being in his father’s life. But it was obvious, that it was not the boy to blame.
“Mr. Bennett. I am truly sorry for your loss. Your father was a great man and a dear friend. I regret having to deliver this news, but I did want to do it in person. I understand that this is a difficult time, but there are matters we need to discuss. I will be in town for a couple of days.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a business card.
“I would be happy to answer any questions you may have. My office in Toronto can always reach me if you want to talk.”
“Toronto?”
“Yes, sir. You’re father was a Canadian.”
Steve looked vacantly at the card. He stared at the name but couldn’t read it. The address was a blur to him.
His best friend, Paul, broke the silence. “Hey. That means you’re part Canuck.”
“I’m truly sorry, Mr. Bennett.” Thomas Campbell walked down the steps of the apartment feeling two feet shorter than when he had climbed them. Shame was cold in his stomach, and the heat stinging at his neck was embarrassment for accusing a stranger of not caring. Steve’s only fault was in not knowing his father. And it was quite clear that the absence of family in his life had not been his fault at all.
Steve stopped him, “What was his name?”
“Henri Delacroix.”
“Henri?”
Thomas Campbell walked back to his car and began to shake.
# # #
The room at the W hotel was not Thomas’ style. His secretary, who always insisted that he get with the times, had booked it for him. Ultra-modern and stark white, the building felt cold to him; and as low as he was feeling he needed some mirth. He went to one of the hotel bars, and found even less solace in his drink. The “Ghostbar” was also ultra-modern and filled with the thin veneer of the Dallas nouveau riche. The long room was packed with people, and no two looked different.
He had just finished his drink, and made a mental note to remind his secretary that he was too old to try new things, when his phone rang.
The BlackBerry in his pocket was another new thing he detested, but, unfortunately, found necessary. It was a call. Not an email or text. A call. He pressed the answer button and held it to his ear.
“Mr. Campbell?”
“Yes. This is Thomas Campbell.”
“If it’s not too much trouble, sir. I’d like to talk about my father.”
“Of course. I’m at a place called “Ghostbar,” though I can’t imagine why. May I suggest someplace quieter?”
“Please. I can’t stand that place.”
Thomas Campbell smiled as he and Steve Bennett, the son of a friend, made plans to meet in a quieter and more dignified place.
# # #
Thomas Campbell sat in his Toronto office as he remembered that day. They had talked for hours. The money finally came up at the end of the conversation. Thomas brought it up. Steve felt like he didn’t deserve the money and insisted that it wasn’t his.
The only way to further the execution of Henri Delacroix’s will had been to remind the young man that it was what his father had wanted.
He tucked the folder into the drawer and pushed it shut. Steve’s reluctance to accept his inheritance had persisted. It was only through due process and Nelson’s badgering that he finally accepted it. This trip to the islands was a big step for Steve; Thomas wondered if perhaps he was coming to terms with the money at last.
Thomas turned off his desk lamp, leaving the room in darkness, and made his way home. He sincerely liked Steven Bennett, and hoped that he was enjoying his time on the tropical paradise that his father had helped build.
ELEVEN
With a splash, the launch dropped into the water. Two crewmen in the boat unshackled chains and moored the craft to the retractable steps of the Rainbow Connection.
“The patches aren’t completely dry, but they should hold well enough.” Arnold Gibson completed his cursory inspection and lowered a section of the deck back into place.
“Mr. Bennett. I am truly sorry for your loss. Your father was a great man and a dear friend. I regret having to deliver this news, but I did want to do it in person. I understand that this is a difficult time, but there are matters we need to discuss. I will be in town for a couple of days.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a business card.
“I would be happy to answer any questions you may have. My office in Toronto can always reach me if you want to talk.”
“Toronto?”
“Yes, sir. You’re father was a Canadian.”
Steve looked vacantly at the card. He stared at the name but couldn’t read it. The address was a blur to him.
His best friend, Paul, broke the silence. “Hey. That means you’re part Canuck.”
“I’m truly sorry, Mr. Bennett.” Thomas Campbell walked down the steps of the apartment feeling two feet shorter than when he had climbed them. Shame was cold in his stomach, and the heat stinging at his neck was embarrassment for accusing a stranger of not caring. Steve’s only fault was in not knowing his father. And it was quite clear that the absence of family in his life had not been his fault at all.
Steve stopped him, “What was his name?”
“Henri Delacroix.”
“Henri?”
Thomas Campbell walked back to his car and began to shake.
# # #
The room at the W hotel was not Thomas’ style. His secretary, who always insisted that he get with the times, had booked it for him. Ultra-modern and stark white, the building felt cold to him; and as low as he was feeling he needed some mirth. He went to one of the hotel bars, and found even less solace in his drink. The “Ghostbar” was also ultra-modern and filled with the thin veneer of the Dallas nouveau riche. The long room was packed with people, and no two looked different.
He had just finished his drink, and made a mental note to remind his secretary that he was too old to try new things, when his phone rang.
The BlackBerry in his pocket was another new thing he detested, but, unfortunately, found necessary. It was a call. Not an email or text. A call. He pressed the answer button and held it to his ear.
“Mr. Campbell?”
“Yes. This is Thomas Campbell.”
“If it’s not too much trouble, sir. I’d like to talk about my father.”
“Of course. I’m at a place called “Ghostbar,” though I can’t imagine why. May I suggest someplace quieter?”
“Please. I can’t stand that place.”
Thomas Campbell smiled as he and Steve Bennett, the son of a friend, made plans to meet in a quieter and more dignified place.
# # #
Thomas Campbell sat in his Toronto office as he remembered that day. They had talked for hours. The money finally came up at the end of the conversation. Thomas brought it up. Steve felt like he didn’t deserve the money and insisted that it wasn’t his.
The only way to further the execution of Henri Delacroix’s will had been to remind the young man that it was what his father had wanted.
He tucked the folder into the drawer and pushed it shut. Steve’s reluctance to accept his inheritance had persisted. It was only through due process and Nelson’s badgering that he finally accepted it. This trip to the islands was a big step for Steve; Thomas wondered if perhaps he was coming to terms with the money at last.
Thomas turned off his desk lamp, leaving the room in darkness, and made his way home. He sincerely liked Steven Bennett, and hoped that he was enjoying his time on the tropical paradise that his father had helped build.
ELEVEN
With a splash, the launch dropped into the water. Two crewmen in the boat unshackled chains and moored the craft to the retractable steps of the Rainbow Connection.
“The patches aren’t completely dry, but they should hold well enough.” Arnold Gibson completed his cursory inspection and lowered a section of the deck back into place.
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