Page 68 of Billionaire Corruption

"Fire!" He'd yelled into my ear.

With the butt end of the rifle pressed into my shoulder, I'd squeezed the trigger with both hands, hoping the kick would throw off my aim. I remember the boom of the rifle and feeling it shake in my shoulder, and then seeing felled trees through the viewfinder. My father whispering excitedly to me that I must have gotten one. We got up and ran over and when we got there, there were partridges, plump bodies now lying still. There was one, still alive.

It lay there, its eye blinking.

My father turned me around and slapped me on the back, congratulating me on my kill. But I'd felt terrible, thinking of the poor bird, dying on the ground, just so my father could feel satisfaction that I had been able to draw blood.

In the car, on the way back, I couldn’t stop thinking about how I obeyed my father, almost blindly, firing into the bushes without even knowing what was in there. Anything could have been hiding there. The thought of accidentally shooting another animal, or God forbid, a human, crossed my mind. I’d heard stories of hunters accidentally killing members of their own party, mistaking animal sounds for someone taking a leak.

We’d been out with two other men, people my dad knew, and they weren’t with us when I’d shot the partridge. My dad was so proud, holding the dead bird by the feet, its head dangling lifelessly.

I felt such shame over killing that bird.

It was similar to the guilt I felt about Alana’s death. It was on me, somehow. She was dead because of me. I’d asked Don to find out whether there was anything in her handbag, anything in her flat. I asked him to look for anything out of the ordinary.

As I neared Packham, my phone rang. I saw it was my mother, a rare occurrence. I answered it on the spot.

"Mother?"

"Paul? Thank goodness! Where are you?"

"Why? What's happening?"

"I can't get in touch with your father," she said in a flustered tone.

"He didn't go to work?"

"No, and not to the golf course either. His secretary said she had no idea where he was. He was meant to have a crucial client meeting today."

"Have you tried calling Uncle Richard?"

A moment of silence passed before she replied.

"Richard? Why would I call him?" Her voice sounded odd, tense.

"He may know," I replied.

"He wouldn't be in contact with your father about his day-to-day affairs, would he?"

She seemed to already know the answer to this, yet for some reason didn't want to admit it.

"I don't know, Mother," I answered honestly.

"Could this have something to do with what's happening at Ladden?"

She sounded unsure of herself, and I had the feeling she didn't want an honest answer to that. She wanted reassurance, thateverything was going to be all right.

But I couldn't give her that reassurance.

“I’m sure he’ll call you back soon,” I said.

“All right,” she said, sounding breathless.

“Don’t worry,” I added needlessly.

I sent Grace a text to let her know I had arrived in town.

She sent me the name of a coffee shop and told me to meet her there.

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