Adrian knew Gideon Vale was my biological father in the abstract sense that I had once told him my father’s first name was Gideon and that we were not close.
He never asked much.
I never offered more.
He certainly never connected his wife to the Gideon Vale whose photograph hung in Northline’s Bellmere headquarters.
I wanted it that way.
Adrian hated inherited wealth.
Or claimed to.
When we were dating, he once called rich families “people born halfway up a ladder who spend their lives bragging about climbing.”
I had fallen in love with the fact that he liked me when he thought I was simply an accountant who rented a small apartment and drove a six-year-old car.
So I never corrected the picture.
Dad said:
“Something else is wrong.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“Northline’s acquisition committee has had an outside review underway for nearly two months.”
“Why?”
“Vendor conflict.”
