Page 2 of Stolen By the Billionaire
Blaze nodded. He’d been stone-cold sober. Stanley Bell, the Malefactor, had been drunk. Mary Varvara Bell would waive that stipulation if he tried to take her to court over it, so it didn’t count.
“You received the money from Mr. Stanley Bell, Mary Varvara Bell’s predecessor in the company White Holdings LLC, so that fulfills their end of the contract and makes you liable for the later repayment clause. The contract is with the company, not with Mr. Bell, so you were not released from the debt when Stanley Bell died.”
That was where Blaze had made his mistake. When the Malefactor had died, he’d breathed a sigh of relief.
All four of them had erred in their supposed liberation. Tristan “Twist” King, Micah Shine, Logan Bell, and he had partied on Twist’s yacht in Monaco and toasted Stanley Bell’s probable descent into Hell.
But they’d breathed easy too soon.
The Devil always comes to collect a debt.
The lawyer shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Robinson, but you need to liquidate all your assets and possessions and turn everything you own over to White Holdings. Otherwise, you’d have to figure out how to purchase this dictator’s wish list of weapons, ammunition, and sundry military items, including military-grade body armor and devices, and we both know that’s impossible.”
Not impossible. Just morally reprehensible.
And irresponsible on a global scale.
An irritated twinge snapped the corner of Blaze’s eye, and he rubbed the lid to dispel it.
Acquiring the military supplies and dumping them on Bell’s doorstep to discharge the debt wasn’t an option for Blaze. The guilt and shame would’ve been like his father was in the room and commenting on his homework or Little League game.
Huong tapped the documents on the desk, straightening the edges, and held the sheaf of paper out to him over the desk. “As your lawyer, I would advise you to discuss it with your financial advisors and determine which amount is less. If purchasing an army’s worth of weapons is less than your total net worth, then I would advise you to fulfill the contract. If your net worth is less, liquidate everything, hand it to her, and walk away. You’re young, not even twenty-seven. You have time to recover from this financial setback. Unfortunately, a lawyer can do little after a contract has been signed, particularly a contract as airtight as this one. Those are the rules.”
Blaze’s hands rested gently on the arms of the chair, not clutching, not cramping. His body was at ease, as were his mind and heart. “Rules? What rules are those?”
The lawyer shook his head like he was as exasperated by his uselessness as Blaze was. “Fighting this contract in court would be a waste of your money in lawyers’ fees. The outcome will be the same. Sorry, Mr. Robinson. I don’t make the rules.”
Rules. Fuck rules.
Blaze stood and straightened the slacks of the Armani suit he’d worn into the lawyer’s office. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Huong.”
The lawyer rose and extended his hand for a concluding handshake. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help. If you need someone to draw up an NDA or negotiate with White Holdings on your behalf for a payment plan or time for you to liquidate, I can do that. I’m sorry I don’t have better options for you, but the only rational option is conceding.”
Blaze wrapped his much larger hand around the attorney’s and looked down at his lawyer. “A Navy SEAL always has options.”
“Contractually, you don’t. I’m sorry, but there’s no way you can win this fight in court.”
Like hell.
Out of sheer force of habit, Blaze recited, “No matter how much it hurts, how dark it gets, or how far I fall, I am never out of the fight.”
Huong jerked his hand out of Blaze’s grip and shuffled back from his desk, presumably out of Blaze’s reach.
Blaze didn’t realize he had growled the common inspirational SEAL quote until he noticed microdroplets of sweat welling from the pores on Huong’s nose and cheekbones and felt the dampness of the lawyer’s hand in his own palm.
Dammit, Blaze hadn’t meant to scare the guy. The lawyer was just doing his job.
Huong stared at his hands splayed on the wood of his desk. “Always a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Robinson.”
Blaze nodded. “Likewise.”
He turned and left the office, walking through the rotating door of the lobby and into the Midwestern summer morning.
Sunlight reflected off the mirrored buildings crowding downtown Chicago, and a cool breeze skidded over Lake Michigan and threaded through the grid of streets. A park down by the waterfront was lush with dark green grass and May flowers.
Signing that deal with the Devil six years ago had been one of the greatest mistakes of Blaze’s life, but he would be damned if he went down without a fight.
Rules.
