The Dirty Series 2(67)

No. I might be a prick, but I’ve never done anything as horrendous as the assholes at LoveLink allegedly did.

Not that it really matters in a case like this.

At any rate, I don’t love the idea of standing outside in the Indian summer heat to answer questions—there’s such a thing as a digital broadcast—but Riley and the rest of the PR team think the best image to present involves me, along with Connor, addressing the reporters in person outside the building.

Whatever.

I haven’t been listening to Connor’s question, but Riley is answering it in great detail.

“The key when it comes to the financial discussion is going to be remaining clear and concise. We’re not apologizing for anything, but....”

My phone buzzes in my pocket. Angelica must have forgotten that I had the press conference scheduled for noon. This morning we both slept a little late, and she clearly had something on her mind. I’d guess she’s still thinking about what happened last night.

But it’s not Angelica. The name that pops up on the caller ID is Jackson Cook. His accounting firm handles my personal finances, and he’s been the lead on my account since I turned 21 and gained access to my trust fund.

“Excuse me,” I say, just as Riley inhales another breath to launch into her next explanation. “I have to take this.” I move away toward a deserted corner of the lobby and answer the call. “Brandon.”

“Hello, Jett. I’m sorry to bother you in the middle of the work day.”

I have to laugh at that. “When else would you bother me, Cook?”

But the man’s gravelly voice has an undercurrent of tension. “I’m sorry nonetheless—I know you’re a busy man. Do you have a moment to talk?”

It’s air-conditioned in the lobby, but something in his tone makes my skin go hot underneath my summer-weight suit. I can’t remember the last time Jackson Cook sounded concerned about anything involving my account. I pinch one of the sleeves of my jacket to make sure Mrs. Henderson didn’t sneak one of my winter suits into the closet. “Of course.”

“I’ll make it as quick as I can, Jett. One of my associates noticed something odd happening with a few of your accounts over the last few weeks.”

Eyes narrowed, I look out the lobby doors at the members of the press gathering around the podium. “Odd how?”

“She brought it to my attention today, and I reviewed the accounts personally before I called you. It appears to be a number of small transactions—and by small, I mean a few dollars each—moving from account to account.”

“Does this have anything to do with the automated investment system we set up last year?” Cook wanted to test it with a few accounts, not a significant risk, and it performed well enough that they deployed it for most of the clients at the firm. Most of my assets are still managed by hand, but there’s something to be said for a diversified portfolio.

“That’s why I wanted to call and check with you. You’re not a client who has a particular interest in making changes to your accounts without letting me know—unless something’s changed.”

“Nothing’s changed.”

Everything has changed. The moment the words are out of my mouth, Angelica’s face is all I can think of. Emerald might have come close to throwing my life off track, but Angelica....

That brother of hers, though, and creeping out in the middle of the night....

“That’s what I thought, but I needed to confirm. I’ll have my team begin a more thorough investigation. We’ll sort this out, Jett.”

“Thanks, Cook. Keep me updated.”

“I will.”

I’m about to end the call when something else occurs to me. “Cook?”

His voice comes from far away. “Yes, Jett?”

“When did you say this activity started?”

“About three weeks ago. Once we’ve gone over everything with a fine-toothed comb, we’ll have an exact date.”

Three weeks ago was when I saw Angelica for the first time.

It’s a bizarre coincidence, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to say something else to Cook, but there’s a touch at my elbow.

It’s Riley. “They’re ready in three, Mr. Brandon,” she whispers.

“I’ll wait for your results, Cook.”

“Is there anything else you wanted to go over, Mr. Brandon?” Riley walks by my side back across the lobby to where Connor stands, reading over his remarks one final time.

“No. Thanks, Riley. You’ve been very helpful.”

She smiles brightly and backs away, giving Connor and me a little space.

Connor glances up at me. “What’s going on?”