Ice water poured into Bran’s veins. “What did you say?”
“He would’ve made more money if he’d…” Fordham gasped. “We need to check the activity on Escapade. What’s Carina’s cut in the prenuptial agreement?”
“Ten percent.”
In the ensuing silence, Bran considered all the implications.
“And what if those board members you lured away are still in your dad’s pocket?” Fordham proposed. “He’s shrewd. He gathers a lot of information about everyone he comes in contact with and keeps it hidden away in his safe to use as future leverage.”
“Blackmail?” Bran hadn’t been aware of this aspect of his father’s persona.
“He called it influencing behavior.” Fordham sounded like he’d swallowed nasty medicine.
“So, Carina’s in league with my father.” Branson’s fury smoldered beneath the surface.
“More likely,” Fordham said, “she’s under his influence.”
“Why didn’t he do the same to you?”
“Contrary to popular belief, not everyone has a skeleton in the closet. There’s a lot to be said for integrity.” Fordham paused before speaking again, this time with uncharacteristic emotion. “That’s how I raised you, Branson. You’ve made me proud.”
Though he knew in his heart Fordham loved him, Bran had never received such direct verbal affirmation before. He could hardly speak around the lump in his throat.
“I couldn’t have asked for a better father.”
“I only wish your father could see you for who you are,” Fordham murmured. “He’s far more blind than you will ever be.”
With worries about Carina, his father, Johnson, and Escapade Resorts jamming the circuits in his brain, Branson couldn’t concentrate. He closed his laptop. The backlog of emails would have to wait.
Anticipating a good long workout, he headed to his suite and changed clothes. When he stepped into the hallway and turned toward his private gym, he heard something—a quick intake of breath.
He froze, listening. “Who’s there?”
Silence.
“I know you’re there. Who is it?”
A slight rustling noise. Or was it his imagination? I’m getting paranoid.
“This hallway’s monitored with security cameras. We have your face recorded already. One phone call, and you’ll be in jail.” It was a bluff, but a plausible one.
He heard a sniff. Then a small, trembly voice said, “I’m sorry. Please don’t send me to jail.”
“Ellie?”
“Yes.” She sniffed again. “I didn’t mean to come here. I got lost.”
“Why aren’t you at school?”
“Mommy said I could stay home today, on account of we’re moving tomorrow.”
His throat constricted. He had no idea Steph would move out that fast. He’d hoped he had time to convince her to stay. How could she afford it? How would she take care of Ellie?
“Are you going to call the police?”
“I won’t.” He gave her what he hoped was a pleasant smile, to soothe her nerves. “Want me to show you the way back to your rooms?”
“No, not yet. Mom told me not to come back for an hour.”