The Temptation (Filthy Rich Americans 5)

Emery sneered. “Let me guess. You stole her wallet before ‘finding’ it.”

It was an assumption, but a correct one judging by Wayne’s half-smile. “When I came to Barlowe, it was heading downhill and barely turning a profit. It was like no one cared about making money.” He shook his head. “I took over, did what needed to be done, and turned the company around. Barlowe would be nothing without me.” He paused, letting disdain fill his face. “And once I’d built this spectacular new life and amassed a sizeable fortune—your father appeared and demanded a part of it.”

Her mouth dropped open. She wanted to defend her father, but she seemed too shocked to find the words. Or maybe, deep down in her heart, she knew there was a kernel of truth to what he’d just revealed.

“David had . . . how should we say it?” Wayne lifted a hand like he’d pluck the word from the air. “A moral flexibility, that I found useful. He got me things I needed, and in return, I paid him enormous sums of money.”

Her back went rigid as she sat up straighter. “What? That’s not true. We were—”

“Broke?” he lobbed at her. “Yes. That tends to happen when you gamble all your money away. By the time he approached me, David was in deep to some unsavory people, and when he got sick, that made it worse.”

Her eyes were glassy, but the tears rimming her eyes looked to be from fury. “You mean, when he got cancer and you turned him away from the one drug trial that might have helped? God, he was your own fucking brother!”

He tensed, and his expression turned angry. “That wasn’t my choice. He was stage four. There was no way this drug was going to help him. And even knowing that, and despite how he’d threatened to expose me,” his hand clenched into a fist, “I still tried. I did everything in my power to get him on the list, but I wasn’t the CEO at the time. I was overruled.”

Whatever emotion he might have had, he crushed it back, and the ruthless version of Wayne Lambert reappeared.

“When he broke into my home,” he said, “that was the final straw. I had to protect what I’d built, and I’d be damned if I’d let David come in and take everything away from me a second time. He went to prison, and for his silence, I paid off his debts so his bookies wouldn’t come after you or your mother.”

Her hand flew to her mouth, but it was too late to stifle her gasp.

Maybe she’d only gotten one version of the story—the version her father had told, which left out several key details and put all the blame on Lambert. She’d grown up idolizing her father, so perhaps she’d only remembered the good and had been unable to see his flaws.

But if what Wayne had said was true, this changed things. How could it not? The last ten years she’d held on to this rage that might have been misplaced.

I wanted to know what was going on in her head right now. To reach for her and offer some kind of support, but instead I sat glued to my chair like a fucking idiot. I was inept at dealing with my own emotions. How could I help with hers?

Emery retreated inside herself, and the woman who emerged was unrecognizable. It had to be a coping mechanism. She leveled a cold, detached gaze at the man across from us. “How did you get the watch?”

“Who do you think paid for his funeral?” he asked. “I had them remove it before they closed the casket.”

Her face was an emotionless mask, but her voice broke. “Why?”

“Our father acted like his Rolex was expensive and special, but once I had money, I learned the truth. It’s the type of watch a poor person thinks a rich person buys. I keep it as a reminder of where I began and how far I’ve come.”

That could be true, but I suspected he’d also taken the watch as a final fuck you. The resentment he had toward his half-brother was obvious.

“You want to negotiate?” he asked. “Fine, let’s do it. My offer is you do not repeat what we discussed today, including anything about EpiClick or the AdrenaJex recall. In exchange, I’ll hand over the watch and write you a check for five million dollars.”

I jolted. “The video Alice gave you—”

“Will be a separate negotiation.” His irritated gaze swung toward me. “I’ll get to you when I’m finished with her.”

It was suddenly difficult to breathe. The room grew smaller, and my heart tried to beat its way out of my chest. By splitting us up, it put him in control, and . . . did she understand what he was doing? How he was asking her if saving me was worth more than five million?