If he asked about the extortion first, this would go from bad to broken things. He’d have to work up to it. “Several million dollars from a single source went through your charity’s books in one night. That doesn’t look good.”
Lenny jammed her hands on her hips. “Cal told me the money was ours. No return, no strings. Right before he and Fin ran off into the sunset to get a head start on their damn happy ever after.”
“The money is yours. I’m not here to take it back.”
“You’re just here to make my life more difficult. Typical Sherwood.”
He rubbed his brow. She was giving him a headache. “No. I’m here to make sure no one else does. I need thirty minutes and your accounting software.”
“And what, you’ll change my life?”
“Your father did that when he blew up his rogue pyramid investment scheme and ended up in jail. Your life has already been catastrophically messed with. I’ll make sure the transactions Fin made are going to hold up to examination by your auditor, so you don’t end up with orange as your new black.”
She frowned.
He kept his mouth closed because he was close, so close to asking if she wanted him to repeat that for the hard of hearing.
“I would strangle Fin for tangling D4D up with your family, but the money she stole from Cal provided thousands of loans, helped thousands of families.” Lenny exhaled hard and glared at him harder with squinty little liquid maple eyes. “I’ve already had advice on this. I don’t want anything to do with you after you check the accounting. Have you got that?”
“Loud and clear.”
She blinked. Her mouth twitched. It was almost a smile, until she squashed it.
The first time they met, it was over burgers at a place Cal and Fin loved, and Halsey thought was too noisy and the food wasn’t worth the hassle. Lenny had smiled a lot that night. He’d found himself smiling back. That was before she knew Sherwood Venture Capital was a front for a family business that reallocated money from people who didn’t deserve it to causes that did.
Dollars for Daughters was a microloan charity. It did a similar thing. The only difference between them was that Lenny was a legitimate businesswoman, and Halsey was all the insults she slung at him, except for lacking in comprehension, slow on the uptake, and hard of hearing. Also, noxious poison was taking things a bit far.
Lenny’s father had been a joke of a fraud, had gotten too greedy, and wrecked lives, including Lenny’s. Halsey was a con artist from a long line of master cons, but that didn’t make him a bad guy. Just a guy who didn’t like fieldwork and women yelling at him.
He’d make sure D4D’s accounts were squared away, and the charity was safe from suspicion. He’d question Lenny about the argument he’d heard, determine what needed to be done about the threat, and then he’d go back to his nice, safe, quiet desk in his comfortable, well-provisioned, efficient office and try to forget how much he admired Lenny even when she was tempted to throw things at him.
He was a Sherwood. He knew how to duck.
Chapter Two
That uncomfortable twisting in Lenny’s stomach wasn’t fear after another loud confrontation with her brother, Easton. They never got easier to take. It was discomfort over shouting at Halsey Sherwood. She’d shown her cards and let him see her distress, and that couldn’t possibly be a good thing.
Still, she wasn’t about to taken in by his cool, collected manner. It hid the black heart of a calculate fraud. He positively asked to be yelled at and took it like he was made of Teflon and nothing would stick. That simply made her tenser, until he almost made her laugh. Which was just perfect. It proved she’d been teetering on full-blown hysteria for a long time now and only needed an uncomfortably handsome co
n artist in an expensive suit, wielding a mansplaining attitude, to tip her over the edge.
She left Halsey to her computer, because what else could she do? When your best friend and business partner steals millions from her lying con artist boyfriend and effectively launders it through your charity and straight out to partners and beneficiaries all over the world, you have two choices. Report the crime or suck it up.
It wasn’t like the Bradshaws needed any more attention from the law enforcement community, and she wasn’t going to disadvantage all those loan recipients who already had the money. And she’d eventually forgive Fin, maybe, a little, because Fin was as much a victim of the Sherwood glamor and sleight of hand as the rich rubes they regularly ripped off.
She didn’t have to be nice to Halsey. He was a reminder that in sucking it up she was colluding, that she was a crook like him and just as bad as her father. But one Bradshaw in orange was one too many, so she’d have to cooperate with him. To a point.
Oh God. Oh God. She felt a little sick. She wasn’t all right with any of this.
She drank a glass of water that tasted metallic and stared out the filthy window at a fire escape ladder while Halsey tapped away at her keyboard.
She shouldn’t have shouted at him. All through their family crisis, she’d resisted shouting at anyone. Through Dad’s confession and then arrest, through his charging and jailing and the freezing of all their assets. Through Mom’s nervous collapse and her sister, Mallory’s crappy, teenage, goth-dressing-acting-out and Easton’s indignant, petulant, selfish demands, she’d held it together. She’d been an iron maiden of strength and resourcefulness.
No one saw her creaky, rusted joints because there was no crying in front of anyone. No shouting or whining or woe-is-me-ing. None of that would help to make the situation any easier to live with.
She’d cried, of course. So. So. Many. Many. Times. Scalding tears of shame and fear and grief; it was impossible to imagine ever crying again.
She’d raged. Alone and furious and scared.