Brody, page 29
And that’s the rub right there.
I believe Brody.
My faith should be in my uncle. Instead, Brody’s truth is the one I believe.
But I do my own digging. That begins with a phone call to Asher, who confirms everything Brody mentioned. Somehow, Mark’s been shuttling crop harvested from the fields and diverting it elsewhere.
But where?
For the rest of the afternoon, I look through the books, tracking every penny. With Asher’s help, I uncover nearly a million in lost revenue going back over ten years.
Mark’s been patient.
He’s been stealing from the business for a decade and increasing what he takes each year.
Embezzlement.
It’s a crime, one I’ll have to deal with because I can’t ignore it. Those millions are unreported income the IRS will be interested in. If I don’t do the right thing, they’ll come after me for tax fraud, not to mention I’ll have to pay back taxes on that income and any associated fines. That’s one sure way to bankrupt my company.
But I’m going to do my own investigation and make sure I’ve got my ducks in a row. There are people to call, advice I need, and I can’t talk to Brody.
I’m not ready for that.
So, I reach out to a couple of my professors at Stanford who specialize in embezzlement cases. They connect me with the FBI. After a week, I’ve retained a lawyer, and we have a plan in place. As for Mark, I want to give him the benefit of the doubt.
He’s not in his office, which gives me a chance to look around. I find invoices from two separate trucking companies. We’re a small operation, which means we contract out a lot of things, like the trucks which haul our grapes from the field to the warehouses.
There’s no reason to pay two separate companies.
Using my camera, I scan the documents and send them to my lawyer. A closer examination reveals exactly what Brody suspects. Last year, the first company hauled only three-fourths of our total yield. The other company carried the rest. Going back ten years, it was a single truckload that was diverted. Mark methodically stepped up how much he skimmed as the years went by.
A quick call to the second trucking company is the final nail in the coffin. Sure enough, Mark diverted our crop and sent it to a large aggregator. He’s been pocketing the profits they gave him. That knowledge guts me and I stagger against the wall, refusing to believe it, but know it for the truth it is.
Am I strong enough to face him alone?
That answer is a resounding no, but I know someone who can help.
“Hey, sweetie.” Abbie kisses me on the cheek and sweeps into my kitchen. “You ready for this?”
Abbie knows everything I’m up to. My assumption is she keeps Brody in the loop. Knowing him, he most likely pumps his mother for any information about me. He hasn’t tried to contact me, giving me the space I desperately asked him for. With the passing of every day, I miss him more and more, regretting that I sent him away, but I need to do this alone.
“Thanks for coming.” I greet her with a weak smile.
“My pleasure.” Abbie makes herself at home in my kitchen. “You’re nervous.” She bustles about, and oddly her activity soothes me.
“I’ve been a nervous wreck for weeks.”
It’s been three weeks since I talked to Brody. Like I asked, he assigned our account to a junior executive at Sterling Enterprises. Not that I believe in fate or anything, but we received our first list of recommendations, all laid out into the three different tiers. It provides the perfect opportunity to sit with Mark and discuss where to go from here.
“I imagine you have, sweetie. Something like this is hard. I can’t imagine how this must feel for you.”
One of the things I love most about Abbie La Rouge is how she separates our friendship from her maternal instincts with her boys. She’s well aware Brody and I aren’t speaking and steers the conversation away from any maternal meddling in our affairs. I need that because she’s right. This is hard to do without friends.
“Are you sure there wasn’t a rift between Mom and Uncle Mark?” I ask.
“Those two have been tight since forever. It was hard when your grandparents passed. Lucy had to step up, taking over control of the business, and taking care of her brother.”
I sat down with my lawyer going over Mom’s will and all the assets surrounding the business. Uncle Mark owns a minority share in the business, forty percent. Mom’s sixty-percent of Atwood Estates is now mine. The land is separate from the business and has been held by my family for generations, and this is the key.
My family.
Not Mark’s.
Step-siblings, Mom and Mark aren’t technically related. That land passed from my grandmother, to my mother, and then to me. It’s an uninterrupted legacy going back well over a hundred years. I need to know what Mark intends to buy me out of; is it the business or the land?
“Hello!” Mark calls out as he opens the kitchen door. “It’s a beautiful day outside. Grapes are looking good. Harvest is coming soon.” His eyes light up as he rubs his palms together. “And it smells like heaven in here.” He goes to Abbie first, pulling her into a hug and kissing her cheek. “You really don’t have to keep spoiling us, although, I don’t mind if you do.”
“You know it’s my pleasure.”
Abbie doesn’t come over as often as she did that first week, but she still does the majority of our cooking. The fridge is full of her amazing meals, and I’m not ready to ask her to stop. First off, I’m pretty sure this is her way to grieve. Second, her food is out of this world. Thirdly, she’s my connection to Brody.
“Oh, I’m sure the pleasure is ours.” Mark gives a long, exaggerated sniff of the air. His eyes close as he takes in a deep inhale. “What do I smell?”
“I’m making shrimp Alfredo.” Abbie turns back to the stove to stir the sauce. Alfredo can be touchy, requiring near constant attention or it’ll scald and burn.
“Fabulous.”
“Hey, Mark.” I greet him with a hug, a kiss, and a smile. All the while, I feel like I’m going to throw up. “We’ve got some time before lunch. Do you want to go over the suggestions now? Or wait until after lunch?”
“We can do it now. I don’t have a ton of time, but when you said Abbie was cooking, I couldn’t resist.”
“Perfect.” I wave him over to sit beside me on the opposite side of the massive kitchen island. Sterling Enterprises sent everything over electronically, a part of their zero-paperwork philosophy, but I printed everything out. My brain simply works better with real paper.
“I pulled out the important bits, but here’s the full report if you want to look at it.” Four stacks of paper sit in front of me. One is the full file. The other three are the different tier recommendations. “Do you want to start with Tier One or Tier Three?”
“Have you looked them over?” His warm gaze settles on me.
I can’t tell if the worry lines are real or an act. I hate everything about this. Conflict is not my friend, and I’m not a suspicious person by nature. I rub my palms on my jeans, trying to scrub off the sudden sweat.
“You look worried.” He takes the Tier One list of requirements and glances at them.
“I am.” I gesture vaguely at the piles. “It’s a lot to take in, and honestly, I don’t know how we’re going to meet all their requirements.”
“Well, give me a moment to take a look.” His attention turns to the papers while I share a look with Abbie.
She’s been silent this whole time but is ready to support me as I need it.
“Hmm…” He scans the list. “This is a bit more than I anticipated.”
“A bit?” With no idea whether Brody doctored the requirements or not, knowing this confrontation was coming, I agree with Mark. It’s far more than I anticipated too, and those are Tier One requirements. We have no choice but to implement them. “It’s way more than I thought it would be. Honestly, it’s overwhelming.”
He nods and continues scanning.
I pick up the Tier Two recommendations. “These aren’t much better, but at least we can counter with some of these.”
“I don’t think their idea of a counter is the same as ours.” He holds his hand out and I give him the Tier Two list.
Abbie busies herself with lunch preparation while I sit and wait. I can’t push too hard. I’m not that good at deception. Finally, he lowers the papers and leans back.
“What’s your gut say?”
“My gut?” I play up my nerves. Not that it’s hard. I’m a nervous wreck. “My gut says, cut and run.”
“You can’t be serious?” His brow arches, but all I see is the eager gleam in his eyes. I’m suspicious of everything and hate it.
“You know I’d never walk away from Atwood Estates, but I’m nervous.”
“Look, I know you feel like you owe it to your mother to keep this place afloat, but maybe that’s not what you need to do.”
“What do you mean?”
“Only that she wanted to give you something, and I don’t think that was a sinking business.” He points to the papers. “We can get all this done. Nothing is too far out there, but if you’re not one-hundred percent positive this is what you want, there’s always a way out.”
“How?”
“My offer still stands. I can buy you out. You deserve to pursue your dreams, rather than keep your mother’s afloat.”
“I don’t know.” I squirm in my seat. “How would that work exactly?”
“A simple transfer.”
“You’ll keep the business going?”
“I’ll definitely try.”
“So, I hand over my interest in the business? What about Mom’s home?” I want to know if he’s after the land.
Businesses come and go. If Atwood Estates goes bankrupt, I can start something new. That’s not what I want, but I have the education and skills to run any business; at least that’s what my diploma from Stanford says.
“Well…” He rubs at the back of his neck. “We’d need to transfer everything.”
“Everything?”
“The land and business.”
And there it is, proof he wants my land.
“Oh, I just assumed that was part of it.”
“Technically, it is, but we’d want to transfer all of it.”
Technically, Uncle Mark, they are two entirely different things.
But I don’t let on that I know he’s trying to swindle me out of my family’s legacy.
My legacy.
Not his.
For the first time, I no longer see Mark as part of my family.
“And you would do that for me?”
“I can get something drawn up by the end of the week.” He glances at his cuticles and looks up, like he’s doing me a favor.
Crook!
Thief!
“Wow.” I shift in my seat and try to look as nervous as possible.
“Sweetie, you might want to sit on this for a bit.” Abbie moves around the kitchen, pulling out dishes and flatware.
“Here, let me help you.” I grab the plates from her as she whispers in my ear.
“You’re doing great.”
I smile. Such a little thing, her words smooth away my anger. All I really need is someone in my corner supporting me. I need Brody, and while I adore Abbie, I can’t help but wish he was here backing me up. Pain stabs at my heart as I realize how much I miss him. Too blinded by anger, I pushed him away when I should’ve kept him close.
Especially now.
“It’s a generous offer, but I can’t abandon you.” I need to hold Mark off.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m much more familiar with how everything works around here.” He lifts the papers with Sterling Enterprise's recommendations on them. “Whether with these guys or through some of my contacts.”
Contacts that will offer you twelve million for the land you want me to hand over for two million. Not in this lifetime.
“So, what about these?” I point to the papers. “You don’t want to proceed with Sterling Enterprises?”
“I probably want to sit on it a bit.” He glances at the food Abbie sets out and gives another long sniff. “Now that food smells amazing. I can’t wait to dig in.”
And I can’t wait to slam the hammer down on you.
But the approach to dealing with Mark needs to be handled delicately. Even though I have people in play: my lawyer, law enforcement, the advice of my professors at Stanford, I feel like I’m missing the biggest gun in my arsenal.
Abbie carries the conversation while we eat, getting Mark to talk about meaningless things. She steers the conversation away from business to harvest festivals and the upcoming holiday season. Her bright and bubbly personality works on me as much as it does on Mark. By the end of lunch, that bundle of nerves is gone. I laugh and smile, almost like normal, but I’m far from feeling normal, not after Mark’s betrayal.
As soon as he leaves, Abbie leaves me to clean the dishes. It’s the only concession she gives me. After fighting over it one night, I put my foot down and told her, She who cooks, does not clean. Once all the dishes are put away, I clutch my phone to my chest and head out to the porch to make some calls.
When I open the door, I pull to a sudden stop.
“Brody…”
Forty-Two
Brody
For the past half hour, the sound of Grace moving in the kitchen drives me crazy.
Give me time. I need space.
Her words rumble in my head, but each time they surface, I push them away. It’s been three, horrifically long weeks without her in my life.
I lost count of the number of times I caught myself running past her place. Asher thinks I’ve lost my mind. Since the day I dropped Grace off, I’ve stayed at La Rouge. Each morning, I head out for a grueling twenty-mile run and pass by the lane leading to her home. It’s there where I force myself to continue, punishing my body, as I give her the space she needs.
I didn’t do that today. Mom told me Grace was confronting Mark, and I’ll be damned if I won’t be there for her. I know the truth, Grace knows it as well, but that doesn’t mean this won’t be devastating.
As far as work is concerned, I called Hawke and told him I’d be working from home for the foreseeable future. Hawke didn’t bat an eye; the bastard isn’t stupid. He knows exactly what’s going on, putting two and two together when I insisted on taking the Atwood Estates account on personally.
Mom’s been great. She updates me each evening when I sink with exhaustion into her couch and complain about giving Grace space. Mom listens, tells me to suck it up, and cooks dinner while imparting her wisdom on why it’s important I let Grace handle things on her own. Each night, I run home, passing by Grace’s place once again, where I stoically stay away and give her space.
Today, however, I made a decision. Grace may need space, but I can barely breathe. I can no longer stay away. One way, or another, we’re fixing this. But when I get to her place, I stop at the top step of her porch and debate the wisdom of my decision.
The door swings open, surprising me. When Grace’s soft voice says my name, my heart leaps for joy.
“Grace.”
Her entire body trembles. She clutches her phone tight to her chest, turning the knuckles of that hand white. Her sun-kissed complexion is gone, and in its place, a sickly shade of loss and betrayal takes over.
“I’m here.” I open my arms, and she rushes into my embrace. The way my arms wrap around her feels right. We simply fit together.
She leans against me and doesn’t say a word. That’s okay; we don’t need words. I breathe her in as she settles against me. My need for her hums through my blood as my fingers float through her hair, stroking through the tangles. I touch her face and sweep my fingers along her cheek and over her lips. She lifts her hands, encircling my back, and snuggles in.
“I miss you,” she says.
“I missed you more.” God, I missed holding her in my arms. I miss the scent of her hair and the sound she makes when she gasps. Easing back, I take a long look at her and wonder how I survived three weeks without her.
“Mark was here,” she says.
“I know.”
“And…”
“I know.”
I’ve kept tabs on Grace, first through Asher, then through Mom. Jesus, I wish I’d been by her side, but I’ve had time to think about what she said. I cup her jaw and tip her face to look at me.
I lean down, and she lifts on her toes, closing the distance, offering herself, and silently pleading for a kiss. My gaze unerringly latches onto her beautiful, angelic face, creased with pain and tarnished by betrayal. I wish to take all her pain and carry it for her.
Her eyes simmer, heating with the undeniable pull we share for each other. Blistering heat sweeps through me, manipulating the flow of my blood, and sending it to awaken a desire I can’t contain.
My balls tingle. My cock swells. I hold Grace in my arms, knowing this is exactly where I belong.
I’m desperately in love with Grace Atwood.
This thing between us is a potent force. Like gravity, it pulls us together. Electricity shoots along my nerves until every cell in my body is aware of her presence. Bound together by the irresistible force of a brutally flawed, but healing love, we’re destined to be together.
“These last few weeks have been the worst of my life.” She turns her face to mine, tilting it up, seeking to reestablish our connection.
“They’ve been the worst.” It’s a truth I’m ashamed to admit.
If Grace felt a tenth of what I endured these past few weeks when I turned my back on her all those years ago, I don’t deserve her forgiveness. I definitely don’t deserve her love, but I’m hopeful. “You captivate me.”
“Brody…”
“I have something to say.”
For a decade, I’ve avoided the trap of relationships because some small part of me knew what I lost when I walked away from this amazing woman.
