Why would Wyatt have an account that’s constantly losing money—more importantly, why would an investor stay with us if we were doing such a shitty job?
“Abigail!” I walked to the door and pushed it open. “There’s an account in Chicago—Ashton Retirement Fund. I want to know everything about. When we took them on as a client, who owns—just fucking everything!”
“Um, yes sir!” She nodded quickly.
What the fuck were you doing, Wyatt?
The account was ten years old, and just like the five years I was looking at previously, all ten years were the same—it never made money. I started digging deeper. It was owned by a woman named Hannah Ashton, and it sure as fuck wasn’t a retirement fund, even if that was what it was called on paper. The money that went into it didn’t come from an external source, it was being skimmed off our profits. That wasn’t uncommon with some of our older accounts, especially if it was an account our father set up. We didn’t offer those kinds of incentives any longer, but there was a time when that was common—but it wasn’t common when that account was set up, and we had done our best to get rid of those investors after Mauro took over.
The money goes into this fucking account, then it disappears. Fuck, this is money laundering. This is the kind of shit that could get the SEC on our ass immediately.
I felt my blood run cold when I started digging into the investments on that account. I recognized the names—they were shell companies owned by Josef Weber. Wyatt was funneling money directly into Josef Weber’s operations. The account was still active too—probably because the new guy we put in charge of the Chicago branch didn’t want to fuck with any of Wyatt’s longstanding accounts—or he knew what was going on too.
“Abigail, I need a flight to Chicago.” I walked out into the lobby, but then I saw one of our attorneys, Robert Fisk, charging through the lobby.
“Don’t make any travel plans.” He shook his head back and forth. “Where’s Mauro?”
“He’s busy, what the fuck is going on?” I felt like I already knew the answer to that question, but I was afraid to say it.
“This is a problem that you can’t fix—especially since you started it by fucking with Josef Weber.” He exhaled sharply.
“Don’t give me that shit. Tell me what’s going on!” My fists balled, but I realized that our staff was watching, so I pulled him into my office instead of hitting him.
“We’re fucked!” Fisk shook his head angrily as soon as he caught his balance after I shoved him halfway across my office.
“How?” I put my fists down on my desk. “Or does this have something to do with it?”
“Yeah, this is part of it.” He looked down at the documents on the Ashton Retirement Fund. “But this is just the beginning—your father’s will is being challenged.”
“What?” I blinked in surprise. “That’s—not possible.”
“Oh, it’s possible alright.” He grunted. “Because the woman challenging it? Hannah Ashton? She claims to be your sister.”
“Wait…” I looked down at the paperwork again. “The woman who owns this account—she’s my father’s bastard?”
“She might be, but regardless—it’s not goin
g to be good, even if she’s not. Wyatt’s been funneling money to her, and that sure as fuck will look like he was paying her off, so she wouldn’t make a claim on the will.” He walked over and poured a drink.
“Fuck!” I motioned for him to bring me a glass as well. “Even from beyond the grave that mother fucker is still haunting me.”
“We need to get a statement together. I hope I don’t need to tell you how bad this is going to be when the press gets the story.” He walked over and sat down. “Where the fuck is Mauro?”
“He’s…” I looked at the screen where Lizzy’s face should have been. “He’s busy.”
“You just signed up a whole bunch of new investors with this power play you made on Josef Weber. Most of those contracts are still new enough for them to immediately be broken without much legal fuss—especially if it looks like you suckered them in because you knew the company was about to get destroyed in the media.” He exhaled sharply.
“Okay, let’s say that’s about to happen,” I growled under my breath and took a drink. “Let’s say this woman—Hannah Ashton—is my father’s bastard. How the fuck did she get tangled up with Josef Weber? Why wouldn’t she come to us? We would have made things right…”
“How do you know she hasn’t?” He tilted his head to the side. “Wyatt was your father’s oldest son. Maybe she went to him—and maybe he handled it.”
“By paying her off…” I sighed and growled again. “Fuck…”
“As for Josef Weber? Who knows. He certainly seems to have a hard-on for Jackson Investments.” Fisk looked towards the door. “I really need to talk to Mauro and figure this out.”
“Right now, you’re figuring it out with me.” I slammed my hand on the desk. “God damn it. Wyatt was a fucking fool.”
“Yes, I’m afraid he might have been.” Fisk nodded.