‘From what Sharon told me, I think he was ashamed of not being there for you when you were a kid. I think he was scared you’d reject him if you found out the truth. But he kept the photographs all those years, Nathan. He must have loved you. That’s why he gave you a job. You should read the letters,’ she told him, knowing they would bring him untold pain.

He shook his head. ‘Sharon told you? No. It can’t be true, Grace.’

She touched the top of his head, gently, soothing him. ‘I thought you deserved to know.’

He looked up at her, his eyes wet with tears, and nodded. ‘But I killed him, Grace.’

‘I know,’ she whispered.

‘He was my dad and I killed him?’

‘You should read the letters,’ she said again as she picked up her handbag and left his office. Smiling, she strode out of the double doors and into the bright sunlight. That would keep him occupied for a while and give her some much-needed breathing room.

She would enjoy watching him unravel, watching his perfect world come crashing down around him.

Chapter Sixty-One

Nathan’s hands shook as he pulled the bag of Charlie from his jacket pocket. Dipping his finger into the bag, he scooped up a mound of white powder and snorted it. He didn’t take it often anymore and it hit him straight away. He immediately started to feel more focused. Picking up a new bottle of whisky from a box beside his desk, he broke the seal and took a long swig, enjoying the feeling of the liquid burning his throat on the way down.

Scanning the desk in his office, he saw the bundle of letters and photographs sitting there, taunting him. He had no idea how long he’d been sitting like that. He’d read the letters after Grace left and realized it was true. Tommy was his dad. His fucking dad. He could have saved him from that horrible foster home, but he’d just left him there to rot, like he was nothing. But he’d wanted to come for him, he had – and that filthy bastard had stopped him.

Nathan had killed his own dad, right in the very office he was sitting in. He remembered how stupid he thought Tommy was to confront him without any backup, but he was never intending to take him on.

Why didn’t he just fucking tell me? Why? I killed my own fucking dad!

That day was still as vivid for him then as the day it happened. He could still smell the blood; still hear the noise of Tommy’s final breaths as they left his body. He was sure if he looked hard enough he could have found some of Tommy’s blood somewhere in that office.