Chapter Forty-Six
Incoming docs. What do you want to do?
Isla sat in her room, her laptop glowing faintly as she read.
The documents Rey had sent filled her screen—financial records, emails, and damning evidence of the accounts Bennett and Danny had opened to put the Corrigan Group’s siphoned funds in.
The more she looked, the clearer it became that Matthew Leonard’s death wasn’t just a tragic accident—it was the result of a carefully orchestrated cover-up.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she debated the best recourse for the evidence Rey had sent her.
Should she take this immediately to Victor and Myles and let them rectify what Bennett and Danny had done, knowing that whatever Victor did, if anything, would be internal and that it wouldn’t see the light of day because he would protect Bennett and the company’s image?
Matthew Leonard hadn’t had that luxury of protection.
He’d been thrust out in the open, his name destroyed for something he didn’t do.
His wife and baby left alone to shoulder everything else.
What was the fairness in that between the haves and have-nots?
As much as she was beginning to like Victor and see him in a different light, for once, the have-nots needed a win. Her fingers pressed the button to send.
Isla slipped her off-network laptop into the far corner of her closet, behind a laundry bag, just in case Brooke or even Bennett had someone enter her room. She couldn’t be too sure that everyone who worked here could be trusted.
The phone rang, and it was Mae on the other end, summoning Isla to Victor’s office in the main house.
She didn’t want to admit that she was apprehensive about meeting Victor.
She’d given him and the main house distance since the incident, but it seemed there was no more avoiding it, and Isla would meet her fate.
Victor would either send her packing or have the cops waiting.
She ran through any possible scenarios and how she might keep herself on the estate if Victor did decide to get rid of her.
It was a beautiful day, and the trees and flowers in their autumn colors made for a beautiful view that Isla hadn’t enjoyed since she’d been here.
She took a deep breath. It was going to be what it was going to be.
Isla turned right on one of the now-familiar pathways to the house, her thoughts on her visit to Jackson’s home and how he played into everything.
She had a pretty good handle on everyone else.
But Jackson was a mystery. He didn’t work with Brooke like Dixon did with Victor.
His role on the estate seemed more like that of an observer with a gum addiction, and the Brooke whisperer.
Victor was considerably older, and his impatience toward his wife was evident.
But Jackson . . . a tall, clean-cut, Midwestern-looking dude might be more Brooke’s cup of tea.
A good-looking, available man who was at Brooke’s beck and call and happy to be that.
Outwardly. When Isla was with him, she had a sense that Jackson held something deep inside, and it might not be a good thing.