Dissonance (34 page)

The feelings cascaded faster now, the memories a macabre daisy chain in his mind. Duncan had controlled him. Killed every bit of his self-worth to do it. Duncan had raped him—Cam hated that word, such an ugly word—and each time he’d done it, he’d left less of Cam behind. Less trust. Less of his heart.

Cam gritted his teeth as everything came into stark focus. The parties, the alcohol, the anonymous fucks… everything and anything to dull the pain. One-night stands, failed relationships. And worst of all, he’d lost Aiden, the only man he’d ever loved.

Until Galen
.

He’d lived
down
to the reputation he’d earned. He’d played right into Duncan’s hands. And now, years later, Duncan was trying to destroy him for good. Lock him away and take the tidbits of Cam’s soul he’d left behind. And what for?

All so you could control my company.
My
company.
Cam’s rage swelled into a red-hot leviathan. He needed the rage. He needed the strength for this.

Cam fought for emotional purchase as he realized Duncan almost certainly didn’t know he’d suppressed the memories. Duncan believed Cam had lived with them day in and day out all these years.

Breathe. Relax.

No more. He wouldn’t allow Duncan to control him again. He breathed deeply and fought to reclaim every lost and scarred part of himself.

Damn you to hell, Duncan.

“Lord Sherrington? He’ll see you now.”

Cam opened his eyes and stepped into the study. By the window sat a collection of photographs. He walked over to them slowly, as if by taking his time he might somehow lessen the weight of what he saw.
Silly thought
. Those photographs were his past and present. He picked up a faded color photograph in a silver frame. A photo of him and his dad playing football on the lawn at the castle. A photo of Duncan and his father. He guessed they’d been younger than he was now when it had been taken. A photo of him and Duncan when he’d graduated from Brixton.

“You always did get into trouble.” Duncan’s voice startled Cam, and he nearly dropped the frame. He set it down and willed his hands to stop trembling. It surprised Cam to realize that it was not fear that caused his hands to shake. They shook from rage.

Cam inhaled deeply, remembering what Galen had taught him as he turned to face the man he’d come to hate. “Uncle.” He didn’t move to shake Duncan’s hand.

“Angry with me?” Duncan’s smile appeared forced.

“For not returning my calls?” Cam shook his head. “No.” Cam forced himself to meet Duncan’s eyes—really
look
at him and see him for what he was.
An old man on a precipice he doesn’t even realize he’s standing on.

“I heard the authorities released you,” Duncan said after an uncomfortable silence. “I’m pleased to hear it.”

“Are you?”

“Well, of course I—”

Cam shook his head. “I can’t imagine why you would be, dear Uncle.” His body felt hot, his anger ready to erupt.

Duncan scowled at him. “I do not appreciate the interruption, nor do I appreciate the condescension in your tone.”

Cam laughed softly, his voice full of sarcasm. “Oh, I’m certain you don’t.”

“If you insist on speaking to me with such disrespect—”

“Disrespect?” Cam forced himself to close the gap between them so that they stood only a few paces apart. “You know
nothing
about respect.”

“Given the foul mood you seem to be in, I think you should leave, Cameron.”

A year ago, the look on Duncan’s face would have sent Cam storming from the room to cover his terror.
Not this time. No more.
This time he took a step closer, in spite of the old fear roiling in his belly like a snake. “I’m not leaving.”

“Then I will leave
you
.”

Cam blocked Duncan’s path. “You’ll leave when I say what I’ve come to say. It’s time for you to admit your many wrongs.”

“I don’t appreciate the inference that I’m somehow in the wrong here.” Duncan lifted his chin and pressed his lips together as if daring Cam to stay.

“But aren’t you in the wrong, dear Uncle?”

Duncan glared at Cam. “Just what the bloody hell are you inferring?

“I know the truth about the Cayman accounts,” Cam said. “I imagine by now the FBI knows as well.”

Duncan stepped back, his face set in a scowl, his eyes reflecting anger and something Cam guessed was the leading edge of fear. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you do,” Cam said softly. “You set the accounts up. And if I’m correct, you did it four years ago, when we purchased Raice. For four years, you thought you’d gotten away with it. Then a computer program found the transfers.” Cam shook his head. “You set me up four
years
ago, Uncle. You pocketed the money, and you made sure that if any of your scheme came to light, you’d have a scapegoat. I was a perfect chump. The one thing I don’t understand is
why
. Why risk your freedom when you already have more money than you can possibly spend?”

“I could ask you the same.”

Cam had expected this. “Touché. You never did pull your punches, did you?” Cam stepped closer to Duncan—uncomfortably close, so that Duncan tried to step backward but had to stop when the backs of his legs met one of the chairs. “Fair enough. I deserve that. I had enough money to live comfortably and never work another day in my life. And I spent every penny and then some.

“But that’s where the similarities end. I may be everything they say about me. Vain. Self-centered. Willing to fuck anything that moves. But I am not a criminal. I might beg the board for money. I might come crawling to you to ask for it. But I’d never sell my soul for it.”

“I don’t—”

“You wanted me out of the picture,
dear
Uncle. You saw your chance when I suggested purchasing Raice. You were greedy. And if your little scheme failed, you’d get rid of me and end up with Sherrington Holdings to yourself.”

Duncan’s derisive laughter felt worse than a slap to the face. Cam faltered, struggling to maintain his calm exterior as he fought the need to beg for Duncan’s forgiveness. One second and Cam felt like a child again. Pathetic and weak. Scared too, although now he couldn’t figure out what he had ever been afraid of.

“I’ve always wanted the company, boy,” Duncan hissed. “Why do you think your father put me in control of it? Because he knew how you’d turn out. If you’d been in charge, there would
be
no company left now. Now run along, pretty boy. Have your fun. I’ll hold down the fort so you have a home to come to when you’re done.” Duncan waved dismissively, then turned once more to leave.

“Don’t you
dare
call me that!” The anger that roiled in Cam’s gut exploded, chasing away the fear once again.

Duncan looked at Cam as though he’d lost his mind. “Who do you think the authorities will believe? Me or you? Now, leave. You’ll get nowhere with me like this, Cameron.”

“I’m not leaving,” Cam said with more authority this time. “You’re going to listen to me if it’s the last thing you do.”

Duncan narrowed his eyes, causing him to look every bit of his nearly sixty years.

Cam swallowed hard and slowed his breathing. “I remember when you touched me in the boathouse the first time,” he said, finding that once he had started to speak his piece, he couldn’t stop. “I remember how I told you to stop, and how you told me I liked it.”

“You always were a worthless piece of dirt. Talented in nothing. Wanting everything. Taking. But for me you would have nothing. If you think you can come here and take my company from me—”

“
My
company, you sick bastard.” Cam drew so close to Duncan he could hear Duncan’s raspy breaths. They were about the same height, but in that moment, Cam felt larger. Stronger. “And if you think this has
anything
to do with the company, you’re sorely mistaken, old man.”

“Don’t you call me—”

“You took advantage of me. You told me I was dirty. But
you
were the dirty cocksucker. You took my fucking childhood from me, you bastard!” He hadn’t meant to shout again, but he couldn’t contain the anger any longer. No, anger wasn’t the right word for it. He felt rage.

“You worthless son of a bitch,” Duncan hissed.

“I am not worthless!
You
raped me. And when I said I didn’t like it… when I said you were hurting me… you didn’t stop! Over and over! You
enjoyed
hurting me!” Cam was yelling now, and damn if the tears didn’t stream down his face. Tears of anger, hurt, pain. “I trusted you! Looked up to you! I fucking
loved
you! And you
raped
me! I was nine fucking years old. I didn’t know what sex was. I didn’t understand what you wanted.”

“You wanted it.” Duncan’s face had turned an ugly shade of red.

“I wanted a father, for God’s sake!” Cam yelled and slapped Duncan hard across the cheek.

“You were a little piece of shit then, and a bigger one now,” Duncan growled.

Duncan had once been handsome, much like Cam’s father, but age had taken its toll. Cam now saw him for exactly what he was: a pathetic old man and a pedophile.

“You don’t get it, do you? You can’t control me any longer because I don’t give a damn what you think anymore, Uncle. And you will never take my companies from me.”

He walked past Duncan and out into the foyer, where he found a half-dozen uniformed officers waiting.
Good.
With the evidence Ron had given the FBI, Duncan would probably be spending the rest of his days in a US prison. It might take a while to extradite him, but Cam didn’t doubt it would happen.

“What will you do after you confront him?”
Galen had asked him. Cam hadn’t known the answer to that. He still wasn’t sure. But as he walked out the front door and down the steps, past the police cars, and headed onto the wet London street, he knew Galen had been right. He’d taken the first step toward taking his life back.

C
AM
ARRIVED
back in Chelsea in the early evening, having taken the Underground and then walked the rest of the way home. He stopped at the local grocery for a few things for dinner. He didn’t want to eat out, and the thought of cooking made him smile. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cooked dinner here. Probably before Aiden had left. He’d never cooked dinner for himself.

While he cooked a lamb chop and sautéed the vegetables he’d cut, he glanced at the small flat-screen TV hanging under one of the cabinets. He considered turning on the news, then thought better of it. He didn’t need to see Duncan paraded in front of the press. The thought surprised him. Even a week ago, seeing the media circus with Duncan at the center would have made him smile. Now, as much as he despised Duncan, it gave him no joy to know he’d probably die in prison.

He finished cooking the lamb chop, added a drizzle of balsamic condiment in an artistic zigzag pattern over the top of it, added the vegetables to his plate, then retreated to the dining room. The music he’d chosen reminded him of Galen: Ella Fitzgerald’s 1963 album
These are the Blues
.

The table seemed far too big for one person. The entire place did. The lease would be up soon.
Probably time to move on.
Maybe a modern apartment near the Sherrington Holdings Canary Wharf offices? If he was going to take over running the company, that might make sense.

Do you want to run it?
Another question he couldn’t answer. Everything felt so unfinished. He smiled to remember Galen telling him,
“Life is about unfinished projects. When I die, I want my in-box to be full.”
Like with many things Galen said, Cam hadn’t understood that right away.

After dinner he turned off the music and sat down at the grand piano in the main sitting room. He’d taken it with him when he’d moved out of the castle, and he’d had it tuned religiously, but he hadn’t touched it. Aiden had sometimes used it to practice, although he’d never been much of a pianist.

Cam opened the cover and settled his fingers on the keys. For a minute, maybe two, he did nothing but feel the keys beneath his fingertips.
Nothing to prove.
He’d never be a professional musician, but he didn’t need to be. He just wanted to enjoy the pleasure of creating music again. This thought led him to think of Galen, of course, and why he played in the subway after he’d played some of the greatest venues in the world. With this thought, Cam began to play scales and arpeggios from memory. He missed plenty of notes, but he was fine with that. Up and down he moved his fingers over the keys, faster with each pass as his fingers remembered what they’d learned so long ago.

After fifteen minutes he stopped playing and lifted the hinged cover of the piano bench and pulled out a dog-eared book of Beethoven sonatas, then leafed through them. He’d played many of these before he’d given up his lessons. The book fell open to the second movement of the
Pathétique
. His favorite, and one of the best known.