Page 9 of Unbalanced

Malcolm does his best to shrug it off, but his hand is shaky as he downs the rest of his glass.

“I’m not in trouble.”

“You dare lie to me? You beg for my help and then lie to my face,” I growl threateningly.

My cousin has no idea how much danger he is in right now. He just laughs like we are having fun. He’d rather save face than worry about me outing him and having him arrested.

“Look…I just need this round to close, then I’m golden. All I’m asking for is a letter.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Shit,” he mumbles under his breath. “The patents got delayed.”

“You just said they were being transferred.”

“It’s procedural stuff. I don’t want to bore you with the details.”

He polishes off the steak he most certainly can’t afford.

Our waitress suddenly appears, but the tension bubble doesn’t pop.

“Would either of you like dessert or coffee?”

“Neither, but you better put both meals on my tab since he can’t pay for his,” I say, hitting Malcom right where it hurts—his ego.

She nods and walks away. Malcolm looks horrified, when what he really should be doing is groveling for my mercy.

“That was uncalled for. I can cover my meal. Now she’s going to think I’m a chump.”

“You are a chump,” I growl. “You’re asking me to sign a legal opinion letter for investors stating assets exist when they do not. They may never, and then I’m on the hook for your mess. That’s fraud. It’s illegal, and it can ruin my company and everything I’ve built.”

“When you say it like that, it sounds so…”

“Criminal?”

Malcolm slides his chair closer as if that will somehow help.

“Alden, I need you to trust me. We’re family. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. No one is going to get hurt. I just need a little more time to get everything sorted. That’s it…I swear.”

“That’s what people say right before the FBI arrives.”

The last thing I need is agents sniffing around. They won’t find anything shady with my day job, but my extracurricular activities will certainly interest them.

Fear flickers across Malcolm’s face—real fear. I can almost smell it on him.

“How bad is it really?”

“Shit…some of the bridge money got reallocated. I need the investor money to complete the transfer of the patents.”

“Where did the bridge money go?”

“Another company,” he answers far too quickly.

“So let me get this straight. You used investor funds from one startup to float another that is also not yet up and running?”

“It’s temporary. They’re both going to explode and make millions.”

“You gambled with restricted capital,” I argue.