The Bourbon Kings

Jeff dropped the smartass. “What kind of problem.”

“I need someone to tell me if my father is embezzling from the family company. To the tune of over fifty million dollars.”

Jeff whistled softly. “That’s a lot of cabbage, my friend.”

“My brother managed to get me access to … Christ, it’s about five hundred pages worth of spreadsheets and financial disclosures, but I have no idea what I’m looking at. I want you to come down and tell me what happened, and it has to be now—before he figures out I’m onto him and gets rid of anything that incriminates him.”

“Listen, Lane, you know I love you like the long-lost Waspy brother I never had, but you’re talking about forensic accounting. There are people who specialize in that—for a reason. Let me find you someone you can trust—”

“That’s my point, Jeff. I can’t trust anyone with this—it’s my family we’re talking about.”

“We can blind all the documents. I can help with that—so that whoever it is won’t know—”

“I want you.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Lane.”

Thanks to having known the guy for years, Lane was very aware that his job was now to shut up and let Jeff grumble his way down the rabbit hole. Nothing was going to sway the guy; there was no persuasion to be brought to bear, and if you did try to mouth off, sometimes it worked against you.

Instead, Lane knew if he kept quiet, all their years together were going to take care of the problem.

Bingo:

“I’m going to insist someone check my work,” Jeff muttered. “And fuck you—that’s non-negotiable. I’m not going to be responsible for screwing this up just because you have some romantic notion that I’m brilliant with numbers.”

“But you are.”

“Damn you, Baldwine.”

“I can’t send a plane for you. It would create too much attention.”

“That’s okay. One of my family’s is on the East Coast. I’ll get on it tomorrow morning—and no, I can’t come sooner. I’m going to have to shift some things around at work.”

“I owe you.”

“Damn straight you do. And you can start repaying me tomorrow night. I want free booze and loose women if I’m going to do this.”

“I’ll take care of everything. I’ll even pick you up at the airport myself, just text me your arrival time.”

Jeff was muttering obscenities as the guy hung up without saying good-bye.

As Lane put his own phone down, he blew out a breath. “Thank God.”

“Who was that?”

“Guess you’d call him my best friend. He was the one I was staying with up north. Jeff Stern. Brilliant finance guy. If anyone can make sense of the money trail, he will. And after that …” Lane rubbed his eyes. “God, I guess I should go to the police? Maybe the SEC? But I’d really rather handle it quietly.”

“What if your father’s broken the law?”

A sudden image of William Baldwine in an orange jumpsuit made him relieved, in a sick way, that his mother was so out of it. “I’m not going to get in the way of the authorities. What I’m worried about is that he’s used Mother’s power of attorney to drain her accounts, but I don’t have access to those records—they’re all at Prospect Trust.”

“If the police or the FBI get involved, they can find that out.”

Lane nodded, remembering the sight of that body bag leaving Easterly. “If Rosalinda committed suicide over this, my father has someone’s blood on his hands. He needs to be brought to justice.”

“You know, usually I try to look on the bright side of things, but …” She took his hand. “Well, no matter what happens, I’m with you, okay?”

Looking over at her, he said gravely, “That’s all I need. No matter where this all goes … if I have you—”

The phone rang again, and he laughed as he picked it back up. “He’s having second thoughts. No, Jeff, you can’t back out of it—”

“Are you near a TV?”

Lane sat up. “Samuel T.?”

“Are you?”

“No. What’s going on?”

“I need you to come to my house right away. The police are looking for you, and when you weren’t at Easterly, Mitch called me.”

“What—what are you talking about?” Then he thought, Oh, shit. “Look, I realize Edward and I technically entered the business center under false pretenses, but the goddamn facility’s on the property, for one thing. And as for the documents we—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, and right now I don’t care. Chantal went to the emergency room first thing this morning all beaten to hell and gone. She told the authorities you did it to her when you found out that she was pregnant after you filed the divorce papers. They’re placing you under arrest for first-degree domestic assault, and they might have enough to lift it to attempted murder.”

“What!” Lane jumped to his feet. “Is she insane!”

“No, what she is is in surgery. They’re resetting her jaw at the moment.”

“I never touched Chantal! And I can prove it! I wasn’t even home last night—”

“Just get to my house. I’ll broker an intake in the middle of the night so there are no pictures of you going in—and we’ll bail you—”