Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 73664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“Would he have though?” I ask. “He died suddenly, right? Of an aneurysm?”
Shankle nods. “Yeah, and it was unexpected. Chance can tell you that Jonathan was lean and mean. The chance of an aneurysm, even at his age of fifty-eight, was slim to none, especially with no family history.”
“So where is this investigation coming from?” I demand. “Some whistleblower he paid to keep quiet?”
“Give the boy a silver dollar.” Shankle smiles.
If he calls me boy one more time…
But I’ve got worse shit to deal with.
“Fine, he freezes the assets,” Miles says. “Austin and I aren’t expecting a dime until next summer. But how the hell do we run this business—the ranch—if we can’t get at any money?”
“There’s overhead, Shankle,” Chance says. “Payroll. Running a ranch of this size isn’t cheap. Hell, you’re not sitting here for free, I’m sure.”
“I’ve got the top environmental partner at my firm looking into this,” Shankle replies, skimming over the fact that he’s probably clearing a pretty penny due to this new development. “Plus a guy with white-collar criminal experience. With my financial savvy, we can probably get the Feds to agree to keep funding available for day-to-day business operations of the ranch. Plus, nothing has happened yet.”
Yet. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t think yet might be coming soon.
“This is fucked.” I sit back down on the couch and turn to Miles. “You and I may as well go home. So much for our billions.”
“If you leave, you forfeit everything,” Shankle reminds us. “Nothing has been proven yet.”
“Except that Jonathan Bridger is officially an asshole,” I say.
“Truth, but Jesus Fucking Christ,” Miles mutters. “This is a mess.”
“Did you know anything about this, Shankle?” I demand.
He shakes his head. “I’m Bridger’s estate attorney and his general counsel with regard to the ranch. Once the year is up and you’ve met the requirements of the will, my service to your father is done. Regardless, I have nothing to do with his outside holdings, nor do I know who handles them. If the DOJ is involved, it’s got to be expansive.”
“So no attorney-client privilege, then.” From Miles. “Of course, he’s dead anyway.”
“Attorney-client privilege survives the death of the client,” Shankle clarifies. “But it doesn’t apply here for two reasons. First, this is all news to me, so there’s no privilege. And second, a client’s communication to his attorney isn’t privileged if he made it with the intention of committing or covering up a crime or fraud.”
Chance plunks his ass back down on his chair. “We are so fucked.”
“We?” Miles lifts his eyebrows. “He kept me and Austin out of his life completely.”
“Until now when he’s dead. Until this shit comes up,” Chance reminds us.
“Boys…” Shankle begins.
I stand again, this time lunging over the marble coffee table and pulling Shankle up by his bolo-tied collar. “I swear to God, if you call us boys one more time—”
“Easy.” Miles stands and jerks me backward. “This doesn’t have anything to do with the two of us.”
“Yes, it fucking does!” I release Shankle and throw him back down on the couch.
I spin, running my hand over the back of my neck.
“We can’t walk away from this cluster fuck,” I tell my brothers. “I need that money. I have a dying seaplane business and a sick mother. I have no choice but to stay and be sucked into this shit.”
I walk out of the living room, out of the damned house, knowing the problems will follow.
16
CARLY
* * *
I’m crazy. Crazy.
I shift once again beneath the cool sheets, second guessing every bit of confidence I lumped together to get here. I had a plan. To show up at Bridger Ranch, sneak into Austin’s room and seduce him.
The only thing that went right was that I parked by the stable as I usually did without incident. Then things fell apart a bit.
I ran into Lexie, who was late leaving for the day, and I had to lie and tell her I forgot my phone. She left after I pretended to go into the staff room to grab my not-left-behind cell. When she was gone, I sneaked up to the main house, hoping to slip in through the back door and to Austin’s room. The plan was to have him asleep, naked, and I’d climb in and we’d have sex.
However Miles caught me barely inside the house. I was tiptoeing across the kitchen, my work boots grasped between my fingers. I was so nervous just sneaking in that my heart rate was out of control. When Miles closed the fridge door and grinned at me, I felt like a deer caught in the middle of the road before being plowed down by a cement truck.
“Hey there,” Miles says, holding a beer. Of the three brothers, he’s the quietest. But the wildest, I think. He’s rough around the edges, just like I imagine most from New York.