Five Minutes Late: A Billionaire Romance (44 page)

“I wanted to punish Kevin Killane, dead as he was, for having set the whole nightmare circus into motion. I wanted to see his dreadful family of bullies suffer as they had made Devon suffer. Perhaps most of all, I blamed myself for not knowing what was happening, for not digging deeper, seeing more, and doing more to protect Devon from those monsters.

“In the next moment, I realized that my regret was self-indulgent and pointless, and that immediate action was required.

“Sadly for the Killanes and quite fortunately for Devon, that moment when I first saw him again took place at the extremely public opening of a downtown redevelopment project financed in part by Killane Industries. There was a ribbon-cutting ceremony, blathering speeches by the usual political idiots, and one of Devon’s uncles was there to represent the family.

“That particular uncle was Keith Killane, and he ate up the attention like a cat lapping up cream. He preened and posed for photographers, chatted with reporters, and made sure everyone knew just how terribly clever he was for landing the redevelopment contract.

“Somehow, he failed to mention the battered, silent shadow of a child I recognized standing at the edge of the crowd, watched over – or held captive, really – by a bodyguard who later told me he was inwardly horrified at the possibility people might assume he was the one who’d left those awful marks on the boy’s face.”

“Why in holy hell would this Keith Killane asshole take Devon out in public, looking like that? Was the guy all proud of his manly ability to beat up on a helpless little kid, or did he just not give a shit what people thought?”

“Men like Keith Killane are like Teflon, quite certain that nothing will stick to them – at least until inconvenient people like myself show up and demand that they be called to account.

“In any case, I walked up to Devon and before he even knew I was there, I asked, ‘Devon, would you like to go home with me?’

“His head snapped around, he stared up at me with the most heartbreaking combination of joy and despair I have ever seen on a human face … and then he shrank back into himself.

“His voice was a trembling, hopeless mumble. ‘Yes, Uncle Sheridan, but Uncle Keith won’t let me.’

“ ‘In that case, I rather think we should tell your esteemed Uncle Keith just what he can do with himself, and let the pieces fall where they may – what do you think?’

“His face bore the ugly marks of what had been done to him, but it was made beautiful by that magnificent smile. ‘I think you have some books I haven’t read yet – can we go right now?’

“And so I slid up to Keith Killane between photo opportunities – his face turned rather purple when he saw me, I think he sensed what was coming – and I offered him a choice: either I would take Devon off his hands for a while, or I would show the boy’s face to the reporters and cameramen hovering nearby, and perhaps ask them if they might be interested in hearing the details of the brutal child abuse being committed by the entire Killane family.”

“I bet he just about had six strokes, huh?”

“Near enough – the man at least had the sense to know that he was beaten, though. After calling me some rather rash and colorful names, he pretended to be pleased to be temporarily rid of, as he called him, ‘that crazy brat.’

“I kept Devon with me for more than two months, over the objections of every Killane in the city.

“They fussed and threatened, but I stood firm – Devon needed time to put some weight back on his thin frame, and to get over his chronic bronchitis and an ear infection they’d never bothered to have treated. Most of all, he needed time to let his nerves steady, so he could once again become something like the talkative, determined, delightful boy I’d first met.

“He’d have to go back to the Killanes eventually, but he had to be something more than a frightened, feverish bundle of skin and bones when he did, or he’d never survive – at least not with a sound body or a sane mind.”

“Sir, I guess I shouldn’t judge without knowing all the facts, but why the hell didn’t you go straight to the police? Those bruises were direct physical evidence of flat-out child abuse, right?”

“As previously stated, I did not have custody. It’s possible going to the authorities might have caused them to take up a half-hearted investigation, but it is an absolute certainty that had I done so, the Killanes would have never permitted me to see or hear from Devon ever again.

“I can only imagine what might have happened to him in that circumstance. He would have been friendless and helpless, with no resources, no hope, and no possible escape from whatever they might have chosen to do to him. I doubt even the Killanes would have resorted to outright murder, but they would have left him absolutely broken in his mind, I’m sure of that much.”

“Instead of half-broken, like he is now?”

I admit that was a low blow on my part, but Uncle Sheridan took it like a champ. He nodded, sighed, and stirred his already stirred-to-hell-and-back coffee.

“I suppose I deserved that – and in my defense, I can say only that I did what I thought was best for Devon at the time, and further, that I have questioned my own actions every day of all the years that have passed since.

“Should I have done more, much more? Should I have sued for partial custody, knowing that as a single man who was not a blood relative, I would almost certainly lose, and then never see Devon again? Should I have reported the abuse to the police, only to see the case taken up by a judge on the Killane payroll? Should I have kept Devon safe in my home and dared the Killanes to come and try to take him away, knowing that their lawyers and Child Protective Services would come instead,  and force me to relinquish the boy?

“I might have done so many things, but in the end I played it safe and settled for half-measures in order to guarantee at least some contact with Devon. From that day to this, I have regretted not finding a way to do more for him.”

A thought struck me. “I know it’s way after the fact and completely academic at this point, but how about this – you controlled the inheritance, so could you have agreed to sign it over to the Killanes in exchange for full custody of Devon? That way, they’d have their precious money and Devon would be safe with you, problem solved – right?”

“My, Devon never told me you were psychic.”

“Excuse me?”

“I made that very proposition to the Killanes, just one month after I saw those bruises on Devon’s face. I sat across from Kennan, Keith, and Kenmare Killane at a conference table in the headquarters of Killane Industries, I offered to give them an inheritance worth three billion dollars in exchange for a single desperate, frightened, strange boy whom they despised – and they turned me down cold.

“They laughed in my face, actually. Those bitter, suspicious men were simply incapable of believing that someone could value the welfare of a single unwanted child above a controlling stake in a multi-billion-dollar corporation.

“In their eyes, I could not possibly be sincere. I had something up my sleeve, I must be trying to trick them, to make them look like fools in some way they couldn’t quite understand – in any case, they refused the offer point-blank and called security to escort me out of the building.”

He drank the last of his coffee and twirled the empty cup between his fingers. He traced the logo on the side of the cup with a fingertip, he sighed, and then he set the cup aside.

 “I returned home bitterly disappointed. I told Devon over dinner that my plan hadn’t worked, and he seemed to take it well enough. He thanked me for trying, and accepted with a brave smile my assurances that once he went back to the Killanes, I’d pressure them to let him come back and stay with me as often as possible. He then steered our conversation into a discussion of the book about Gettysburg he’d been reading during lunch, and all seemed well.

“That night, I saw Devon have a panic attack for the first time.”

30. Whatever May Come

The old Jedi waited, somehow knowing I needed a second to process the mental image of a shivering child exploding from within. When he continued, his voice was steady, smooth, and calm as he described an experience that was pretty much the exact opposite of those qualities.

“My housekeeper came to me at about eleven o’clock that night, saying that Devon needed me, but refusing to say anything more.

“I knocked on his bedroom door, stepped inside, and saw … well, I imagine you know what I saw. The boy was white as a sheet, sweating like a madman, and drawing in great, whooping breaths, as if his lungs were starved for oxygen. He shook like a leaf in a hurricane, his eyes stared at something only he could see, and when I called his name and he jerked his head toward me, I don’t think he recognized me.

“I wasn’t sure what I was seeing. In those days, the term ‘panic attack’ hadn’t yet come into vogue, and all I could think was that Devon was having some sort of nervous breakdown. I pulled a chair out of a corner, sat down in front of him, and was at an absolute loss as to what to do next.

“At first, I settled for just being with him, trying to be as calm as he was frantic, quietly saying his name and reminding him who I was, while I watched for some sign that I was reaching him.

“After perhaps ten harrowing minutes, I reached out and took his hand in mine. He twitched, darted a look at me, and I saw a hint of recognition in his eyes before he turned to stare off into a corner again.

“When he spoke I jumped a bit, startled by his thin, faint whisper. ‘I’ll be okay, Uncle Sheridan. I’ll be okay soon. This isn’t the first time, and I’m always better after … I don’t know, after an hour or something. Don’t be scared, I’ll be okay, I promise.’

“We just sat there for a time after that, as I spoke of whatever crossed my mind – and as the moments drifted past, Devon’s breathing slowed, his pulse eased into something less like the beat of a jackhammer, and he became once more the boy I knew.

“He told me later that he’d experienced his first attack just over a week after his father’s funeral. He shut himself into a closet, desperate to hide whatever was happening to him from his tormentors; when he emerged, he informed me in a matter-of-fact tone, he was beaten for the crime of not answering when one of his aunts came looking for him.”

I imagined that shaking, terrified boy sitting there in the darkness, and wondered how he’d managed to grow up into anything remotely like a functional human being after a childhood like that. Then it struck me – something that was a major part of virtually everyone’s childhood, whether they were functional or not, hadn’t even been mentioned yet.

“Sir, at this or any other point, were the Killanes sending Devon to school? Isn’t that legally required, no matter how rich and willing to pay for special treatment you are?”

Uncle Sheridan shrugged. “There are rules and rules, and those that cannot be broken even with money can at least be made to bend. The Killanes had sense enough to understand that they couldn’t send Devon to public school looking like the abuse victim he most certainly was, and so at first they schooled him with private tutors, just as Kevin Killane had.

“That held during the year after his father’s death, and through the next year as well, after he spent those two months of recovery with me – though I rather think he got as much education from my library and books generally as he did from any other source.

“Once his family reclaimed him from my care, Devon was allowed to come back and live with me from time to time, since he was smart enough to pretend to the Killanes that he didn’t like staying with me. I also used both his inheritance and my own share of Killane Industries that I’d inherited from Alva as weapons, threatening some sort of drastic legal or financial action if Devon was withheld from me.

 “Nevertheless, my influence on the boy and Devon’s very existence were both seen as heavy crosses the family had to bear – until the fall after Devon’s twelfth birthday, when they sent him away to the first of a series of elite Eastern boarding schools. The Killanes saw this as quite the brilliant solution, since it got him out of their hair and away from me at the same time.”

“Great – a quiet, sensitive, smart kid surrounded by a bunch of coddled, judgmental little twats who wouldn’t hesitate to pound him flat for being different …”

“I imagine that’s just the sort of scenario the Killanes hoped for, and having been in a few boarding academies myself – granted, that was centuries ago, but such places never truly change – I had to think they might get their wish.

“But Devon surprised us all.

“Out from under the thumb of the Killanes, free of their constant hatred and anger, he found his feet. He hit upon a survival strategy of simply attacking the bullies before they could jump him; this gained him bruises and black eyes and the shocked respect of the other students – and over time, the thugs learned to leave him well enough alone.

“He earned flawless grades in every subject – an easy matter for him, given his brilliant mind – and defied teachers at every opportunity, simply for the sport of it. He was ejected from the first school for fighting, the next for insubordination, and over the next few years he created havoc at every exclusive boarding school the Killanes could bribe into taking him.”