Page 2 of A Christmas Bargain
“Which tips?” I asked. She was only one year younger than me, but she always claimed that I was too old-fashioned and conservative to ever take a risk and gamble. That was so not true. Real estate was a gamble. The entire business felt like a massive gamble of deals and offers and estimates of what could happen with properties and land. That wasn’t enough of a risk for her, though. She’d never kick this gambling habit.
“The, uh”—she bit her lip—“the crypto things I told you about last week.”
I clamped my mouth shut and held in a scream.Oh, crap.“Oh,” I said breezily, projecting my usual calm and peppiness. “How much are you talking about? What’s the loss?” I picked up my pen to jot down numbers and do some calculations.
“All of it.”
The pen fell out from my grip. “All of?—”
“The whole account.” She let out a whimper and slumped her wet body into the chair across from mine.
I rubbed my eyes, wondering if they were giving me so many headaches from strain, a denial that I needed glasses, or life in general. “The whole account?” I knew she dabbled with accounts and moved things around. Our dad, John Barone, had been a little liberal with investments and taught us how to fudge and transfer funds. Personal and business accounts easily got combined with us. “The whole account you usually use for gambling?”
“It’s notgambling,” she argued, as always. “It’s investing in?—”
I laughed, hating that it sounded so hysterical and forced. Holding up a hand, I looked at her and wondered when she’d ever learn. Admitting that it was gambling had to be the first step. How could she ever understand her habits were damaging if she couldn’t acknowledge what it actually was?
“Gambling,” I reiterated firmly while trying not to sound nagging.
She took it as a chiding tone, anyway. “Oh, God,” she moaned, covering her face with both of her hands. “We’re going to lose everything. The whole company. Our jobs. Our lives!”
“Let’s hold off on the doomsday worries,” I said as cheerily as I could. I moved my mouse to wake up the screen. “The whole account,” I confirmed.
“Yeah.”
We used that specific account for several things, but the worst part about this news was that other accounts, deals, and propositions were tied in to it. This would have ripples, big, sloppy, mean ripples that could turn to waves. She hadn’t lost hundreds, but potentially hundreds of thousands of dollars.Other investors and backers might back out if they notice this huge loss. Deals could fall apart. The ramifications would be endless.
“Dad’s going to be livid,” she whined.
No doubt about that.“Well, we don’t have to mention it. At least not until we can do some damage control.”
“He’ll know. He always does.” She shot me a worried glance from behind her fingers.
“Okay, that’s true.” Even though he retired a few years back, he kept a steady finger on the pulse of the business through us. He saw it all. “But don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.”
Grace cringed, not convinced.
I had to stay peppy and positive. That was just who I was. When our mom passed away, that was the role I gave myself. To be bright. Optimistic. No matter what.Iwould do the damage control, like always.Iwould figure something out. I always did.
Not for this much of a loss, but hey, what’s another challenge on my plate?
“I don’t know, Claire. It’s a lot.”
I saw that in the banking program I logged into. “It’s fixable,” I insisted.
“How? It’s alotto recover.”
I shrugged. “Come on. Don’t be so negative. I’ve covered for you plenty of times, haven’t I?”
She furrowed her brow, unhappier. “Is that just another reminder that I fuck up often?”
“No. No.” I smiled wider. “Just a reminder that nothing is impossible. We’ll figure something out.”
“How?” she wailed.
Irked that she’d expect me to handle it and not try to clean up her own mess, I sighed. “Somehow. Remember when you made a typo on those documents for the merger last year?”
She winced. “That was bad, saying the offer was for two hundred dollars instead of two hundred thousand.”