Page 86 of Risk
“He said you lost everything. Is that true? Because the math doesn’t math. You told me you got a billion dollars. The news is all over the internet and there’s no bad publicity. I don’t get it.”
It takes a few heartbeats for me to simplify my clusterfuck life and form it into an efficient explanation. “There’s a clause in my trust fund that says if I don’t follow all the stipulations, I’m out.”
“Is owning your own company one of them?”
“Yes.” I take a sip of my water. “And no.” I dump the rest down the drain and place my glass in the sink. “It’s fine to have our own ‘side hustle’ as long as it doesn’t make the family look bad. And we can sell, merge, or dump whatever we want. But that money stays in the family, no matter what.”
My chest tightens.
“I didn’t use any family money to make BanditFX. I worked as a bookie in college, and took every dime I made, along with money that Landon, Ker, and Gage could spare, and threw it all into stocks. I day traded my ass off, which I do not recommend, by the way.”
It gave me an ulcer and melted half my brain.
“I paid them back every cent, with interest, and took my portion to Vegas. In one game of roulette, I risked it all, and made a fortune.”
I’ll never forget the feeling of that payout for as long as I live. And I’ll never go back and try it again, because that was a once in a lifetime break. A high I’ll forever chase and never catch again.
“That’s what I used to start up BanditFX. Then I brought in your boys,” I tease, “and they got shares of the company. We expanded and diversified, and they helped me make the company successful enough to catch the attention of major players in the tech industry.”
“That’s incredible.”
The awe and pride in her voice does little to staunch my bleeding heart.
“My parents didn’t know how I got the start-up money. They, like my siblings, assumed I’d done it all with my trust fund. I haven’t touched a dime in that account since I was eighteen. My grandfather, the one who took me to the baseball games?” She nods, following along. “He warned me that the minute I spent one cent from that account, they’d own me. He was right. I had my private lawyers look into it and there’s language stating that anything bought with the money in the account is family property. That means my parents could control it.”
I’d rather die than let them touch BanditFX.
“What about your house in New York?”
“Everything I have, I’ve bought with my own money.”
Her mouth falls open. “That’s incredible.”
“It’s pathetic. To be owned your whole life? Bought your whole life? It’s suffocating and unfair.” Dropping on the stool next to her, I steeple my fingers and look straight ahead. “There’s more.”
“Okay.”
“Another stipulation is…” Fuck me sideways, this is awful timing. “Marriage.”
“Do you have like, until the age of thirty, to find someone?”
“Something like that.” My frown has my chin quivering. “It’s arranged for us.” There’s nothing I can say to make this easier. “Our marriages are pre-arranged to keep bloodlines and business ties tight. To keep our secrets covered.”
“What secrets?”
I shrug. “Financially speaking, there’s a lot of grey area come tax time. Adultery and politics, too. It’s ugly in my world, Leah.”
“And where does Nicole fit into all this?”
She knows the answer.
“Oh my god.” Her voice sounds so distant. I have to turn to see if she’s even still with me, or a figment of my dying dreams.
My heart crashes against a concrete wall when tears slide silently down her face. I have to do something to make her understand. “Leah,” I try to wipe her tears away, but she dodges me.
Hands falling to my lap, I shake my head. “She and I have been trying to find a way out of the arrangement for years. We prolonged it as much as we could. I finally told my parents that I wouldn’t marry her. Shit got ugly between our parents. Nicole’s been working on a business plan to secure her finances, but she doesn’t have the capital because she spends a lot of her money on dumb shit. We got into it a couple months ago because I said she was self-sabotaging while crying about how unfair her life is. But she makes it worse when she’s constantly doing retail therapy—blowing her money on purses and trips and jewelry. I cut ties for both of us by doing what I’ve done. I’m out of the Finch family, Leah. She can’t have me.” I raise my hand fast and add, “Not that she ever wanted me, or that I ever wanted her. Christ, I’d rather swim with sharks while wearing a meat suit than be in a relationship with that woman.”
Leah doesn’t speak for a long time. The silence spans across our bodies, spreading into the kitchen and coating the living room and hallway like a heavy residue.