“I don’t think he has a choice,” I remark, but still, my eyebrows knit together at his tone.
“Except he could challenge the will,” Kaplan continues when Oliver doesn’t. “I mean, people do it all the time and clearly Harrison wasn’t well at the time of its drafting. He could challenge the mental fitness of his son and contest the will. Hell, I bet the letter Bishop is sending you proves how unstable Harrison was.”
Suddenly the bite of sausage, bread, peppers, and onions I was working on gets lodged in my throat and I have to chase it down with my soda before I choke to death. “He said he couldn’t challenge it. He also said something about not wanting to inherit from his son’s death and that he didn’t need the money anyway. He said he just wanted to be done with all of it.” Only my voice comes out small. Suddenly questioning everything. “I told him I don’t want the money. He can fucking keep it. And the goddamn letter.” No one says anything and I’m growing more agitated by the second. “This doesn’t make sense. Why would he say he can’t keep the money if he can?”
All my brothers exchange looks. “I don’t know,” Carter says. “Maybe he doesn’t want his son’s money. But why are you only hearing about this will now? The letter is one thing, but a will is another. Shouldn’t an attorney have contacted you immediately after Harrison’s death about it? Now Bishop has your phone number and address.”
A sick knot of dread plummets to the pit of my stomach as a chill runs up my spine. My fingers itch to start tapping, but instead I ball my hands up into fists. “Legally there had to be a reading of the will after Harrison died.” My voice is a whisper. Hollow and lifeless.
“Yes,” Luca agrees, running his hands through his dark hair as he leans forward in his seat one row behind me, dropping his elbows to his parted thighs. “An attorney absolutely should have reached out to you when Harrison died. So that means a few different things might have gone down. One, Bishop didn’t tell anyone about the will when Harrison died. Two, he didn’t know about it and the attorney didn’t know about Harrison’s death and somehow with the inheritance looming, it came out. Harrison’s death wasn’t exactly in the papers or publicized. Both his family and ours made sure of it. Or all this could be for another reason I can’t think up right now. It’s just weird that it’s all coming out now around the anniversary of Harrison’s death.” His green eyes shift to the field, his posture turning rigid as his fists are balled so tight they’re turning white.
“Maybe he didn’t want the press in on it?” Oliver guesses. “He didn’t want a legal battle, so he never contested it? Didn’t want the nature of Harrison’s crimes and death to be made public? We’re six years later now. It’s likely too late to contest it anyway.”
“If there wasn’t a will, the money would go straight to him,” Luca growls. “A hundred million. Think about that. How easy is it for him to push that sort of money away just to save face or say he doesn’t want to inherit from his son’s death?”
“He said his attorney would make sure the funds were sent directly to me and then it would be done. Simple and straightforward, he said.” More looks cast around and I clear my throat of the burgeoning panic that’s starting to rise up from within me. “You think it’s a ploy? But for what? To come after me? Why wouldn’t he have done that years ago?”
More silent looks that are driving me up a wall.
“Aria’s brother Brecken mentioned that their stock has been all over the place in the last few years.”
“A hundred million is a lot of money,” Landon states, running his hand through his dark hair. “A lot of money. What does all over the place mean? What’s really going on at Bishop Energies and why was the will and inheritance hidden until now? He didn’t even let you know until a week before his birthday. A week before the inheritance vested.”
“You guys are freaking me out with your conspiracy theories.”
“It’s likely nothing, Rina. Just a series of odd circumstances. But I’m thinking it might not be a bad idea to look into this a little closer,” Kaplan states, his green eyes on mine before they flitter over to my brothers one by one. “And I’m thinking we need to press him and the drafting attorney about the will. We want to see the original document. Review the inheritance. We’re not just about to accept a hundred million dollars because Bishop and his attorney says it’s yours. He could get you for laundering or stealing money or something. If he balks at that, there’s a hell of a lot more going on. If he doesn’t, it’s on the level.”
Great. Something else to add to my mounting crazy pile.
16
brecken
I had decided Sunday night that I was going to do this. Hours had been spent lamenting what I had seen that Friday afternoon and nothing about it sat well with me. For more than a week I’ve been going back and forth on it.
I could come out and ask Rich, but he’ll lie or play it off or cover it up.
Now that I’ve seen what I’ve seen, if I don’t do something about it, I’m considered a knowing party. There are laws and ethics at play here. That and if he knows I saw it, he can throw me under the bus with him when the shit hits the fan whether I make a trade or not.
And considering my credibility on the street and with Alexander is already shit, I have no choice but to act offensively.
I need proof and proof is something I do not have in my possession.
I’ve been trying all week, actually, to gain access to his computer, but it’s not just something you can do. You have to research. Study. Make sure you have a plan in place, and if it all goes to hell and you get nabbed—which is a very real possibility—then you need a plausible excuse.
Or at the very least a set of aces up your sleeve.
The floor starts to clear out, person by person. I pretend not to notice. Not to listen as people say good night and talk about their upcoming weekend plans or complain about the ice storm that’s supposedly headed our way so early in the season.
As far as my boss is concerned, I’ve been burning the midnight oil on my redemption world tour to win myself a spot back in New York while earning employee of the month. He’s already made three comments about my stellar work ethic. He also did that in front of colleagues who if they hadn’t already decided they didn’t like me before, straight up hate me now.
I don’t care.
There is one thing I’m certain of. I can always find another job. It might not be the job I want, but there is always one to be had. What I cannot do is lose my license or go to jail.
“You staying late again?” Luccia asks, popping her head into my office.
“Yes. I have a hockey game tonight with my friends so I figured I might as well work until I have to leave for it.”
She smiles, her white teeth glimmering. I’ve learned a lot about Luccia this week because she, like me, doesn’t have many friends on the floor. The other assistants—all married with children—do not like her because she is young and beautiful, and the dickwad traders like to harass her. But she’s a single mom in the United States on an extended work visa provided to her by work. She is in the process of applying for citizenship, but she takes a hell of a lot more shit than she should because of her situation.