“No. Not about this. There’s no way I’d do anything that would hurt Dad.”
Now he grimaces. “I know that.” A sigh. “Shit. All right. We need to find out who this guy is and we need to do it now.”
Frustration gnaws at my gut and I rub my hands over my arms, a tell I’ve tried to eliminate. “I tried. I didn’t have as much time as I wanted to do recon, but whoever he is, so far he’s a ghost. I couldn’t find a match for him anywhere online. I don’t know if Aiden is his real name. I don’t know if he owns the house or if he’s some whack job who’s just playing with us. Dad didn’t give me much to go on, but nothing I found made me think I was walking into a trap.”
Reese’s lips flatten, and something in his expression makes my intuition sit up and take notice.
“What exactly did Dad tell you about the information he wanted you to steal?” Reese asks.
“That if he doesn’t get the file, Vincenzo will have Dad killed. Dad told me he owes Vincenzo for the Bartram job.”
A fucked-up mess from start to finish. And the kind of job Dad doesn’t do anymore.
Dad told me the less I knew about that, the better. Which I understand. There are things Dad doesn’t need to know about me.
Reese knows all my sins and he still loves me. Even though I’ve done my best sometimes to make him hate me. Thank God Reese is so much smarter than I am.
Reese lets out a sigh as he shakes his head. “You need to talk to Dad. There’s shit he’s not telling you and…”
He trails off and I smack his thigh, trying to get him to continue. “What? What’s he not telling me?”
I know it sounds ridiculous, but I guess I thought Dad wouldn’t lie to me. I mean, I know he has secrets but I never thought he’d put me in danger without giving me all the facts I need to keep safe.
I don’t think of myself as naïve but I’ve always figured if you can’t trust your family, who can you trust?
“Come on.” Reese stands and holds out his hand to pull me to my feet. “Let’s go talk to Dad and see if we can figure out what the actual fuck is going on.”
Chapter Four
Aiden
“No, I’m not going to give approval for that contract until the Saudis pony up another ten million for the construction costs and security measures. We’ve already sunk as much into that damn deal as we’re going to, and if they can’t scrape the money together, tell them they’re in breach and they need to pay back our costs.”
I disconnect the conference call before anyone can continue to plead for more time and piss me off even more.
Lately, I’ve had to handle more of these problems—all related to deals made by my father.
For the past two years, I swear that’s all I’ve been doing. Cleaning up his messes. Before Granddad signed over everything to me, he’d let my dad attempt to prove he could handle Squire Incorporated.
That little experiment had been a fucking joke and cost the company hundreds of millions of dollars, money my father laughingly describes as the cost of doing business in today’s market.
He says I’m too conservative and we need to take risks to make money. I tell him he’s a goddamn idiot who doesn’t understand that risks need to be balanced with brains. Of which he has none.
That didn’t go over well. I don’t give a shit.
My father is a reckless bastard who believes he’s misunderstood by his father and his rightful place was usurped by his bastard son, and he takes every opportunity to fuck with me, which only weakens the company.
Of course, he doesn’t see that. He only sees the effect my denials have on his reputation.
Too fucking bad.
At thirty-two, I’ve made more money for the company than my father has at fifty-eight. Hell, my father nearly cost us the entire company in a fucking high-stakes poker game that he tried to win by cheating.
The word idiot doesn’t do him justice.
And now this. Another deal he’s made on the verge of collapse with no way to recoup what he sank into it.
Will this be the final straw on Granddad’s back? Will he finally allow me to boot my father to the curb?
I’m not getting my hopes up. For some reason, Granddad gives my father more leeway than he’s ever given me. One of these days, I plan to ask him why, though I suspect the answer will be because he knew my father would never be fit to run Squire. And he knew I would be.
Of course, if Granddad does get rid of my father, it’d mean I’d have to step forward or find someone to be the public face of the company. I’ve tried to get Giselle to consider it, but so far, my sister has refused. According to Granddad, she enjoys her life as a socialite too much, doesn’t want to work for the business that provides her with the lifestyle she’s grown accustomed to.
Which is bullshit.
My younger half-sister is spoiled but she’s not a brat. She does, however, think our grandfather is the devil. It’s one of the only things we disagree on.
Standing, I walk to the window overlooking the city. From up here, it’s all sharp angles and shadows, with the Schuylkill River sparkling in the distance.
I have more calls to make and I need to make them in the next hour, but I’m still standing there fifteen minutes later when my father storms into my office.
“You managed to screw a hundred-million-dollar deal in a two-minute phone call. What the fuck are you thinking?”
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Knight.” Jeannie sounds breathless and pissed off. “He refused to stop.”
Turning, I see my father standing on the other side of my desk, righteous indignation written all over his face in angry red.
Mark Battle looks ready to have a meltdown, and I have to hide a smile. I don’t do things simply to piss off my father, but when it happens, it’s a bonus.
Right now, he’s livid.
Ignoring him for the moment, I look at Jeannie, who’s pissed but otherwise none the worse for wear. If Mark had touched her, I would’ve had no trouble punching him in the face for daring to.
Honestly, I almost wish he had.
“Not your fault, Jeannie. I’ll deal with him.”
My father hates to be ignored. Probably because his father has gotten so good at it. Granddad has gotten sick of listening to him. Sick of his excuses, sick of his lies, sick of his smug-ass face. Sick of the way he never takes responsibility for the fuckups but is always quick to take credit for the win, whether it’s his or not.
I know that when Jeannie closes the door behind her, he’s going to lose his shit. The entertainment never stops with Mark.
And I’m not disappointed.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve just cost this company?” Mark starts in. His voice blasts through the room, as if he has any power to effect change in this situation. “I don’t know what the hell you’re on, but if you think you’re going to destroy this deal just to make me look foolish, be prepared to take a fall this.”
I don’t interrupt because I know from experience that interrupting him only makes him talk more. If I let him get it all out at once, he doesn’t have much left to do but stammer and repeat himself when I cut him back down to size.
“That deal has been in the works for five years and would’ve made this company a billion dollars. And you tore it apart because of spite. When are you going to grow up, Aiden?”
I wait a few seconds, making sure he’s finished, though I know he won’t be able to keep his mouth shut once I start.
“That deal was shit from the beginning.” I don’t raise my voice. I don’t need to. “But you knew that and chose to ignore it. It was costing us more than we were ever going to make back. You let your ego and your dick get in the way of business and that’s unforgiveable. If you’d get your head out of your ass, you’d realize you fucked this deal from the start. You never should’ve slept with Bernier’s wife, because if you’d kept your damn dick in your pants, he wouldn’t have been able to pressure you into making this shit deal.”
I s
tare straight at my father the entire time, watching his cheeks flush and his face compress into folds of fury. It’s not a good look on him and I can’t quite contain my amusement.
My father is a first-class prick and entitled asshole who thinks the world actively works against him. What he doesn’t realize is that he brings most of it on himself. I just sit back and watch it all fall apart around him and enjoy the aftermath.
Obviously, there isn’t much love lost between us.
“You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.” He practically spits the words at me but I’m used to his tactics. “Once again, your information is wrong. If you could pull your head out of the old man’s ass long enough to think for yourself, you’d realize the world isn’t built solely for his pleasure.”
This is an old argument but I let him rant because, frankly, I enjoy the fact that he’s so pissed off but unable to do anything about it.
He no longer has any real power in the company. Granddad allows him money to play at being a businessman, but mainly he just makes a mess and I’m always the one who has to clean it up.
I’m pretty sure that pisses him off more than anything else.
I don’t understand why Granddad hasn’t cut him off yet. Yes, he’s his son but he’s my father and he’s never given me anything but grief. I can’t remember a time when he wasn’t an ass to me. I gave up making excuses for him when my mother dumped me on his doorstep. She wasn’t much of a prize either, but at least she’d made an effort before she’d taken what money she could get out of my grandfather and got as far away from us as she could.
I used to wonder what my life would’ve been like if she’d kept me. Until I got old enough to track her down and realized just how big a bullet I’d dodged. I probably would’ve ended up a drug addict just like her, living in Los Angeles turning tricks.
I occasionally get a call from her. Sometimes, she needs money, usually for my two younger half-brothers who live with their father. For some reason, they think I’m a decent person.
Someday they’ll realize I’m not. Until then, I let them keep their illusions and I pay for their school, their clothes, their house, whatever they need. And I keep them far removed from this life.
My father has continued to rant for the past few minutes, but he finally looks like he’s winding down again. Time to get rid of him. It shouldn’t be that difficult. Usually after one of his tirades, he slinks out of the office and I don’t see him until he needs money. Then he slinks back and we start the process again.
I usually don’t get sick of playing. Except today, his tantrum doesn’t give me the usual charge. I’ve got too much real work to accomplish. The real work that keeps the empire my grandfather built churning every day. The empire Patrick Maloney carelessly almost destroyed.
Family can be your greatest strength. Or your greatest weakness.
“—short-sighted and ignorant—”
“Are you finished?”
I’ve taken my father off guard and his mouth hangs open like a landed fish. I don’t usually cut him off like this, but right now, he’s bothering the shit out of me.
He blinks and scrambles to find his footing. “No, I’m not. You can’t—”
Ah, my bad. I asked a question. “Yes, actually, you are finished. And yes, I can. I can pretty much do anything I want, Dad.” I infuse the word with as much sarcasm as I can muster. “And do you know why? Because I’m not an idiot.”
Mark blinks, his lips part, and he looks ready to speak again but I’ve had my fill of him today.
I don’t want to listen to his shit anymore. I’d much rather listen to paint dry. Or relive last night. I’ve managed to keep the memories from pushing to the forefront, to keep my head where it needs to be, but now my brain has begun to wander. Now I want to be alone.
As I watch, Mark’s back straightens and he glares at me, a look I learned to ignore twenty years ago. Now, though, it grates.
Everything about him annoys the shit out of me, I realize. His voice, his beady eyes, his paunchy body. We look nothing alike and I’m grateful for that every day.
“I have work to do so—”
“You honestly believe he loves you, don’t you?”
My father stares at me with a look I’ve never seen on his face before. It’s almost like…pity. Which is ridiculous. There are many emotions my father has for me but I’m pretty sure none of them are pity. None of them are love, either.
“I believe it’s time for you to leave.”
He nods, and his expression clears. “I’m sure you do. And I’m going to. I just have one more thing to say, son.” His emphasis on the last word doesn’t escape me. “Your grandfather cares for nothing and no one. The only reason he tolerates you is because you’re useful. Just be ready for the inevitable backstabbing. Because if you think you’re different, that he somehow has feelings for you because he uses you to do his dirty work, then you’re just as much a fool as you think I am.”
My father turns on his heel and heads for the door. Unlike most of the times he’s left this office after a confrontation, he doesn’t stomp, doesn’t stalk.
It’s almost like he thinks he won. Which is ridiculous. He never wins. That’s the problem.
He doesn’t slam the door as he goes, either. Just closes it behind him with a snick.
What the hell angle is the bastard playing at now? He has to have one. My father has an angle for everything. We both learned from the same teacher. The difference between us is that I know how to use the angles to my benefit. Mark Knight never learned that crucial trick.
Probably because he was always too busy spending my grandfather’s money like it was water and screwing women like my mother.
Granddad saw the weakness in him and wrote him off. Then he made sure I wasn’t as weak.
I’ll never let sex make me weak. This thing with Olivia…she’s a means to an end.
When I’m done with her, she’ll be forgotten; her father will pay for his sins and my granddad’s empire will be safe.
But first, I’m going to enjoy the hell out of having her in my bed for as long as I want.
Chapter Five
Olivia
“Tell her. Now.”
Reese stands in front of our dad, arms crossed over his chest, looking like the badass he is. At six-two and a solid two-twenty, he’s gone up against gangbangers and syndicate muscle and come out on top. Not many people have beaten my brother in a fair fight. Not many dare try to beat him unfairly either because if you mess with one Maloney, you mess with them all.
And Bryant is every bit as imposing as Reese as he sprawls on the chair across from me in our dad’s living room.
They’re ripped from their chests and arms to their abs and legs. But they’re not just muscle-bound thugs. They’re some of the smartest guys I know. Both have degrees in business from Temple. They’re less than a year apart in age and they took every class together. It took them almost seven years to finish, between working full-time and starting their own garage, but they did it. I’ve never seen my dad as proud as he was the day they received their diplomas.
Right now, he looks like he wants to strangle them.
Bryant had been here already when Reese and I had arrived and my stomach had begun to work itself into the huge knot it was in now.
“Dad? What’s going on?”
With a loud sigh, he meets my gaze. “I know how this is going to sound but…I honestly didn’t have a clue what was going on before you showed me that paper.” He shakes his head. “Now… I think your brothers are right, so…”
Running a hand through his hair, he leans back in his chair. “Twenty years ago, we were flat broke and squatting in some abandoned apartment building. Your mom and I were trying our damnedest to make ends meet without resorting to…things we didn’t want to do. But I wasn’t going to let my kids starve. I didn’t want you to ever have to live like I did growing up.”
Dad doesn’t talk a lot about his childhood,
probably because it’d sucked. Druggie mom, nonexistent dad. Growing up in a bad neighborhood where, if you weren’t a member of a gang or a crime family, you learned to walk a fine line or you ended up dead, caught between opposing gunfire.
Patrick Maloney had found another way. He’d become a thief. And a damn good one.
“A friend of a friend put me in touch with a private investigator,” he continues, “one who handled high-profile clients, the kind whose names you don’t repeat or you find yourself face down in the river. We needed the money or I never would’ve taken the job. It seemed simple enough. B&E, crack the safe, take the files, get out. But the address was Center City. Corporate job. Something I’d never done before.”
I frown when he pauses. “So why— Oh. They expected you to get caught.”
He nods. “They wanted to test the response and I was disposable. I realized later the guy who hired me figured if I didn’t succeed, he’d have me killed and no one would blink an eye. Just another two-bit criminal getting the justice he deserved.”
“But you didn’t.”
He shakes his head. “I completed the job. Got everything they wanted and got out without so much as a blip on the security system. But before I handed over the information, I made a copy. I knew that job was my ticket to bigger and better and I wanted proof I’d done it.”
I glance at my brothers but they’re staring at my dad, waiting for him to continue. “So what happened?”
“The guy who hired me turned up dead a few months later. Police said it was an overdose.”
“You don’t think so.”
“No.” His expression is grim. “Because a month after that, the security guard on duty the night I pulled the job was shot and killed in an attempted breakin.”
“And you thought the deaths were related?”
Dad pulls a grimace. “Not at first. Not until the guy who set me up with the private investigator ended up dead, too.”
Okay, I get the pattern. “So how are you still here?”
My dad runs a hand through his hair again, making it stand on end. “Because I’m pretty sure whoever was cleaning up their mess thought they got their thief when they killed the guy who recommended me. After he turned up dead, we moved to Florida for a while. I knew some guys from high school working in Miami.”
Complicated (Aiden & Olivia Book 2) Page 3