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“Yeah. He was trying to cut her off from her trust fund. Her independence. Marriage was supposed to be protection. As it is . . . her choice of groom kinda tipped him over the edge.”
“Jesus, Troy.”
I push my hands into my pockets and examine my ceiling. “I know, I’m a catch, right?” How do I explain this? Do I even want to drag up our past? “This could really damage us, Max. Damage me.”
His eyes narrow, creases fanning in the outer corners. “You think he’s serious? You’re sure he wasn’t posturing? Making empty threats because you married his little girl?”
I shake my head. “The man bears a heavy fucking grudge.”
“So this isn’t about Clara? He has it in for you?”
“I don’t know what the fuck this is. But the irony is, what happened before—almost a decade ago—it was me who was fucked over back then. Not him.”
“By Clara?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Or so I was beginning to think.
“And you thought marrying his daughter was a good idea?” You idiot, his expression says.
“I haven’t seen him in years!” It’s not much of a defense. I still find it hard to comprehend how he spoke. As though he was discussing the weather or a zoning variance when he threatened to dismantle everything I’ve built.
“So he goes to the regulators—the SEC. Let’s walk through what that looks like,” Max says, changing gears as he slips into lawyer mode. “Best case? He files a complaint.”
“Anyone can do that.” The SEC gets thousands a year.
“Right,” he agrees. “So they take a quick look and find nothing. The case dies quickly.”
“Not a man with his connections. They’ll take a magnifying glass to our internal systems.”
“So we’re talking lawyers. Auditors. A shit ton of people reading every email we’ve ever written.”
My stomach churns and my head is a fucking mess. “But that’s not the worst of it.”
“No,” he agrees. “It’s how it’ll look.”
“Like we can’t be trusted.”
The room goes quiet but for the sound of the rain.
We’ll lose confidence, then market share. Our lines of credit will tighten. Shareholders will jump ship, and the price will plummet. Control will feel fragile, not that it’ll be my problem, because I’ll already be gone. Removed by the board. Replaced by someone else.
“It’s only a matter of time,” I add, meeting his gaze.
His jaw tightens because he knows that’s true. “You’re sure he’ll do it—he’ll go after you?”
“It wasn’t posturing.” My feet suddenly feel as though they’re filled with wet cement. “Though he did give me an out.”
“Which is what?”
“Walk away from Clara.”
“So he can, what?” He scoffs. “Make her move back home?”
“I think it’s more like he wants to ruin her life.” My shoulders rise and fall. Her life or mine.
“Choose your company, Troy,” he warned. “Save yourself. Before my daughter does.”
Like history repeating itself.
