“Why wasn’t I notified?” Marie interjects.
“These searches are in regard to the possibility of SEC violations,” Agent McGraw says.
“SEC violations? How is that possible?” I ask.
“It’s believed that your father may have shared insider information regarding Bettencourt Industries with several individuals.”
“Bettencourt Industries has been public since I was in preschool. What could he have done that constituted stock price manipulation and insider trading?”
“We didn’t say stock price manipulation and insider trading.”
I roll my eyes. What else could it be? “All right, so why did you need to speak with me?”
“Tell us about your relationship with your father.”
Marie interjects, “Is this really necessary?”
“Yes. We see there are a group of phone calls between you two.”
“They’re father and son,” she reminds them.
“We’re looking to see how close they were.”
“I hadn’t spoken to my father in probably three months. He recently passed while he was in Tanzania in an accident.”
“When do you expect to get his remains?”
“Well, it was a helicopter crash, and right now we’re having problems getting his remains—if there are any—because he died in a foreign country. It looks like the crash happened in a deep ravine off Kilimanjaro.”
“Mr. Bettencourt, tell us why there was a large transfer of money into your bank account and you were added to several existing accounts.”
Henry speaks up. “He inherited money from his mother. We began moving money around and adding his name to the accounts attached to his inheritance, which he came into when he was twenty-five years old. This was necessary to pay some of the fees associated with the home on Rittenhouse Square.”
“But this was done before you read the will yesterday,” the agent counters.
Henry looks at them a little surprised. “Yes, but the will of Victoria Bettencourt stipulated that William inherit at twenty-five years old. We didn’t realize that this hadn’t been done until we began digging through James Bettencourt’s estate.”
The agents look at me. “Why didn’t you ask for your rightful inheritance at twenty-five?”
“I was eleven years old when my mother died. No one told me of her will. As far as I knew, her estate went to my father upon her death.”
“We understand Lillian Bettencourt and William will split Reginald Bettencourt's estate. What are the provisions of the will?” Agent McGraw asks.
Henry says in broad strokes, “Half goes to Lillian and half goes to William. They both have some things to take care of. Meanwhile, William owns the house on Rittenhouse Square, and Lillian is living there rent free.”
“She’s been moving a lot of money around. Are you aware of that?” Agent McGraw asks me.
“It’s not surprising. She’s been a little panicked given my father funded her lifestyle, and currently, she has no income until the will is read and his estate is through probate.”
“She does have quite a bit of debt. Are you aware of that?” Agent McGraw inquires.
“Again, not surprising given my father financed her life, and she hasn’t received anything from him in almost two months at this point,” I explain.
“Mr. Bettencourt, would it surprise you to learn that we believe your father is the mastermind behind a Ponzi scheme,” Agent McGraw presses.
“Ponzi scheme? My father? He wasn’t in investments. He was an inventor and entrepreneur,” I explain.
“He was collecting and paying out money as he went to investors as he received other investments,” the other agent interjects.
I’m trying not to lose my cool. “I work in the venture capital world, and to me, that sounds like he was raising capital for one of his inventions, and when people were unhappy with how long it was taking to recoup their investment, he bought out the previous investors with new investors. That wouldn’t have been a Ponzi scheme but managing investors.”
“Mr. Bettencourt, we know exactly who you work for, and we know that Miss Quinn Faraday here works with you. We’re quite aware of who you are and what you both do at SHN.”
I don’t know if that’s supposed to scare me, but it seems like a bullying tactic, and it just irritates me.
The FBI continues to ask questions about my father that I can’t answer. I have no idea what he was doing in Tanzania. I have no idea what’s going on with his company. I have no idea what his current creation or invention could be. I have no idea of anything going on.
They eventually finish all their questions and leave. “That seemed strange to me. Did it seem strange to all of you?” I ask Henry, Quinn, and Marie.
“It definitely seemed strange, and why the warrants to search?” Marie questions.
“I haven’t been to my dad’s office. I guess I should probably go over and meet with the company.”
“Let me see if I can help you set that up,” Henry offers. “I know the chairman of the board, and maybe we can arrange that for tomorrow or the day after.”
“That sounds perfect. I promised Quinn I would show her around Independence Hall today after lunch at Pat’s King of Steaks.”
“Well, Quinn’s in for a treat. Sounds like you guys have a good afternoon planned. I’ll send you an email letting you know when to meet with the board and if it’s tomorrow or the day after.”
“Thank you, Henry. I’ll look forward to talking to you soon.”
When we get in the car, Quinn exclaims, “What was all of that about with the FBI?”
“I know. That’s just crazy. I can’t imagine my father was involved in anything illegal like a Ponzi scheme; it just seems a little strange and offhanded.”
“Exactly, and a Ponzi scheme? That just seems ridiculous. I can’t even imagine it would stand up against a good defense attorney. He’s an inventor, and it makes sense that he’s raising capital. You said exactly what I was thinking when you said that he was, of course, raising funds. It just doesn’t make any sense.”
When we get closer to Pat’s, I see the corner is crazy with people and there’s no parking. “Gerald, you can drop us here. I’ll grab you a sandwich and fries with a coke?”
“That sounds perfect.”
“Eating here is a challenge. We’ll get it to go and head toward Independence Hall and eat over there.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Quinn and I get in line, and it goes quickly. When it’s my turn, I ask for three wiz wit, three fries, two cokes, and one diet.”
The employee yells to the crew behind her, and I pay for our lunch.
While we wait, I tell Quinn the story. “Supposedly, Pat is the inventor of the cheesesteak sandwich. He had a hot dog cart and one day got strips of beef from a butcher and fried it up on his grill. A cab driver thought it smelled good and asked for one, and then the next day he had a line of cabbies getting sandwiches. No one knows for sure if it’s the real story or not.”
Our lunch is ready, and we head back to Gerald and drive to Independence Hall. It isn’t far, and we sit on the grass and enjoy our sandwiches. “You mean the cheese in a real cheesesteak is Cheese Whiz?”
“Yep. That’s what makes it so good. What do you think?”
“I love a good Philly cheesesteak. This is amazing—the bread is perfectly crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside, melted cheese, and fried onions. What’s not to like?” Together we share our fries. “I’m so glad we don’t live here. I’d want to eat this every day for lunch, and I’d weigh 700 pounds.”
I laugh. “You’d look beautiful no matter what.”
Blushing, she looks down at her sandwich. “You shouldn’t be bashful when I tell you you’re beautiful.”
She looks up at me with her head tilted to the side and says, “I’m just… I don’t hear that very often.”
“Well, that needs to change.”
Her smile is radiant. “Than
ks.”
I know she’s not sure where we’re going as a couple. I’m not sure either, but I like that we’re together, and I like her. I want to explore this further.
We head off to Independence Hall and enjoy a great afternoon of exploring.
Chapter eighteen
William
It was a glorious afternoon wandering through Independence Hall, showing Quinn the Articles of Confederation, the Declaration of Independence, and the Constitution. Despite the long line, she enjoyed seeing the Liberty Bell. I love that she was excited like a young schoolgirl—just eager to take it all in. Having never been to Philadelphia, she kept saying, “I need to come back. There’s so much to see and do here.”
When we get to the car, we decide to go over to the Reading Terminal Market, and we wandered through stall after stall of bright fruit, stunning cut flowers, delicious meats and sausages, and every kind of art for sale.
I picked up a mishmash of dinner, and we split a roast pork sandwich, doughnut, an apple dumpling, a soft pretzel, a whoopie pie, and scrapple. It was quintessential Philadelphian and the perfect dinner. Quinn is comfortable at Lacroix eating a Michelin three-star dinner or eating out of paper food containers.
“What a great junk-food-filled day,” Quinn gushes. “I feel fantastic; this is exactly my kind of day.”
As I look at her, I see everything I’ve always been looking for in a woman. When we get in the car, Gerald informs me that he’s forwarded a report regarding the helicopter crash to my email. “I wanted to alert you, so you didn’t miss it tonight.”
I had hoped for a little bit more exercise in the sheets when we returned to the hotel, but it’s quite fine to wait so I can read this report.
When we arrive at the hotel, Quinn excuses herself and leaves me to read the report on my own while she has some work to do. She escapes to her room with her laptop. I watch her retreat, and I really hope she’s not going to have phone sex with strange men tonight. I’m really not sure I want her doing that anymore. I’d like to see her using that dirty mind with me and not sharing it with anybody else. Call me selfish, but I don’t want to share her. Before I get lost in that rabbit hole, I open up my email and download the helicopter crash report.
It’s partially in English and partially in Swahili, and I struggle to cut and paste passages into Google Translate. From what I can piece together, it looks like the crash is being attributed to foul play. They believe that there are three bodies plus the pilot, but they can’t determine anything about them. I know we sent copies of my father’s dental records and a DNA sample, but apparently, the fiery crash left nothing but ashes in a pile of rubble in a difficult to reach location.
This report confirms my belief that there’s foul play involved in the accident. That then raises the question of why the FBI is involved. It doesn’t make sense that they’re looking at SEC violations.
“What did you learn?” Quinn asks.
I look at the clock on my computer and see it’s been several hours. I sigh deeply. “They think it’s foul play, and the crash is in an area they can’t easily get to.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. Any chance you’d want to Netflix and chill with me tonight?”
She smiles. “We don’t have to watch Netflix to chill.”
“I like the way you think, but I wouldn’t mind seeing a show on Netflix.”
“That’s fine.” She shimmy’s up to me on the couch, sitting close. I love her body heat, and she fit so well next to me.
We watch the movie that caught my eye, but it isn’t very good. Oh well. We do get a little bit of chill with our Netflix and enjoy our evening together. Crawling into bed just after midnight, we fall fast asleep.
My phone rings, waking me from a fitful sleep. I glance at the time before I answer. It’s never good when the phone rings in the middle of the night.
“Hello?”
Quinn sits up, waiting for the bad news. “William,” Lillian slurs, “your father never loved me. The money is payback for everything I did to make him look good. He’s now haunting me. I swear, his ghost is here.” She’s been drinking, and apparently, she’s drunk dialing. Big mistake.
“Lillian, I don’t need to know this. I understand.” She’s crying into the phone, alternating between brash defiance and victimhood. Sitting up, I drag my hand through my hair. “I’m sorry if he hurt you. Twenty million dollars is plenty of money for you. This is my father’s estate. This is money from his family. The house comes from my mother.”
“You don’t deserve this house. My lawyer tells me I can fight you.” She continues to cry, and I can barely make out anything she says. Pulling herself together, she declares, “There’s no way that you two are actually involved. You like to screw women over, just like your dad. Quinn will never love you.”
“Lillian, I love Quinn.” I don’t know what else to say to her. “You should get a big glass of water and get some sleep.”
“Never.”
Quinn can’t look at me, and I know she thinks I made it up to placate Lillian, but I realize that is exactly how I feel. I may have thrown that out a little bit faster than expected, but I feel comfortable with her. I need to tell her how I feel directly. Quinn lies down and pretends to sleep as I continue to try to extricate myself from the phone call, but Lillian is rambling, and I need to know what she knows, so I listen to her nonsense.
When she becomes too incoherent, I finally disconnect the call. “I’m really sorry about that.”
Quinn doesn’t respond, but her breathing isn’t steady enough to show she’s asleep, and I know I need to have a talk with her about how I’m falling hard for her. I just hope she feels the same way.
My sleep is troubled with nightmares, mainly about losing Quinn. Finally, I just lie there in the dark, I replay my dreams in my head. The thought of losing Quinn causes me physical pain and leaves me worried. Strangely, I also dreamed about my father telling me to go paint the garage white. Not only do we not really have a garage, but he’s never asked me to paint anything—not even a room or a canvas.
I must have dosed off, because when I come to again it’s after nine. I need to get moving, or I’ll be in bed all day. A wicked thought of being in bed all day with Quinn crosses my mind, bringing a smile to my face and hardening my dick. My head is throbbing, probably from the lack of fluids and caffeine, so I go in search of coffee. Thankfully, our continental breakfast was delivered—coffee, juice, tea, bagels, and fruit. Food doesn’t sound appealing right now. I pour myself a large cup of coffee and drink it black, hoping not to dilute the caffeine, and go in search of Quinn. Peeking in her room, I find her asleep in the bed. I wonder why she left last night.
Firing up my email, I see what I was expecting from Henry. It looks like the board wants to meet this morning at eleven o’clock. So much for a day of relaxation. The morning will be spent with the board of directors of my father’s company. That doesn’t sound relaxing in the least. I debate whether or not Quinn should join me but decide in the end it’s probably best to have her there. I rationalize that it shows her how I feel about her. There is acting like you’re in love and being in love, and I think we’re both the latter.
I’m studying my computer when I hear Quinn walk out of her room. She looks beautiful in a big shirt and her long, luscious legs. Her hair is messy and sexy as hell. “Hey, you, what happened last night?” I ask.
“Sorry. I couldn’t sleep, so I worked for a few hours and then fell asleep about four.”
“I missed you when I woke up this morning.”
She smiles at me but doesn’t tell me she missed me too.
“I got an email from Henry,” I inform her. “The board would like to see us at eleven this morning. Does that work for you?”
“I need to shower, but I can be ready quickly.”
“Feel free to bring your computer, and you can work if it gets too boring.”
“Thanks.” She’s putting up walls, and I need to work
on pulling them down, but right now I need to shower, or we’ll both be late. I drop a text to Gerald.
Me: It looks like we will need you in about an hour.
Gerald: No problem.
Me: We’re headed to Bettencourt Industries. Do you need the address?
Gerald: Nope, I got it. See you downstairs.
When Quinn emerges from her room, she’s a vision of beauty. Usually, she wears black and looks great, but today she has a navy pair of wide-legged pants, a white shirt, and a deep red jacket. “You look like you belong here in Philadelphia.”
“Too much?”
“Not at all. I like you in colors.”
“CeCe tells me that all the time.”
“You should listen to her.”
As we ride the elevator down, my phone rings, and I deal with an issue with an anxious founder of one of our most recent acquisitions. The phone call lasts the entire drive to my dad’s office, but on the way, I watch Quinn stare out the window, and I wonder what she’s thinking.
When we arrive, we are escorted up to the twelfth floor. A woman runs over to me and pulls me into a tight hug. “Look how grown up you are.”
I recognize Mitzi immediately. She’s been my dad’s secretary for years. I remember my dad telling me how she is a whiz at patent applications. “Mitzi? What a wonderful surprise to see you. You look the exact same. Please share with me your secrets to stop aging.”
She blushes. “You’re such a flirt.” She looks beyond me and spots Quinn. “And who have you brought home with you?”
“Mitzi, this is my fiancée, Quinn Faraday.”
“Oh my goodness.” She brings Quinn in for a hug. “I’m so happy to meet you.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve known William since before he learned to walk. He would sit with his dad and help him with his inventions.”
“I think I was a bigger pain than a help.”
“Nonsense!” She points us toward the boardroom. “I think the board is all here, and they’re preparing for the meeting this morning.”
Enchanted: (Billionaire Venture Capitalist #8): A Fake Fiancée Romance Page 14