Page 96

He points to the contract I signed about staying single. “This is null and void. Your wallet is on lockdown.”

“First of all, I draw a salary. Second, I have my own holdings and my portion of the company far exceeds fiscally the other pieces, so if you want your half of the business upheld, you better treat me with a little more respect.”

“All your personal assets and business perks are frozen until you explain this.” He pushes the printouts of my bank account and credit cards across the desk.

“You’re spying on me?”

“When one takes the corporate jet for a quick overnight to LA or spends more time in Vegas than Boston, it’s a bit of a red flag. Antique stores, jewelry stores, whoever she is, she’s not a one-night stand. A ten-thousand-dollar espresso machine and some fucking love shack in Henderson. Church repairs? She isn’t good enough for all of this.”

“Fuck you.”

“Your little travel budget to whatever fucking trollop you’ve picked up in Vegas, who I assume presumes she’s going to be the next Mrs. Anthony Ladd, is cut off.” He turns to leave, and I do something I’ve never done before. I’ve snarked. I’ve cajoled, teased, ignored but never this.

“DON’T YOU FUCKING SPEAK ABOUT HER THAT WAY. Or to me like that ever again.”

He turns back to me and crosses his arms.

“Get the fuck out of my office. Go call up Dax and tell him how difficult I’m being. Go play golf or old man jack each other off in the steam room or whatever the fuck you do to relax at the club, but get out of my affairs and my office. Or you can nut up and tell me what the hell this is all really about? It’s not about where I’m putting my cock or how often or with whom. Or how many doughnuts I buy. What is this about?”

He’s way too calm. “It’s imperative you maintain a straight and narrow path. Do not be the bad boy spending cash on women or frivolous things right now. This divorce agreement reads like you don’t care about your money. And these other expenses are not a good look. Your mother and I are in agreement on this after seeing Laura’s settlement and the money you’ve already spent lining up your fourth wife.”

I lean back on my desk. I don’t want him to know it’s Makenzie because she was right. They dismissed her, and I don’t want her to leave me because they were snobs.

I nod at him. “Dad.”

“Son.”

“Believe me, this is different. This is it.”

He rolls his eyes. “Son, it is different. We’re involved. The work you’ve been doing is fantastic, but we can’t risk another stock dip when you show up with someone else on your arm. Your personal life matters. It’s the way it is. You chose to be a part of this company and it’s time you took on some of the burden of legacy. We won’t weather another woman on the payroll or another bobble in Ladd Media.” Love that he called my multi billion dollar mistake a bobble.

He waves my divorce agreement. “Makes no fucking sense. The two of you all of sudden came to decisions without consultation from anyone else. It’s childish and the two of you are playing with very real money. The press and our shareholders will eat this up like gossip. You gave her your Catskills house?”

“It was always hers. I’ve been there once and hated it. You’d hate it too. It’s too mountainy fresh. And, Dad, I love you, but this has nothing to do with you.”

“You can keep saying that, but it’s still family money, reputation, and lives you’re playing with. We can’t have it for another second. Your wallet, dick, and whatever relationship you thought you were having are all on lockdown.”

“In one month and sixteen days you hand over Ladd Media free and clear. You dissolve all ties to the holding company and it’s mine.”

“We will see. There are other factors at play.”

“Then my team and I walk. We own the Cookery and all those assets outright, so you want me to honor your fucking deal, honor mine.”

He puts his hand out, and I shake it.

Thank God Makenzie has graduation to occupy her. But I might die without her. It’s a short time when put up against forever. But it’s hard to wait for forever to start.

My father leaves, and Lill enters.

I tell her, “Get me a phone my father can’t tap or trace.”

“Go down to a store and get one.”

“It’s got to be on your account. I’ll pay my bill, I promise. I’m good for it.”

“Are you? You and your father weren’t exactly quiet.” I laugh. “Need a loan?”

“Ballbuster. Get me a phone. He’s going to monitor mine and I need all data saved then scrubbed. I want all of Makenzie Preston’s texts.”