Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 157491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
“You could always dip into your offshore bank account,” Griffin says, sliding the folder over next. I stare at the thing like it’s a ticking time bomb. Like a bomb, I want to run away from it. Oh, bugger it. I flip it open and scan page after page of information. Bank accounts in my name. Deeds of ownership the same. Stocks, bonds, and stuff I don’t even understand.
The fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and my skin begins to tingle. I close my eyes, and all I can see are bursting number stars in the darkness. Am I having a mini panic attack?
“Are you okay over there?” Chair legs scrape against the floor, and my eyes spring open.
“I think I feel a little sick. This is all legitimate. The money, it’s not…”
“Ill-gotten gains?” He snorts, amused.
“I thought you were here to help.”
“Isla, Van is the cleverest fucker I’ve ever known. And none of this can be linked to any kind of organized crime, that I can guarantee.”
“Organized?” A heavy stone plummets to the base of my stomach.
“You know.” His shoulder lifts and falls, but it’s clear that’s all he has to say on the subject. “Well, it looks like my job here is done.”
“That’s it? You’re not going help me understand what to do with all of this?” I flick the edge of the folder, still unsure what to think.
“You don’t want to take financial advice from me. Far better you speak to the head honcho.”
“Hmm?” My gaze rises from the folder.
“Sandy is bound to be much better at this sort of stuff.”
My heart gives a little pang at the mention of his name. I’ve seen him since we got back, but I haven’t been around nearly as much. I’ve blamed the business and the boys’ schedules, but the truth is, guilt keeps me from him. Guilt at what he did in the name of protecting me. I feel like we both have blood on our hands and no way to get rid of it. No way to discuss it. I can’t tell him what I know, or how I know, and that kills me a little. But he wouldn’t understand. He’d hold it against Van, and I don’t want him to. Whatever the impetus or the driving force behind our marriage, I don’t regret it. I’ve said as much to my brother, and we seem to have reached a place where we ignore the fact that I married his best friend under less-than-perfect circumstances. Or maybe that should be his former best friend, given the way Niko had looked when he’d returned from picking up Gertie. His cheek wasn’t swollen because he’d had a difference of opinion with a door, no matter how strongly he insisted. The man doesn’t have a clumsy bone in his body.
“Oh, and the contact details for a wealth manager are also in the file. Or you could find your own.”
“I didn’t even know it was a thing,” I murmur, standing from my own chair now. “I’ve never had wealth before.”
Griffin looks at me askance. And I begin to chuckle.
“Did you think I had hidden millions somewhere? That I like driving a battered Range Rover? That I found the oil leak charming?”
“He left you with money, though, right?”
He who shall not be named, also known as our father. “The only thing he left me with is an overwhelming need to please other people. Everything went to Sandy, but if you ask me, he still got the rotten end of the deal.”
“He got the title.”
“You wouldn’t want that.”
“They wouldn’t give it to a bastard, anyway,” he says with a sharp laugh. “Nah, I wouldn’t want it. I suppose I just assumed you would’ve been taken care of.”
“No.” I glance down at the folder. “At least, not until now.”
“What a fucked-up family,” he mutters.
“Yes, but we’re working on it.”
He looks at me for a beat, then nods. Giving in to the label, maybe. “Well, if you ever murder anyone, I’m the man to call.”
“To bury the body or to take care of my defense?”
“Both of those are in the remit of my talents.”
“I’m sure you have many other attributes.”
“None that you want to know about,” he returns as we make our way through the house to the front door.
“Thanks for coming.” He looks surprised to find my hand on his arm. More surprised still as I pull him in for a hug. “Van did right in asking you.”
But am I doing right in accepting such generosity?
I suppose time will tell.
We have a problem, reads the text from the House of Dalforth’s logistics manager. Who also happens to be my operations manager, my inventories manager, and even sometimes a customer service rep.
It’s not a bad problem to have, exactly, she follows up with.