The Redemption (Filthy Rich Americans 4)

“Ah. This is where you extort me for money.”

“Um, no.” Her eyes lit with amusement. “I’m an Alby. I have plenty of money of my own.”

I was aware, as most of it had come from me.

Money was the easiest solution. It solved all problems, so my patience wore thin. “Then what do you want?”

Her gaze left mine and drifted around the room, taking in the power players of Boston who largely ignored us. When her focus finally returned to mine, there was a hard edge ringing her eyes. Her voice dipped low. “To the world, you’re a villain. What if you could rewrite the story and become the hero?”

I drew in a slow, deliberate breath. “That’s not possible.”

“Why not?”

“Because, Ms. Alby, I’ll never be a hero.” The taste of the word was unpleasant.

I’d accepted long ago that no matter what I did, I’d never be seen as anything other than a villain . . . not by the people who mattered to me. I’d saved Marist’s life on more than one occasion, and still she hadn’t chosen me.

“You don’t actually have to become a hero,” she said, as if it were easily solved. “History is written by the winners.”

“That may be true, but I fail to understand what you’re suggesting. Why would I care about being a hero?”

She grinned. “Because no one wants to read a boring story about a good guy.” Her shoulders straightened as she arrived at the heart of her proposal. “I know every secret Cape Hill is hiding. Let me use them to help you shift the spotlight away before DuBois finds all of yours.”

I didn’t trust her bizarre offer. “And what would you get out of this arrangement?”

Pride flared in her eyes. “I control what information gets out.”

I was sure the faint smile that drew across my lips contained no warmth. She wanted to control the narrative so she could weaponize it, and I could respect that. “You want to shift the spotlight,” I said, “so you may focus it on someone else.”

There was a sharp intake of breath, telling me not only was I right, but that I’d caught her off guard.

“Yes,” she said softly.

I was curious to know who she disliked enough it made her willing to face me down. “Who?”

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “That’s not important.”

“And yet your non-answer tells me otherwise.” Annoyance slid hotly down my spine. I didn’t care for the way she tried to lure me with information like a worm on a hook.

Her gaze slid away from mine. “Maybe we can talk about it if you say yes.”

I cut off my dry laugh before it escaped. “No.”

Her attempt to brush off my statement was decent. “You need an assistant.”

This was true. My previous assistant was no longer available, and I hadn’t found anyone to replace Nigel since I’d been released. But this girl sitting before me was . . . unacceptable. She was too young, too spoiled, too distracting. “No. Tell me who you want to destroy.”

She frowned, and I found it displeasing on her pretty face. “I don’t want to destroy anyone.”

I waved a hand to push away her statement. “Tell me who you want to shift the focus to.”

She sighed. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I have my reasons.”

The desire to know was strong, but my irritation outweighed it. “While I appreciate the information you’ve passed along about DuBois, if you wanted a job, Ms. Alby, you went about it the wrong way.”

Finally, the fear I was accustomed to seeing in other people’s eyes seeped into hers. “I can help you.” She amended her plea by adding, “We can help each other.”

This time I didn’t bother stifling my incredulous laugh. “You?” I shook my head as my tone filled with condescension. “I don’t have any interest, plus I don’t need help. Even if I did, I highly doubt you could do anything for me.”

Fire burned inside her, narrowing her eyelids. “I have a lot more power than you think.”

“Is that so?”

Her ruby red manicured nails flashed as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Do you remember when HBHC’s stock fell right after Royce got his seat on your company’s board?”

I clenched my jaw. Of course I did. When I’d been the CEO of the Hale Banking and Holding Company, I’d led my family’s company out of the Great Recession and tripled the shareholders’ investments. Even now, I monitored every dip and peak in the stock price religiously.

Ms. Alby’s expression was proud. “I caused that.”

This girl was taking credit for something so far beyond her capabilities it was utterly ridiculous. My voice froze over. “HBHC is the eighth largest bank in the world. If you believe you—in any way—manipulated its stock price, you’re not only mistaken, but delusional.”

She didn’t blink. “I did it,” she said, “and it was easy. I repeated one conversation I’d had with Marist to a few key people, and that rumor? It sent your shares tumbling.”