***
Dylan Talbot loosened his tie as he climbed the wide mahogany staircase—his footsteps muffled by the thick Persian runner. He didn’t know what to expect when he walked into his stepfather’s study. Earlier that afternoon, his mother had called insisting he come to the family estate in the Hamptons as soon as possible and talk some sense into her husband. Something she’d never asked him to do before.
Both his mother and stepfather, Warren Sherbrooke, sat in Warren’s study when Dylan entered. After placing a kiss on his mother’s cheek, he moved to the leather wingback chair across from the matching leather sofa.
Thankfully, his mother got right to the point. “I’m glad you’re here. Maybe you can get Warren to see reason. He won’t listen to me.” Elizabeth Sherbrooke sat uncharacteristically wringing her manicured hands. She was normally a cool and collected woman. For something to get her so riled, it had to be serious.
Dylan focused on the man, who was like a father to him. Warren had treated him like a son from the moment he had married Dylan’s mother after his parents’ divorce when he was four. If he’d ever had any doubts about how his stepfather felt about him, they’d disappeared when Warren had decided to enter politics and handed the reins of Sherbrooke Enterprises over to him. In addition to some charitable foundations, Sherbrooke Enterprises controlled the Sherbrooke Hotel chain, which was one of the largest hotel chains in the world.
“Will one of you tell me what’s going on?” Dylan asked when Warren remained silent.
“I received this in the mail yesterday.” Warren handed Dylan a pale pink envelope. “It’s a letter from a woman I knew a very long time ago.”
Mum couldn’t be jealous. Everyone knew Senator Warren Sherbrooke loved his wife. Theirs was one of the few true love marriages in D.C.
“She claims her daughter is Warren’s child,” Elizabeth said when her husband didn’t continue.
Dylan opened his mouth, but snapped it shut, unsure of what to say. People might call his stepfather many things, but an unfaithful husband wasn’t one of them.
Curious, Dylan pulled out the handwritten letter and scanned its contents. “Whoever this woman is, she must be lying. She must be after something.” He fully expected Warren to agree, but instead, his stepfather shook his head.
“Ruth Taylor wouldn’t lie about something like this.” The conviction in his stepfather’s voice rang out loud and clear.
“People change, Warren. You haven’t spoken to this woman in over thirty years.”
“If she was after something, Elizabeth, she would have come forward long before now. I don’t know why she waited to tell me about this, but I plan to find out.”
Dylan leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on his knees. Despite what Warren said, he had to agree with his mother. In his personal opinion, Warren put too much faith in people. While he wouldn’t disagree that there were good, honorable people in the world, he didn’t think there were many of them. At least, he hadn’t met many in his thirty-three years.
“Perhaps she waited for the most opportune time,” Dylan suggested. “When she learned you’d decided to run for President, she might have decided this was the best time. Maybe she thought you’d be willing to pay her to keep quiet rather than let the media get this information.”
Warren pulled a single white sheet of paper out of the priority envelope on his desk. “This note came with Ruth’s letter. According to it, Ruth passed away three months ago. She left the letter you’re holding with a friend named Helen Lee. Helen mailed it to me.” He passed the second letter to Dylan. “So Ruth has nothing to gain by telling me now.”
“I’m assuming Mum’s upset because you want to meet this supposed daughter.”
“I am not upset because he wants to get to the bottom of this. Just that he wants to do it now. If the media or Richardson gets hold of this information, it could hurt his campaign. And it might not be true.”
Now he understood why his mother was so adamant about stopping Warren. Even before Warren had announced his intention to run for President, the media and public had scrutinized the Sherbrooke family. As a family that had originally amassed its fortune in the 19th century while rubbing elbows with the Vanderbilts and the Astors, it gained additional public notice when Warren’s grandfather joined the political arena in Washington. Warren, the son of a famous actress and a business tycoon, drew even more attention to the family when he’d married Dylan’s mother, the daughter of an English aristocrat.
“I think it would be better to wait until after the election in November. It has been this long already, so a little longer won’t matter. Don’t you agree, Dylan?”
Nothing like being put on the spot. For a moment, Dylan remained silent, mulling over how to reply. “You have a tight schedule for the next several months. It might be wise to wait and, in the meantime, hire someone to learn more about this...” Dylan glanced down at the letter again. “Callie Taylor.”
Warren tapped his fingers on the desk. Something he did when he was deep in thought.
“My mind’s made up. I’ve already put a call into Marty to see about rearranging my schedule,” Warren said, referring to his campaign adviser, Marty Phillips. “I know you’re all against it, but this is something I need to do. I need to know the truth. I won’t be able to let it rest until I do.”
Dylan stood and walked to the large bay window, which provided an excellent view of the manicured lawn and ocean. Dylan knew when Warren made up his mind about something, changing it was nearly impossible. So convincing him it would be better to wait until after the election to make contact with this woman was unlikely. That didn’t mean, however, that he couldn’t intervene and help defuse the situation.
“Instead of going to see her yourself, why don’t you have someone arrange a private meeting?” Dylan turned back around to face Warren. “Maybe she could meet you here or at one of your other houses. Then there would be much less chance of someone seeing the two of you together, and virtually no chance of the media or Richardson getting wind of this.”
While not ideal, the plan was better than Warren’s.
“This isn’t some woman we’re talking about. This is my daughter!” Warren jumped to his feet. “I’m not going to send a hired messenger to meet with her. She deserves better than that.”
Obviously, his stepfather didn’t entertain the idea that this was all a lie. In his mind, Warren believed Callie Taylor was his daughter, and for Warren’s sake, Dylan hoped it was true, that this wasn’t some kind of scheme to get money from the family.
Regardless, that didn’t mean Dylan planned on blindly accepting the fact. “What if I go and see her?” Playing messenger didn’t rank high on his list, but it would help protect Warren from any possible negative media attention.
“My schedule at the end of the month is light.” At least lighter than usual. “I’ll talk to her and set something up for you.”
By the way his mother nodded, he assumed she agreed with his idea. “What do you think?” he asked.
His mother smiled for the first time since his arrival. “I agree with Dylan, and I know Marty will approve. Let Dylan handle this for you, Warren.”
She hadn’t said it, but he suspected his mother thought the same thing he did. He’d always been a shrewd judge of character. A face-to-face meeting with Ms. Taylor might be enough to prove whether or not she was Warren’s daughter or just someone out for something. Maybe this Callie Taylor learned of her mother’s past relationship with Warren years ago and decided to use it to her advantage now. She could have written the letter and mailed it herself. Obviously, his stepfather hadn’t thought of that possibility.
Several seconds passed before Warren reluctantly nodded. “Do it, but if you don’t make it happen, I will.”
Dylan didn’t care why his stepfather agreed to his plan. He just wanted to take care of the problem and keep it all from the media.
The Teacher's Billionaire Page 2
