LIKE AN AUTOMATON, Saul left the game room, crossed the armory, and entered the spacious drawing room. He caught his father standing with his back turned, studying a family photograph resting on the fireplace mantel.
Winston Nolland, banker and president of Nolland House, was dressed in a traditional hacking jacket, its tailored waist, riding vents, and slanted flap pockets falling neatly over a pair of riding breeches. Jodhpur boots completed his equestrian attire.
The journalist cleared his throat to catch his father's attention.
The banker turned toward his son. Ever since Saul's earliest memories, his father had always worn that carefully trimmed full beard. After two years apart, he reminded Saul of one of his favorite writers: Ernest Hemingway.
The moment he saw his son, Winston's stern expression gave way to a warm smile.
— I was just looking at this photograph, — his father said, pointing toward the mantel.
— I was happy back then.
— So was I, — Saul replied.
— Back then... I still had a father.
Winston nodded.
— The hardest thing in life is making decisions when you have no real choice, especially when you know they'll inevitably hurt the people you love.
— Father...
Winston raised a hand, signaling him not to continue.
— Let's talk while we walk, my son.
— I don't have much time. I need to get to work, — Saul replied as he followed his father outside the mansion.
— I figured as much... Congratulations on your excellent work.
— Thank you.
— IS THAT THE SAME CANE I USED when you were little? — Winston asked as they left the house behind and stepped onto a dirt path lined with towering oak trees.
— Yes.
— Then, my son... it's the very same cane I once used to protect you.
— Did you ask me here just to reminisce?
— I asked you here to show you that, even from a distance, I've always been close to you... protecting you.
— You betrayed me, — Saul shot back, his voice trembling.
— I'll respect your opinion if you still feel that way after you've heard me out, my son.
— Then talk.
— You were right. There really was a satanic organization behind those murders, and Baruch Hawkings was its leader.
— Then why did you cover for those criminals and turn against me? Were you part of it too? — Saul demanded.
— Not directly.
— What do you mean? — the journalist asked, stunned.
He stopped walking and looked his father straight in the eye for the first time since arriving.
— Let's keep walking. We're almost at my little paradise, — Winston said, referring to the gardens.
— I asked you a question.
— Back when I was a member of the House of Lords, Hawkings approached me with a very tempting proposal. He offered me an investment bank in exchange for agreeing to certain conditions.
— You were business partners?
— No. The bank was always mine, but he used it as a front for financial operations, — his father replied calmly.
— Such as financing psychopaths?
— At the time, I had no way of knowing what kind of operations he intended to carry out.
— Why did you agree to become involved?
— I knew nothing about Hawkings' darker side until I read your articles.
— Then why didn't you seize the opportunity to get rid of him?
— The first time I tried, he threatened to ruin me financially. The second time, he claimed he had evidence against me. He said I'd be prosecuted for tax fraud and spend the rest of my life behind bars.
— You know I could have helped you. The press is the Fourth Estate. Some people say it's more powerful than the other three combined.
— Even so, I had already decided to take the risk to keep my conscience clean.
— Then what made you change your mind?
— The moment he threatened to kill you, Saul. To protect you, I gave in to the blackmail, — Winston finished with a long sigh.
— Why didn't you tell me sooner? We could have faced him together.
— One of the things that makes me proud of you is your integrity. If I had told you everything, you would have confronted Hawkings yourself... and he wouldn't have hesitated to have you killed.
— No... I...
— Saul, I could never allow that. But if I publicly disowned you, you'd be safe from that gang. It was my choice... the choice of a desperate father.
They had reached the gardens.
Winston stopped before a fountain, where water flowed beneath a marble replica of the Diana of Versailles. The goddess's left hand rested gently upon her doe, her faithful hunting companion, while the other reached back to draw an arrow from her quiver.
Saul avoided his father's eyes. Confusion washed over him, followed by shame for having hated him for so many years.
— Shall we keep walking? — the journalist suggested.
His father nodded.
— Was the advance on my inheritance part of the agreement?
— That was my own demand, and Hawkings accepted it without hesitation, — Winston replied as they resumed walking.
THEY HAD ALREADY CROSSED most of the gardens and were now less than a hundred yards from the entrance to the hedge maze. Beyond it, the woodland where Winston Nolland practiced recreational hunting could be seen in the distance.
Saul's legs began to protest, as though refusing to carry him any farther along that path. The tingling sensation intensified with every step.
To steady himself, he leaned more heavily on his cane.
Suddenly, he stopped, his eyes widening.
— Is everything all right, my son? — his father asked.
— Yes.
— If you'd rather, we can head back, — Winston suggested.
— Why did you never let me enter the maze? — the journalist asked, turning toward him.
— Because it's treacherous. It's easy to lose your way and very difficult to find your way out. Besides, it's close to the woods, and wild animals often use it as a hiding place.
— He appeared near the maze... — Saul murmured, recalling the demon that had haunted him ever since.
— We had just passed it and were walking through the woods. Imagine if you'd wandered into the maze and been attacked by a pack of wolves.
— I probably wouldn't be here today, — Saul observed, staring at the entrance to the living trap.
— I would have blamed myself for the rest of my life.
— I have a vague memory... I think I've been in there before...
— You had a nightmare about it and woke up crying. You probably confused the dream with reality.
— Maybe... What's at the center?
— A small cabin. Would you like to see it?
Saul glanced at his wristwatch before turning on his heel.
— Perhaps another time. I have far too much work waiting for me. We'd better head back.
The promise of immediate relief proved false. With every step away from the maze, he was haunted by the dreadful sensation that monsters were lurking at the edge of the woods, ready to attack him from behind.
— WHAT DO YOU INTEND TO DO NOW that Baruch Hawkings is dead? — the journalist asked.
— First, I want to make things right with you... and then with society.
— And how do you plan to accomplish the second part?
— Ever since Hawkings began blackmailing me, I followed the advice of an old friend: "Sometimes, to defeat evil, you must bargain with the devil himself." I gathered hundreds of documents incriminating both him and his organization. I intend to hand the entire dossier over to you.
— We'll bring them down! — Saul exclaimed.
— I'm happy to be part of your team again, — his father added with a smile.
— There's something else I want to clear up, — the journalist said.
They were only a few steps away from the statue of the goddess of the hunt.
— If it's within my power...
— When I was seven years old, I used to play here with another boy. If I remember correctly, his name was Drew. Who was he? What happened to him?
— I'd almost forgotten about that. Drew was Hawkings' illegitimate son. He asked us to look after the boy for a while because he intended to send him to France. Then, one night before dawn, he woke us up and said it was time to take the boy away. I never saw him again after that, — Winston explained.
— The Bastard X!?
— What did you say, Saul?
— The serial killer who's been terrorizing London these past few months, — his son replied.
— I'm sorry you've had to go through all of this, — Winston said as they stopped once more beside the fountain.
— It wasn't your fault... — Saul answered reluctantly.
— I need your forgiveness, my son.
Those words immediately brought back the priest's message from their last dinner together:
"One path leads to reconciliation, love, and forgiveness. The other is the shortcut of resentment, revenge, and hatred. If you choose the second, I guarantee you'll fall into an abyss."
Saul looked into his father's eyes.
A single tear trembled, refusing to fall.