Catch Me If You Can Read Online Free PDF Page B

later and worlds apart, nethe rworlds now, his father could sti ll tweak him to instant fury wit h one carefully worded note. Bu t instead of heaving the trunk, Tag’s grip merely tightened on the open lid, as did the bands slowly constricting around his heart. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t communicated once in all this time. The asshole knew he wouldn’t react well to that taunt, would likely do exac tly what he was currentl y contemplating, trash the trunk and its contents, unread.
    Which begged the question: what did his father hope to gain by this? Because there was always a morality play, a lesson to be learned, a new reality to be embraced, where his father was concerned. Did he want his son to walk away from whatever this ridiculous clan land baron thing was all about, sight unseen? Hoping to lay one last eternal guilt trip on him? If so, he was going to be sorely disappointed. If Tag hadn’t felt guilty once since he’d walked out of here the last time, he wasn’t about to start now.
    And if he wanted this property to continue getting his financial aid, well, he could have certainly entrusted his friend Mick to handle that for him. Which meant his father wanted him to take on handling this property personally, as he’d done. Of course, Tag could tak e care of that littl e bit of business in about two seconds if he wanted to. His gaze drifted to the folder containing the documents. All he had to do was sign on the dotted line, and one Maura Sinclair could claim continued stewardship, using his father’s monthly stipend however she saw fit.
    Or, she could be out on her ass, the property put up for auction, or whate ver the hell one did with a castle he wanted to sell.
    On the surface, it would appear his father would want him to do the former, but for all he knew, Taggart Sr. simply hadn’t wanted to be the bad guy in this particular business arrangement. Not all that shocking, really. For all that his father had been a son of a bitch to his sons, to the townsfolk and those he was trying to impress, Taggart Morgan, Sr. could be quite the charming statesman. At least, his father had believed that of himself, perhaps had needed to believe it. After all, gaining the respect of everyone who had for so long cast a dark eye on the Morgans preceding him was what he’d spent his whole life chasing after.
    Tag and his brothers knew those same people who bowed and scraped before the local judge, privately suspected what really went on back home, where no one was watching. He’d heard the whispers, seen the looks.
    He shut that track down, looked down at the box. “So, what was Ballantrae,” he murmured. The sentimental purchase of a lonely man, aging alone and suddenly wanting to connect with his roots, or a monstrosity of a white elephant investment that he’d get the last laugh over pawning off on his unsuspecting son?
    There was one way to find out.
    He fingered the stack of letters, debating on how much more of Pandora’s box he wanted revealed. Just sign over the damn money, set up a trust, whatever the hell it took and be done with it. The who, what, where, when, and most especially why of it didn’t matter. His conscience would be clear. No one would be out of a job and the castle would remain in Morgan hands. That should satisfy everyone, right? And the hell with whether it was what his father wanted, or if it thwarted his final power play.
    Which did nothing to explain why he sat in th e chair, and, rather than pick up a pen and slide the folder containing the documents in front of him, he untied the band that held the letters together. They were sorted in order, with the newest being on top. He looked at the postmark, but had already deduced from the postage stamps tha t the letters had come from Scotl and. The handwriting on the envelope was cramped, more a chicken scratch really, so it was with some surprise that he noted the name above the return address. Maura Sinclair. The caretaker. He w