds up a hand like he’s silencing a child then fixes me with a look so cold it could freeze fire. “Sit down, Robbie. And I can assure you I was hoping beyond hope that you had nothing to do with this. You can imagine my disappointment, then, when I discovered evidence connecting you to each of the thefts.”

For a moment it feels like all the oxygen has been sucked from the room. Evidence? What bloody evidence? I didn’t steal anything!

CHAPTER SIX

ROBBIE

“Evidence?” The word scorches through me, my skin tingling as though I’ve been dragged too near an open flame. Did he actually just say that? Evidence?

I lean forwards, my knuckles pressing into the polished surface of his desk, hard enough that I half expect it to splinter beneath my fists. “What fucking evidence?” My voice comes out louder than I mean it to, but I don’t care. “There can’t be any evidence because I didn’t do this, Da. I didn’t take anything!”

Da sighs, weariness etched across his face. “That temper of yours. Could you try to rein it in? And for the second time, Robbie, sit down.”

“Bloody hell, you’re accusing me of stealing from guests! Getting upset is a pretty natural reaction.”

“I wanted to speak with you directly before calling the police, to give you a chance to explain.” His voice is maddeningly calm, as if this is all just a bit of admin he has to sort out before lunch. “But I’m only willing to talk with you if you make an effort to control yourself. So can we discuss this like adults, or should I go ahead and make that call now?”

My hands itch to break something, anything. Instead I force myself to take three deep breaths, the way Johnny always tells me to when I’m about to lose it. The rage doesn’t disappear, but it simmers down enough for me to drop back into the chair.

“Okay, then,” I say through gritted teeth. “Let’s talk and maybe we can sort this mess out.”

Da presses his fingertips together. “As I mentioned, I’ve been conducting my own investigation and . . . well.” He fixes me with that piercing stare of his. “Unfortunately, Robbie, your keycard was used to access Mr Ashford’s room the day his watch went missing . . . to access Ms Laurent’s room the day her earrings disappeared . . . and last night to access Mr Harrington’s room.”

“What?” My voice is flat at first—quiet disbelief—but then it spikes. “Are you serious? This is bollocks! Someone must have⁠—”

“According to the maintenance logbook,” he continues, cutting me off, “you didn’t perform repairs in any of those rooms on those dates.” He leans forwards, his gaze never wavering from mine. “So tell me, if you weren’t working in those rooms, what exactly were you doing in them?”

“I wasn’t in the rooms!” My chest is tight now, each breath coming shorter than the last as both fury and panic set in. “Someone is stitching me up. You have to believe me, Da.”

But I can see it in his eyes—that familiar look of disappointment and suspicion.

“Fucking hell.” I rub my hand over my face. “I swear I didn’t do this.”

He watches me carefully, his expression giving nothing away. “Your words might hold more weight if you hadn’t said the exact same thing to me on multiple occasions as a young man, only for it to emerge later that you were guilty as sin.”

The old resentment flares hot in my chest. “C’mon, Da, what is this, the boy who cried wolf? I’m thirty-one years old, not fifteen. I’m telling you, I didn’t do this.”

He taps his fingers against the edge of his desk in a slow, deliberate rhythm, like he’s counting down to something I’m not going to like. “And I truly hope that’s the case. But at this stage I have no choice but to contact the police, and I have to pass on to them what I’ve uncovered so far. If you’re as innocent as you say, the truth will come to light.”

I shake my head, a hollow laugh escaping me. “For fuck’s sake.” It’s like a knife to the heart that my own father won’t believe me. After all these years, after everything I’ve done to straighten myself out, he still sees me as that troublemaking kid.

“Furthermore,” he says, his tone sliding into the clipped, formal cadence he uses for staff disciplinary issues, “in line with policy, I’m going to have to suspend you until the police have concluded their investigation. If your name is cleared, you’ll of course be reinstated to your position.”

I huff out a breath. He’s not just accusing me—he’s suspending me. My own father. “You know what? Let’s make this easier for both of us.” I push to my feet, the chair scraping loudly over the polished floor. “I quit.”

“Robbie—”

“Nope. This is bullshit, Da. You don’t believe me? Fine. But I don’t need to stand here and take this crap from you.” I turn and stride towards the door.

“Wait!”