“Where are you gonna get the money to pursue this kind of legal action?” I asked, making sure I sounded super curious.
Caleb blinked. And then he blinked some more. “Where am I going to get the money? You fucking moron, do you know who I am?”
Fucking moron? Pathetic. His insult game was weak.
“The retainer for Sharpe and Marks is paid through the end of the quarter, so you got three months. That’s it. After that, the Caravel-Tyson assets are frozen, right? That was your doing. Which means there’s no one to pay the bills. Which means . . .” I shrugged.
His eye twitched. “This won’t take three months.”
“That’s right. It’ll take three years. At least,” I promised.
He scoffed. “Didn’t you hear Marks? She has no access to anything. She can’t even write a check from the family accounts. That means no access to bank accounts, stocks, investments, all properties, even the compound in Duxbury.” To Kat he said, “You have nowhere to go, no place to live. You have no choice but to—”
“Of course she has somewhere to live. With me.”
“Not for long.”
“And why would we need Caravel-Tyson assets?” I shrugged, glancing at Sharpe and happy to see he was paying attention.
Caleb’s confidence slipped. “You don’t have the kind of capital required to fight us. You’ll go bankrupt.” He didn’t sound so sure, which was good, because that meant he obviously had no idea.
I chuckled again, shaking my head. “Oh, Cameron. You rat-faced cumcake. If you’d done your homework properly, you’d know—in addition to being a felon—I’m also a multi-millionaire. Millions and millions and millions, and I don’t waste my money on dumb shit like yachts and gold-plated toilet seats—no offense, Eugene.”
Caleb straightened, sharing a hurried glance with Sharpe. “I’ve—I’ve had you investigated. You—you’re not—”
“I’ll keep this thing going for decades, just for fun.” I grinned, first at Caleb, then at Sharpe. “Fuck, I think I’ll even sue you for defamation of character, and I’ll file an ethics complaint against this firm for the conflict of interest, representing your case against their own client, Ms. Caravel-Tyson. Why not? I got the money, making shitbags suffer is a hobby of mine.”
“You can’t do that.” The color drained from Caleb’s face.
I ignored him. “Whereas, I know you can’t afford a countersuit, you can’t even afford that suit you’re wearing. Your salary is capped. You cashed in your stocks, that money is gone. You don’t get another distribution until January, assuming you’re still at Caravel when January rolls around. Your bank account is empty. Maybe you could sell one of your yachts, but the boating season is almost over. So good luck finding someone to buy it. You’ll never make back your investment, and with this firm’s billable rate—” I sucked in a breath through my teeth, “that’ll only buy you another three months. Tops.”
“How do you—?” He began to blurt but then stopped himself, presumably from asking, How could you know that? Now the look he sent Sharpe was nervous. Caleb swallowed and lifted his chin. “You’re bluffing.”
“No. You’re bluffing. And I got you in a corner. You can’t afford to pay Sharpe. You’re sending his people on bullshit fool’s errands, trying to get my wife committed? Good fucking luck, because that is never going to happen.”
His cheerfulness had completely evaporated. In its place, his beady eyes darted around the room but focused inward. The rat was scrambling.
Caleb Tyson might’ve been a skidmark shitstain on humanity, and he might’ve been an egotistical Masshole, and he’d definitely overestimated his abilities and underestimated mine, but he wasn’t stupid.
He knew I was right.
Even so, I couldn’t help myself, “If I use alphabet soup to spell this out for you, will you get the fucking picture? Or do you need it finger-painted?”
His glare came back to me. “I will destroy you.”
“Oh jeez, by golly. What’ll I do?” I clutched my chest, giving the fucker a little show.
I doubted he heard me, because his next words were shouted in a rage. “I will fucking ruin you, do you hear me? You are nothing! Nothing!
I sighed, tired of his irrelevant presence. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be sure to file that info right between fuck this and fuck that.”
He made a choking sound as I turned from him, looking to Kat. Her gaze was on me, one hand on her hip, the other lifting her coffee cup to her lips and taking a sip, like she didn’t have one fucking care in the world.