Page 92 of Threaded Lies

As I drive through the streets of Fairmont.

As I pull up to the curb and stare at the place I used to live and wonder if the teenager I was then ever imagined the chance of finding a woman like Rowan. A woman with drive, determination, and just enough gray in her to make me smile.

I head home after some time.

I sit on the balcony of my penthouse above the city that broke me and know this same city is where I’ll be made as whole as can be again.

And I think about a woman who doesn’t let me forget.

Just because it would never work doesn’t mean you can’t still want it. Doesn’t even mean you can’t enjoy it for a little bit.

Sleep eludes me.

That’s nothing new.

The only time it comes is when I’m with her.

THIRTY-THREE

Holden

“So from what I’ve gathered, the WillowBend owners are in agreement with the lender to make a lump sum payment by the end of next week,” Bob says through the phone.

“A lump sum, huh?” Where do they plan on getting that?

“Yes, and it’ll be enough to keep the wolves at bay for another month or two, but it won’t last long.”

“Are you seeing any activity in the trust?”

“Weddings are expensive these days,” he says. “And lucky for us, that’s part of their problem. Both Rothschild and Williams had to float more funds. The money they pulled from their family trusts to avoid defaulting on their land loan had to be deposited back in them for wedding expenses. Who knows where the hell they siphoned that capital from and just in time. It wouldn’t look too good if dear old Mom and Dad’s checks for wedding things—venue, flowers, over-the-top bullshit—bounced because none of that money they thought was in their account was really there.”

“Jesus. Whose bright idea was it to allow them to manage their family trusts?” I murmur, but I’ve seen the emails from years ago. The conversations between the sons and their parents around the same time when they all but schmoozed their parents into letting them take over.

A coordinated attack.

“They’ll all be bankrupt in no time. Both their entire fucking families.”

A grin flashes on my lips. “Exactly.”

“So am I pulling the trigger?” he asks, cautiously.

“Yes. Tell them the deal is moving forward upon the receipt and validation of the methane reports.”

“Which will be bogus,” he states.

“Yes, and thus will allow me to tank the deal two seconds before signing the paperwork.”

“May I ask a question?”

“Of course.”

“If you’re trying to bankrupt them, then why are you arranging a large campaign contribution?”

“Think about it.” It’s all I’ve thought about.

Bob clears his throat. “They’ll think they’ve fixed their WillowBend problem. That it will be sold and that bad deal will be off their hands. They’ll pay off the loan, save their credit, and return enough of the money they stole from their family trust to try and make a quick buck, so that they aren’t found out.”

“Keep going,” I say, enjoying listening to him think this through.