The Temptation (Filthy Rich Americans 5)

The betrayal by my own daughter, after everything I’d given her, was exceptionally cruel. “What have you done?”

“You won’t hear from me again, and don’t look for me. I’m throwing this phone away. Goodbye, Dad.”

Before I could say anything, the call disconnected.

I didn’t sleep that night. I doubted I would have been able to even if I’d had the time. I’d woken Serena up, told her to pack a bag, and sent her and Tiffany to the house in the Hamptons. I didn’t care what story she had to use to convince our daughter. I just needed them gone so I could focus and not worry about them.

I called Mitchell, because I had done my best to cultivate a relationship with the president of the United States. We didn’t have the kind of friendship where I could call him in the middle of the night, but I would try anyway. If the FBI had opened an investigation into me or Barlowe, I hoped I could press him to give me some time, or at least a heads-up. The FBI was supposed to be independent, but the president still had influence.

Mitchell’s private phone went straight to voicemail. I sent a text for him to call me as soon as possible, but it went unanswered.

My next call was to Sovereign Systems. I had a contingency plan on file with them, but it took forty-five minutes to get in touch with a person who had a fucking clue what I was talking about, and even then, he was unsure if they could get things in motion in the next few hours.

I couldn’t wait that long. The FBI was partial to early morning raids. They liked to maximize the embarrassment by catching their targets off-guard and asleep, and in the most unflattering situation possible.

“Do you only have one goddamn truck?” I asked the guy when he said it’d be several hours before it would arrive at the house.

“No, sir. It’s the middle of the night, so we’re having difficulty putting together a team to staff it.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” I growled. “Whatever it costs, just get it done.”

I went through the house, collecting anything that had the slightest chance of having evidence on it. I stacked laptops and boxes of files in a pile in the entryway, waiting for the security transport truck to arrive. Once it was here, I’d clean out the safe. The most damaging information was in there, and if agents showed up before the truck, at least I’d have a few days while they brought an expert in to open it.

I’d be long gone by then.

A little after five a.m., security at the front gate called to tell me a truck had arrived and was requesting permission to enter the grounds. I hurriedly told him to send them through.

The gray armored truck was large and aggressive looking, with its bulletproof glass and heavy plated exterior. It was overkill for a job like this, but the sooner I handed off custody of my assets, the safer I became.

A warrant did not extend to the contents of this truck.

Once I signed off, it’d drive to the marina, unload everything onto The Trident, and as soon as I boarded, I’d set sail for Cuba. I had a secondary passport just in case, and Cuba didn’t extradite if things got really out of hand.

I was not going to prison.

Two men got out of the cab of the truck, and two more were in the back, and all four wore the bland Sovereign uniforms, complete with gray caps and thick, black Kevlar vests. It belayed a bit of my fear. In addition to moving sensitive material, Serena had millions in jewelry. Some of it she hadn’t ever worn—it was an additional form of currency if needed.

None of the men were quick to move, and their lack of urgency was infuriating.

“Well?” I demanded, flinging my hands toward the open front door and the stack of items they could start loading.

The biggest guy, who seemed to be in charge, lumbered toward me, carrying a lock box. “Hey, boss. Where do you want this?”

He followed me upstairs and set it on the floor of my bedroom, and I made him wait in the hall while I unlocked the safe and hurried to load the contents inside the container. I haphazardly dumped handfuls of necklaces and bracelets in, rattling against the metal sides of the box. Once I had every drawer and secret compartment emptied, I closed the lid and engaged the lock with a four-digit code I set. Only I’d be able to open it once it arrived at the marina.

“I’m finished. Put it on the truck,” I barked after throwing open the bedroom door.

The guy gave me a look like he didn’t appreciate being ordered around at five in the morning, but I didn’t have time for pleasantries. My pulse was pounding as he carried the box down the stairs, and my heart beat even faster as I stood on the front patio and supervised the crew loading the back of the truck.