Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 149209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 746(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 497(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 746(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 497(@300wpm)
I wasn’t ready to hear it. Though Barclay’s passing no longer upset me, I left the funeral in tears.
Not long after, I flew to the Caymans. My trip there to retrieve the victims’ stolen funds was long and frustrating. Weeding through all the documentation, bureaucracy, and legalities took weeks. Finally, the bank relinquished the funds to me—all seven hundred eighty million dollars of it. It took another few weeks for me to clear my plans with the feds.
And the entire time I was in the blue-ocean, palm-tree paradise, I couldn’t stop thinking about my time in Maui with Clint. Was any of what we shared real? Did he fall for me, despite wondering if I was guilty? Does he really love me?
I don’t know, and the battle between prudence and hope seems never ending.
Since returning stateside two weeks ago, I’ve dispersed all funds back to the victims and quietly let them know I’m here if they ever need a resource or help in understanding their investments. I recommended other well-respected advisors to them, of course. I was stunned that a handful of former clients insisted on sticking with me.
Though maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. After Barclay’s death and during Linda’s trial, the facts of the case hit the news. I was exonerated in the court of public opinion when it became clear that I had no knowledge or hand in the scheme. The one day I had to testify, I barely held myself together as I described the moment I realized my father had utterly deceived me—and all our clients. Maybe those people now feel sorry for me. Maybe they believe in second chances. Either way, I’ve retained enough of these former investors to start my own financial services firm.
Stephen Lund hired me, too. Yes, probably out of loyalty and pity, but I appreciate his friendship. He still hasn’t left Maui, and he’s not spilling about what he’s up to, much less when—or if—he intends to return home and resume his role as his father’s second-in-command again at Colossus Investment Corporation. But he sounds happier than I’ve ever heard him. I wonder if that pretty blonde is the reason…
Noah and Harlow hired me to manage their money, too. Ditto Evan and Nia. It’s above and beyond the call of sibling duty. But I’m working exceptionally hard to make the most of their investments and ensure they never regret their decision.
The only client whose stolen funds I haven’t returned yet is Clint’s. This, I wanted to do in person. Because honestly, every day we’ve been apart, the man has done his best to ensure he’s never far from my thoughts.
I need to know where we stand—once and for all.
Shortly after my dad’s funeral, he started texting me. Sure, he said he was sorry a lot. Every day, he reiterates that he loves me. I’ve never replied. At first, I had too much happening to expend mental energy on anything except Barclay and the mess he left. Now that I’ve straightened it up, I’ve started getting perspective. I’m wondering if Clint and I could ever be an us again.
In the last two weeks, I’ve thought of almost nothing else. I’m still not sure what to believe.
Recently, he started texting me about more day-to-day stuff, too—making me feel like I’m a part of his life. Bryson, his youngest brother, is apparently flourishing at college. Bret, the middle sibling, finally realized that his hate for me was misplaced. He’s laid off the booze and started hitting the books again. I’m happy for them both. I’ve never met Bret, but I’m glad for his sake that he’s moving on.
Not that I don’t understand where he was coming from. Grief can bend a person in terrible ways, and while it’s fresh, it’s hard not to welcome any kind of comfort, even if it’s wrong. Thankfully, my crutch was less destructive than alcohol. I devoted most every waking hour to the victims’ fund I began, which has grown twenty-three percent in the last nine months. I’m proud of that accomplishment. I’m even happier that the funds I returned to the victims were sometimes even more than the amount they initially invested.
Clint sold his father’s business, then sent me his third of the proceeds with the explicit request to add the amount to the victims’ fund. To have him embrace my most near-and-dear cause touched me. It made me cry…and wonder if we could have forever.
A few weeks later, he surprised me again, this time by sending me the proceeds from the sale of his North Dakota business, along with a note asking me to invest it. Because he trusts me, he says. Because he wants to show me that he has utter faith in me. Because, despite what I think, he still loves me.
At the time, I didn’t know what to say…so I’ve said nothing. All professional correspondence has been via certified letter or a temp I hired until I land my business somewhere and put down roots. Regardless, every single day Clint texts me his thoughts, his feelings, his hopes for our future, and his sincere apologies.