“Fix Lexie’s problems first,” I said through my teeth.
“Did you hear nothing of this conversation? I’m close. Nailing Donnie again will go a long way to doing just what you want.”
I wouldn’t be satisfied until Lexie was free and clear.
“Do you like this place?” Zegas looked around as if he were just noticing for the first time we were in my apartment.
“More now than I ever have.”
He rubbed the arm of the chair like he was testing the quality of the leather. “Don’t get comfortable because you may not be keeping it.”
It wasn’t the money, though the loss would be noticeable. And it wasn’t the fine furnishings or the view.
The apartment symbolized what I’d worked for. And Eric’s painting belonged on that wall in my study. In fact, they belonged on all the walls. Lexie’s shoes belonged kicked off in the foyer. Muffy’s and Millie’s toys belonged scattered in every room. I wasn’t going to give that up without a fight.
“I’m keeping those damn dogs.”
Teague had known I wouldn’t return them. They were a pain and disruptive and may cost me my fortune in hot dogs. But they were mine.
“What?”
“I’m keeping the apartment.”
Zegas didn’t need to hear my revelation about the dogs, but I wanted it clear I wasn’t going anywhere.
“Do you have any issues with anyone at work?”
I furrowed my brow. That was an odd question. “No.”
I was certain some employees didn’t like me, but that was the nature of business.
“Who advises you about investments?”
“Real estate? No one. Some team members might present potential properties, but the final decision is always mine.” Why would I trust my area of expertise to anyone else?
“And beyond real estate? A stockbroker? Anyone like that?”
I shook my head. “I have a portfolio my mother left me. But I dismantled it. Stocks aren’t my thing.”
It wasn’t wise not to be diversified, but I always wanted my money to be in something I could see. There was risk in any investment, but I’d witnessed people who were left standing with nothing but worthless paper when their stocks collapsed.
Maybe I had trust issues too.
If I selected where my money went, the responsibility was firmly on me. I had my best interests at heart. A broker? His interests were his own. I’d never liked anyone acting or speaking on my behalf.
“You don’t have any stocks?”
“No.”
“Currency? Bonds? Futures?”
“No. No. No.”
“I think I need to look up the definition of securities fraud again. Because if you don’t have any, how can you commit fraud?” He downed half of his drink.
He was right. I needed one too, but I wouldn’t.
Zegas set his glass on the coffee table. “When you say ‘dismantled’ what do you mean?”
“As I needed money to invest in real estate, I sold the pieces I didn’t want.” It had been hard. My mother had personally put together that portfolio. She’d catered it for me. I’d kept the properties she’d included to save a part of her.
“Did you pay taxes on those transactions?”
I grunted. “A few times I had to sell more of the stock just to pay the taxes on the sale of the other.”
“Do you have proof of payment that you can get me?”
“Yes. Paper and electronic.”
“Did your accountant handle these transactions or you?”
“My accountant.”
“Who benefits if you’re out of the picture at your company?”
When had Zegas become an investigator? I felt like I was under a microscope.
I thought about Hollingsworth Properties. Everyone wanted to play a vital role in their work. But in our organization, it wouldn’t function without me. That wasn’t pompous. Strictly fact.
Beau had the ability to keep it afloat until she could steady the ship, but there were aspects I performed that no one else did.
My father came to mind, but even if he never said it out loud, I had made him more money than he ever could on his own. He definitely did not benefit with me gone.
“Dad.”
I jerked my head toward the living room entry. Beau stood, arms crossed, daring me to argue.
“I’ve never heard anyone say a bad word about you at the company.” She crossed the room and sat on the sofa beside me.
I glanced in the direction from which she’d come, but neither Lexie nor Eric were in sight.
“You’re not there all the time,” I said, refocusing. “And no one would speak ill of me in front of you.”
She pressed her lips together. “I’ve been there a lot lately.”
“I’d venture a guess you’ve never heard anyone speak ill of Father either.”
She glared. Because I was right.
“Why do you think your father wants Lincoln gone?” Zegas leaned back in his seat, drink in hand.
“That’s a different question,” Beau said. “Dad benefits if Lincoln steps away from Hollingsworth Properties because he’s cocky enough to think he can maintain what Lincoln built and keep all the profits for himself. But I don’t think he wants you gone.”
“My forensic accountant has looked over one year of your taxes. Everything looks in order.” Zegas smirked. “Well, I’m sure the IRS could find something to pick apart, but there’s nothing to be alarmed over.”
That wasn’t earthshaking news. I hadn’t evaded taxes beyond what the law allowed.
“One year doesn’t mean anything. And we don’t know if it’s the time period the authorities were investigating.” Matters such as these weren’t resolved overnight. I’d been in no hurry to prepare a defense, but now that we’d started, I just wanted it over.
“Don’t you use Dad’s accountant?” Beau asked.
“I do.” From the age I’d needed one, the man had handled my affairs. He was Father’s choice. Despite being capable of making my own selection, I chose to stay with my father’s. Because upsetting him over something like that wasn’t worth it to me. And with him, I never knew what trigger would set him on a warpath.
“Could he have gotten your returns mixed up with Dad’s?” She sat up straighter with hope.
I appreciated where Beau was going with that line of thought. It was a possibility, although a very unlikely one.
“That would be a very big mistake to make.” I straightened my cufflinks.
“Did the party move out here?” Lexie had changed into that awful sweatshirt that I loved and flannel pajama bottoms that were frayed at the bottom. And her socks still didn’t match.
“If this is a party, it’s no fun.” Zegas lifted his glass. “I’m the only one drinking, so maybe my problems are worse than all of yours.”
“I could phone Whitley. Insist he come over immediately.” I kept a serious face.
Zegas appeared a second away from throwing his drink on me. “Good luck with that. He’s a family man now and there are boundaries”—he shrugged and stood—“I’ll never understand.”
Would I?