My Fake Fling

“Actually, include a ten-thousand-dollar cashier’s check,” I added.

“Is this a mistress?” he asked. “I don’t think you’re actually supposed to give them money. Gifts are always welcome, but money might make them feel, I don’t know, bought and paid for.”

“It’s not a mistress,” I replied. “I don’t have to pay women to sleep with me.”

“Whatever you say.”

“It’s for the couple that saved my life,” I explained. “Just buy the car. Please. Thank you.”

I pulled into my father’s estate. I left my car in the driveway and let myself in. It was so weird to be here without him around. It was like walking into a vacuum. His absence could be felt. It was a huge hole in the atmosphere. I didn’t know how we would handle him truly being gone for good. If someone kidnapped him, why hadn’t we gotten a ransom note? Was he already dead?

Walking into his office was just a little strange. I could smell the cigars he always smoked when he was contemplating a big business move. The side table was filled with an assortment of liquor. It was just like he stepped out for a minute.

I pushed aside the thought I was snooping and sat down behind his desk. It took me a few tries to figure out his password. The first place I looked was his email. His inbox was full, which told me he hadn’t checked in since he’d been kidnapped. Assuming that was what happened. I still couldn’t get my head around that idea.

I combed through the emails and looked for anything that looked like a ransom note. I saw nothing that hinted at a ransom note. But like Clark said, he would know it when he saw it. I sorted through a few of the emails and forwarded them to Clark. I sure as hell didn’t see anything alarming, but I might be missing something.

With the email account gone through, I started the very tedious process of opening files. Thankfully, Dad was a meticulous filer. Every deal he had made or was trying to make was organized into its own folder. I opened one after another after another. My eyes were blurring. I hoped I wasn’t completely overloading Clark. He did say to send him everything.

Some of the deals were years old. I didn’t think those were important. I created my own folder and moved the potential problems into the file. I didn’t want to overwhelm Clark and have him chasing his tail. Time was not on our side.

Once I went through the many folders, it was time to get into his financials. It proved to be a much more difficult task. If I tried too many passwords, I would lock myself out. I started to search the desk drawers for a clue. He would kill me if he knew I was snooping. But this was for his own good. I found an old bank register. I didn’t know anyone used those things anymore.

But as expected, I found the password. I got into the business fund account first. “Fuck me,” I groaned.

It would take a forensic accountant months to make sense of any of this stuff. I had no idea what was good, bad, or nothing to be worried about. There were the typical transactions. Nothing jumped out at me. I moved to his personal account. That was where I expected to find something. I searched for another hour, copying and pasting some transactions into a document and forwarding it onto Clark.

When I could barely see straight, I called it a night. I had sent Clark enough information to keep him busy for a while. I locked up and drove home. My head was pounding, and my ribs ached. They were bruised but not broken. That didn’t mean they hurt any less.

I walked through the door and immediately went for the bottle of ibuprofen. I washed it down with a stiff drink before pouring another one. There wasn’t much in the way of anything quick to eat beyond some frozen enchiladas. I popped them in the oven and sat down to think. My brain was overloaded with information. Everything Dad had been doing whirled in my mind, but nothing was leading me to him. I hoped Clark had a better time making sense of it all.