The Teacher's Billionaire

the most opportune time,” Dylan suggested. “When she learned you’d decided to run for President she might have decided this was the best time. Maybe she thought you’d be willing to pay her to keep quiet rather than let the media get this information.”
    Warren pulled a single white sheet of paper out of the priority envelope on his desk. “This note came with Ruth’s letter. According to it, Ruth passed away three months ago. She left the letter you’re holding with a friend. Her friend mailed it to me.” He passed the second letter to Dylan. “So Ruth has nothing to gain by telling me now.”
    “I’m assuming mom’s upset because you want to meet this supposed daughter.”
    “I am not upset because he wants to get to the bottom of this. Just that he wants to do it now. If the media or Richardson gets a hold of this information it could hurt his campaign. And it might not be true.”
    Now he understood why his mother was so adamant about stopping her husband. Even before Warren had announced his intention to run for President, the media and public had scrutinized the Sherbrooke family. As a family that had originally amassed its fortune in the 19th century while rubbing elbows with the Vanderbilts and the Astors, it gained additional public notice when Warren’s grandfather joined the political arena in Washington. Warren, himself the son of a famous actress and a business tycoon, drew even more attention to the family when he’d married Dylan’s mother, the daughter of an English aristocrat.
    “I think it would be better to wait until after the election in November. It has been this long already, so a little longer won’t matter. Don’t you agree, Dylan?”
    Nothing like being put on the spot.
For a moment, Dylan remained silent mulling over how to reply. “You have a tight schedule for the next several months. It might be wise to wait and in the meantime hire someone to learn more about this...” Dylan glanced down at the letter again. “Callie Taylor.”
    Warren tapped his fingers on the desk. Something he did when he was deep in thought.
    “My mind’s made up. I’ve already put a call into Marty to see about rearranging my schedule,” Warren explained, referring to his campaign adviser, Marty Phillips. “I know you’re all against it, but this is something I need to do. I need to know the truth. I won’t be able to let it rest until I do.”
    Dylan stood and walked to the large bay window, which provided an excellent view of the perfectly manicured lawn. Dylan knew when Warren made up his mind about something, changing it was nearly impossible. So convincing him it would be better to wait until November to make contact with this woman was unlikely. That didn’t mean, however, that he couldn’t intervene and help defuse the situation.
    “Instead of going to see her yourself, why don’t you have someone arrange a private meeting?” Dylan suggested turning back around to face Warren. “Maybe she could meet you here or at one of your other houses. Then there would be much less a chance of someone seeing the two of you together. And virtually no chance of the media or Richardson getting wind of this.”
    While not ideal, the plan was better than Warren’s.
    “This isn’t some woman we’re talking about. This is my daughter!” Warren immediately came to his feet. “I’m not going to send a hired messenger to meet with her. She deserves better than that.”
    Obviously, his stepfather didn’t entertain the idea that this was all a lie. In his own mind Warren already decided Callie Taylor was his daughter. And for Warren’s sake Dylan hoped it was true. That this wasn’t some kind of scheme to get money from the family.
    Regardless, that didn’t mean Dylan planned on blindly accepting the fact. “What if I go and see her?” He didn’t want to play messenger, but it would help protect Warren from any possible negative media attention.
    “My schedule at the end of the month is light.”
At least lighter than usual.
“I’ll talk to her and set something up for you.”
    By the way his mother nodded, he assumed she agreed with his idea. “What do you think?” he asked.
    His mother smiled for the first time since his arrival. “I agree with Dylan. And I know Marty will approve. Let Dylan handle this for you.”
    She hadn’t said it, but he suspected his mother thought the same thing he did. He’d always been a shrewd judge of character. A face-to-face meeting with