be the least of the issues.
As a car pulled up outside, he rolled his eyes. “Qalbi must have forgotten his bedside manner.”
Shelby went over to the door and opened it. “It’s someone else.”
“If it’s a long black limo with a pink Chanel suit in back, tell them to—”
“It’s a man.”
Edward smiled coldly. “At least I know it’s not my father coming to see me. That little headache has been well taken care of.”
When Edward looked over to the open doorway, he frowned as he saw who it was out front. “Shelby. Will you excuse us for a moment? Thank you.”
TEN
O utin the sunshine at Easterly, Lane ended the call to Metro Police and looked at Samuel T., who’d come back out the grand front door.
“Okay, Counselor,” Lane said. “We’ve got fifteen, twenty minutes before the homicide team arrives. At this point I’m on a first-name basis with them.”
“So we’ve got enough time to hide evidence in case you did it.” As Lizzie and Greta pulled a gasp-and-stare, Samuel T. rolled his eyes. “Relax. It was a joke—”
At that moment, Jeff Stern came pile driving out of the mansion. Lane’s old college roommate and U.Va. fraternity brother looked about as relaxed and well slept as anybody who’d been up for too many nights straight, living on coffee and microscoping financial spreadsheets.
An extra from
The Walking Dead
had a better chance with
GQ
.
“We got a problem,” Jeff said as he stumbled across the lawn.
Under different circumstances, he was actually a handsome guy, a self-professed anti-WASP with his proud Jewish heritage and New Jersey accent. He’d stood out at U.Va. for a lot of reasons, mostly because of hismath skills, and had subsequently gone on to Wall Street to make sick money as an investment banker.
Lane had spent the last two years on the bastard’s couch up in the Big Apple. And he’d repaid the favor by begging Jeff to take a “vacation” and figure out what the hell his father had done with all that money.
“Can it wait?” Lane said. “I need to—”
“No.” Jeff glanced at Lizzie and Greta. “We need to talk.”
“Well, we have fifteen minutes before the police get here.”
“So you know? What the hell? Why didn’t you tell me—”
“Know what?”
Jeff looked at the two women again, but Lane cut that off. “Anything you have to say to me can be done in front of them.”
“You sure about that?” The guy put his palms up and cut off any argument. “Fine. Someone’s embezzling from the company, too. It’s not just whatever happened to your household accounts. There’s a river of money leaving Bradford Bourbon, and if you want to have anything left, you better call the FBI now. There are bank wires all over the place, a lot of RICO shit going on—this needs to be handled by the Feds.”
Lane looked at Lizzie, and as she reached out and took his hand, he wondered what the hell he would do without her. “Are you sure?”
His old friend shot him a give-me-a-break stare. “And I haven’t even gone through all of it. It’s that bad. You need to get senior management to halt all activity, then call the FBI, and lock up that business center behind this house.”
Lane pivoted toward the mansion. After his mother had “taken ill,” his father had converted what had previously been the stables behind the mansion into a fully functional, state-of-the-art office facility right on site. William had moved senior management in, put locks on all the doors, and turned the company’s massive headquarters downtown into a second-fiddle, also-ran repository for vice presidents, directors, and middle managers. Ostensibly, the relocation of the brain trust had been so the man could stay home closer to his wife, but really, who could believe that, given that the pair of them had rarely been in the same room together.
NowLane was seeing the real reason why. Easier to steal with fewer people around.
“Field trip,” he announced.
With that, he
As a car pulled up outside, he rolled his eyes. “Qalbi must have forgotten his bedside manner.”
Shelby went over to the door and opened it. “It’s someone else.”
“If it’s a long black limo with a pink Chanel suit in back, tell them to—”
“It’s a man.”
Edward smiled coldly. “At least I know it’s not my father coming to see me. That little headache has been well taken care of.”
When Edward looked over to the open doorway, he frowned as he saw who it was out front. “Shelby. Will you excuse us for a moment? Thank you.”
TEN
O utin the sunshine at Easterly, Lane ended the call to Metro Police and looked at Samuel T., who’d come back out the grand front door.
“Okay, Counselor,” Lane said. “We’ve got fifteen, twenty minutes before the homicide team arrives. At this point I’m on a first-name basis with them.”
“So we’ve got enough time to hide evidence in case you did it.” As Lizzie and Greta pulled a gasp-and-stare, Samuel T. rolled his eyes. “Relax. It was a joke—”
At that moment, Jeff Stern came pile driving out of the mansion. Lane’s old college roommate and U.Va. fraternity brother looked about as relaxed and well slept as anybody who’d been up for too many nights straight, living on coffee and microscoping financial spreadsheets.
An extra from
The Walking Dead
had a better chance with
GQ
.
“We got a problem,” Jeff said as he stumbled across the lawn.
Under different circumstances, he was actually a handsome guy, a self-professed anti-WASP with his proud Jewish heritage and New Jersey accent. He’d stood out at U.Va. for a lot of reasons, mostly because of hismath skills, and had subsequently gone on to Wall Street to make sick money as an investment banker.
Lane had spent the last two years on the bastard’s couch up in the Big Apple. And he’d repaid the favor by begging Jeff to take a “vacation” and figure out what the hell his father had done with all that money.
“Can it wait?” Lane said. “I need to—”
“No.” Jeff glanced at Lizzie and Greta. “We need to talk.”
“Well, we have fifteen minutes before the police get here.”
“So you know? What the hell? Why didn’t you tell me—”
“Know what?”
Jeff looked at the two women again, but Lane cut that off. “Anything you have to say to me can be done in front of them.”
“You sure about that?” The guy put his palms up and cut off any argument. “Fine. Someone’s embezzling from the company, too. It’s not just whatever happened to your household accounts. There’s a river of money leaving Bradford Bourbon, and if you want to have anything left, you better call the FBI now. There are bank wires all over the place, a lot of RICO shit going on—this needs to be handled by the Feds.”
Lane looked at Lizzie, and as she reached out and took his hand, he wondered what the hell he would do without her. “Are you sure?”
His old friend shot him a give-me-a-break stare. “And I haven’t even gone through all of it. It’s that bad. You need to get senior management to halt all activity, then call the FBI, and lock up that business center behind this house.”
Lane pivoted toward the mansion. After his mother had “taken ill,” his father had converted what had previously been the stables behind the mansion into a fully functional, state-of-the-art office facility right on site. William had moved senior management in, put locks on all the doors, and turned the company’s massive headquarters downtown into a second-fiddle, also-ran repository for vice presidents, directors, and middle managers. Ostensibly, the relocation of the brain trust had been so the man could stay home closer to his wife, but really, who could believe that, given that the pair of them had rarely been in the same room together.
NowLane was seeing the real reason why. Easier to steal with fewer people around.
“Field trip,” he announced.
With that, he
Similar Books
