When Empires Fall (35 page)

“It is what it is.” With a heavy sigh, Grant looked beyond his father and over at the portrait of his grandfather. He held the eyes in the painting with his own for several long, silent moments.

How could you? I trusted you. We trusted you.

“There are a lot of things in my life that I regret, Grant,” Win said suddenly, his mouth curving into saddened smile. “Hell, most of the shit I’ve done has done nothing but give me grief and heartache. I’ve been a selfish man my whole life and ignored you kids. I’m sorry for that.”

Grant looked away from the portrait and back to his father, finding himself momentarily startled by the contrast in the two men. Where Cyrus was strong, ruthless and powerful, Win seemed broken, like a beaten dog terrified of its master, but still hungry enough to beg for food. Pity washed over him in violent waves as he stared into his father’s eyes and recognized what he had never before noticed in them. The desperation and the all encompassing fear he had lived with all his life. Fear of his own father. Grant could not even for one moment imagine being afraid of
his
father, but then again, his father had never had the chance to become what Cyrus was. Maybe he wouldn’t have even if destiny had played different cards, but the fact still remained that while Cyrus had remained powerful through the years, Win had succumbed to weakness.

“I’m not going to pretend that I forgive you for everything,” Grant began, making sure to remember the long, anxious nights with his siblings, doing everything he could do to comfort them while their parents raged wars with each other in the other room. He could distinctly remember the shouting, the vile accusations and violent threats, the desperate pleading and cold pride. The only thing that could drown out the sound had been the harmonica, and so he had learned to use it for the sole purpose of keeping his siblings calm. It had been his parents’ inevitable divorce that had forced him to take his father’s place for his brother and sisters. They’d had no choice but to rely on him and he’d had no choice but to step up to the plate. Once he had, he understood that his father was as good as useless. “You were a bad husband, but it’s not my place to forgive you for that. Maybe one day my mother will, but that is up to her. Before the divorce, when you were around, you could be a good father. But as we got older and the ‘around’ time became less and less, we all gave up on you. You chose women, drugs, and alcohol over your own wife and kids and
that
I will not forgive you for. What I will do, however, is forgive you for not having the strength to come forward with this sooner, as I understand that you were afraid. I forgive you for needing to distance yourself from the hotel and consequently from us, because I know now that you couldn’t stand being here because of what happened. And I suppose I will forgive you for leaving me no choice but to take your place, since I don’t regret having to do so.”

Win absorbed his son’s words carefully for a moment, digesting them with both guilt and relief. He glanced back out of the window and watched as the clouds shifted and parted slightly, allowing a few thin rays of sunlight to peak through and highlight the sky. “Thank you, Grant. Lord knows I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but thank you anyway.”

Unsure what else to say, Grant stayed silent and followed his father’s gaze towards the sunlight, wondering if it was a sign of good things to come.

If only he could have known then just how horrifically wrong he was.

As Quinn logged
off of her computer, Madison strolled off the elevator. She glanced up as Grant’s sister stalked past, curiously sensing the other woman’s distress. Usually Madison was a master of deception when it came to her feelings, but today it seemed even she couldn’t hide them fully. When she breezed past Carrie without a word and slammed her office door shut behind her, Quinn shrugged and figured it was simply stress caused by their father being at the hotel.

She had met him earlier when he had come up to Grant’s office. He had seemed sad, she remembered, her brow creasing at the memory. Sad and lost, in a way. But when she had smiled and greeted him, he had managed to smile back and she found she liked the poetic innocence of his expression. He was clearly worn out from the years and years of physical abuse to his body and mind, but there was still some of what she imagined had been sensitivity and idealism in his features to give her an insight into who he had once been.

Perhaps it had been most shocking, of course, to note that
this
man was Grant’s father. Grant, who was larger than life and impressive, stoic and disciplined, had come from this man, who looked as though life had dealt him a particularly rough hand and he had taken no action to deal with it. Though she knew very little about him other than what little tidbits she’d managed to gather from Grant and Linc, she knew enough to acknowledge that Win was not well liked by the Vasser family.

She had to wonder, also, if the reason behind it was because what he had written in the tabloid was true. If it was, then what would this mean for the Vassers? What would it mean for Grant?

Just then, the office door swung open and Win wandered out, looking much more chipper than he had when he had gone in. He had entered looking like a frightened puppy and had come out looking like he had gotten a treat instead of the vicious beating he had expected.

Grant emerged from the office after him, sparing her a moment’s glance before turning to his father and holding out his hand cordially.

“Get some sleep. Tomorrow’s a big day for all of us,” Grant said to him, startled when Win pulled him in for a bear hug.

“Thanks again, son. I owe you one.” Win smacked Grant on the back merrily before pulling away. He sent Quinn a quick wave and a grin before wandering off to the elevator and hopping inside.

Quinn watched him go, charmed. When she glanced up at Grant, he was still staring after his father, his expression hard to read. He looked as though he was caught between pleasure and disapproval, and he couldn’t decide which way he should lean.

“Well, it’s six o’clock,” Quinn said cheerfully, rising to her feet and reaching down for her purse. She set it on the desk and reached for her coat behind her, turning around to find Grant watching her. “Do you need anything?”

You, apparently
, Grant thought soundlessly, startled as always to find that just being in her presence seemed to ground him, to stabilize his thoughts and calm him. Yet, at the same time, looking at her had the unexpected side effect of heating his blood and putting wild thoughts in his brain that he knew did not belong there. Then again, he
had
told her that there would be a next time.

“Let me help you,” he said softly, pulling her bright red peacoat from her hands and wrapping it around her shoulders, holding it out so she could tuck her arms into the sleeves.

He was standing close enough to her now to smell her, all warm vanilla and sugared cinnamon, and it took all the restraint he had to slow his blood from rushing to merely flowing.

“I hope it’s stopped raining outside, I forgot my umbrella.” Quinn laughed, shrugging into the other sleeve of her coat and pulling the front together so she could button it. She kept her eyes on the buttons as she hooked them, and her heart began to pound in her chest as she realized he wasn’t going to step back from her. Because it made her both nervous and thrilled, she compulsively did the only thing she was capable of doing in such a state: she started talking. “Back home I used to purposely walk in the rain, just to feel it on my skin. Ma used to get so mad at me when I’d get home, drenched and spilling puddles of water all over the kitchen floor. But I loved it, and it was the one thing she could never convince me to stop doing. Somehow I got lucky and never got pneumonia from it. Now that I think about it, it’s been awhile since I’ve done that.” She finished hooking the last button and chanced a glance up at him, her breath catching in her throat at the look in his eyes, all warmth and dark intensity. “I guess I outgrew it.”

“I could listen to you talk for hours,” he murmured, suddenly finding himself reaching up with his left hand to cup her cheek.

“That’s a first.” Quinn couldn’t help but grin, a giddy half laugh escaping her throat as he leaned in towards her. She tilted her face up to his in invitation, her hands drifting up the lapels of his suit until they rested on his shoulders. She rose slowly up onto her tiptoes, guiding her mouth toward his, her eyes closing and a soft exhale on her breath.

Suddenly, a deafening scream and a violent crash resounded through the offices, startling them apart. They both looked towards Madison’s office where the sound had come from. Before Quinn could do so much as blink, Grant was rushing to his sister.

He bolted past an alarmed looking Carrie and threw open Madison’s door, stumbling into her office only to find her collapsed over her desk, all of her belongings pushed ferociously to the floor. She was sobbing harder than he had ever seen, her back arching with every furious gasp for air, her hands clenched into white knuckled fists and her hair strewn over the surface of her desk in wild brown waves. Beside her elbow lay her cell phone, broken into a dozen pieces, clearly from being battered against the mahogany surface of her desk.

He rushed to her and gathered her into his arms, pulling her down with him as he knelt on the floor beside her desk. She only buried her face into his neck and continued to cry mercilessly.

“What happened?” he asked, his heart an explosion of nerves and horror in his chest. “Mads, what is it?”

“HE’S DEAD!” she cried, clutching at his suit jacket desperately, her entire world in a state of Armageddon.

Grant did not even need to ask who it was that she meant. There was only one person in the entire world whose death would destroy her this way. He took a deep, shuddering breath and held her tighter, pushing aside his own grief to deal with hers.

He looked up and spotted Carrie and Quinn hovering in the doorway, looking distraught and confused. He met Quinn’s eyes without hesitation. “Quinn, get Linc and tell him to come up here. Miss Lewis, call Marshall and my mother and tell them to come to the hotel immediately. It’s about our grandfather.”

Carrie nodded and rushed immediately to the phone at her desk while Quinn bit her lip and left hurriedly, the image of the grief in his eyes staggering her. Oh, Grant, she thought sadly, tears in her eyes now as she took the stairs two at a time. I never, ever want to see that look in your eyes again.

When she emerged out into the lobby, she ran as fast as her heels would take her to the front desk, pushing past Walter and heading straight into Linc’s office. She found him with his legs propped up on his desk and a stack of forms in his hands. He glanced up the second she entered, his smile instinctual but fading when he saw the look on her face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, already jumping to his feet and tossing the paperwork down onto the desk.

“Grant needs you upstairs. It’s your grandfather,” Quinn said evenly, successfully maintaining her cool long enough for him to get the message, thank her, and race upstairs. She let out a heavy breath, needing to slow her rapidly beating heart or else she thought she may have a heart attack right then and there. Managing to pull herself together, she left his office and headed out into the lobby, intending to go back upstairs and not only get her things, but make sure Grant was alright.

When she swept out of the back office door she spotted a pretty redhead talking to Walter.

“Linc’s busy, Lynette, I’m sorry. Something happened.” Walter was saying, his voice apologetic. Lynette looked a little disappointed, but certainly more worried.

“Is he alright? Was he hurt?” she asked, her brow furrowed with concern and her hands trembling once with fear for him.

Seeing this, Quinn made up her mind instantly on what she had to do.

“Come with me, honey, I’ll take you to him,” she said suddenly, waving for the girl to follow her towards the elevators. Lynette did, shooting a confused glance Walter’s way before racing after Quinn.

“Excuse me, can you tell me what’s going on? Is he okay?” Lynette asked, pausing before the elevator as Quinn pushed the button hastily.

“He’s fine.” Quinn assured her, distracted as the elevator doors slid open. Both women clambered inside and Quinn hurriedly pushed the button for the second floor. Once they were moving, she turned to face Lynette and held out her hand politely. “I’m Quinn, by the way. Grant’s secretary.”