Page 16 of Fallen Dane

“Fifty million dollars.” It’s my fucking money, and if they have a problem with it, they can say it to my face.

Fox leans back in his chair. “Jesus fucking Christ, Dad.”

“Fifty million dollars,” Thorne repeats. “That’s excessive, even for you.”

“I would have paid more.”

Tate exchanges a look with Fox and then Thorne. “Sounds like we all deserve a raise and a new car, brothers.”

I roll my eyes. “If you need a ninth car, be my guest. But you will accept Whitney as my wife. Do I make myself clear?”

My three boys all nod.

“Good.”

“Will you get off my ass about marrying now?” Fox asks, refilling his glass with the whiskey from my desk.

I'm not in the mood to argue with my oldest at present. But he’s going to fucking marry and carry on the Sinclair line. If I hadn’t done what was expected of me, his ass wouldn’t be sitting here right now. But right now I want to get this conversation done and get them out of my house so I can punish and fuck my wife.

“For now.”

“Is there anything else?” Thorne asks before kicking the leg of Tate’s chair, who is focused on his phone. “I assume that is why you called us here.”

“I have some things I need you all to take care of.” I look at Thorne. “I want you personally to oversee Sloane’s security. Ensure that everything is in place the way I expect.”

Thorne nods. “Done. She’s with me at Harvard, too?”

“Yes. So it’ll be convenient for you to keep an eye on her when you actually show up for classes.”

“Why do we need to keep such a close watch on her?”

“Because I fucking said so. And it’ll make her mother happy.” I wave my hand at them. “Happy wife, happy fucking life, sons.”

“Fine. I’ll check in with her security detail today.”

I turn to Fox. “I want you to dig into Harrison Lockwood. I need everything you can find about him.”

Fox raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Since when do you all question my orders? Just do what I fucking say. He intentionally sent me the wrong time for the auction. Amateur-hour bullshit, and I want to know why he didn’t want me there.”

“You think he’s a threat to her?” Fox asks.

“I think he wanted her for some reason. And I fucking want to know why.” I shift my attention to Tate. “Son, I want you to look into Gerald Marsh’s death. The Council was informed it was a car accident.”

“Should I also ask why I’m doing this?”

“Tate, I swear to fucking—”

Tate held his hands up. “I’m kidding, Dad. Jesus.”

“You think Gerald’s death wasn’t an accident?” Fox eyes me curiously.

My sons just aren’t going to make anything easy today.

“I think we do what we always do and get all the information so we have full control of the situation.”

“Let me see if I have this right. You think Harrison killed Gerald so that he could buy Whitney?” Fox waves his hand in the air. “But why?”