“I found it,” he said. “The investment group they all belonged to—all of them, the entire society. Formed in 1978.”
“Ethan knew your father that far back? And never said anything?” I could strangle the man myself. “Asshole.”
“I think it’s worse than that.”
I stared quizzically at him. “Why?”
“This is about more than just an investment group.”
“Sure, the secret society—”
“And the fact that no one has mentioned to me, in twelve years of being with the society, that my father was previously a part of the faction. That he was a member as well. I am a generational member.”
Yes, that was bad.
Mysterious and … devious?
“There’s a hell of a lot more going on than them wanting a piece of 10,000 Lux. And I’ll figure it out if it’s the last thing I do.”
The breath rushed from my lungs.
I so did not like his words.
chapter 17
Dane left me to go run several miles on the treadmill and then beat the shit out of his punching bag. I considered tagging along, because I didn’t want to be away from him, especially when he was so volatile. But I needed food—and he would, too, when he was done expending some of his aggression.
So I made my way to one of the kitchens, with some guidance from a housekeeper or two. The staff from last night offered to cook breakfast and I decided that was a good idea, since my mind was much too hyperactive at the moment. I would have burned anything I’d tried to prepare as I mentally waded through everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Like Dane, I was a bit mind blown myself. For a number of reasons.
I ate without him and then headed back down to the vault. I’d search one piece of paper at a time until I found what we needed.
Dane joined me sometime later, after he’d showered. He started on the opposite side of the vault and we worked our way around the room, not even close to meeting in the middle when Dane jerked an entire file folder from the drawer. A thick one. Three more followed.
“Whatcha got there?” I asked.
Dane sat across me from where I sifted through my own files.
“EBHACVHBWM Holdings. The most god-awful corporation name to register, but all the right initials. Evans, Bax, Hilliard, Avril, Casterelli, Vasil, Hakim, Bent, Wellington.”
“That is monstrous.”
“Doesn’t really matter. I highly doubt it was ever put on a business card or commercial real estate sign. Though they apparently had numerous investments.”
“What about the M at the end? You didn’t have a name associated with it.”
He glanced back at
the documents. “Right.”
“What state was the company incorporated in?”
Digging around some more, he eventually said, “A Delaware closed corporation.”
I Googled the Delaware trademarks site, pulled up the exact link I needed, and had Dane rattle off the litany of initials once more. I entered the registry. Nothing came up. But there was a section for dead registrations, so I copied and pasted the name into that form.
Bingo!
I scrolled down to the principals listed as investors. Found all of the members Dane had pinpointed. The last name, however, made my stomach plummet and my heart twist.