35. Sebastian
Chapter 35
Sebastian
I hesitated as I lifted my hand to knock on the office door of The Quinn Foundation. My grandfather knew I was coming; I’d even made an appointment because, without it, grandchild or not, his secretary wouldn't have let me through the door. After a moment's reflection, I didn't knock but pushed open the door to see my grandfather hunched over his desk in a smart suit that probably cost an average worker three months' salary.
"Learn to knock, Sebastian," he grumbled but waved me in nevertheless. "I assume you looked over the Erkharst file?"
I sat in the pulse leather chairs that faced his dark oak desk, leaning back as I surveyed the man before me.
"I did." I paused as I opened up the leather portfolio I had been given the night before last. "I did have some questions before we move forward."
He just grunted in response, leaning forward on the desk. That was the only allowance I would be given to proceed. So I took it.
"I did some digging," I said, taking out a piece of paper on which I had annotated and circled a few lines of text. "Erkarst Earnings has a pretty diverse board, which is always good for a non-profit." The icy stare of an impatient man was all the response I received from the older man. "What caught my eye was this 'Chase and Harper Trust.'" I looked past him to the painted mural that sat behind his desk of two yellow labs, one with a duck in its mouth. "I remember the stories of your hunting dogs you had when you first started your first company. Chase and Harper, right?"
My grandfather narrowed his eyes at me, the small vein in his forehead bulging just enough to know that I had struck a chord, so I continued.
"Are you a silent partner? Or an investor?" I cleared my throat, pushing my paper across the span of massive dark wood between us. "So that I know what I'm working with."
He didn't touch the document, just steepled his fingers as he regarded me with cold eyes. "You know, you might have more brains between those ears than I gave you credit for. But yes, something you'll learn in business is diversification. Never putting all your eggs in one basket, so to speak."
I tried to hide the smug smile from my face. "Yeah, that's one way to put it. It could also be construed as tax evasion or money laundering. Coercion, at the least.”
That had the old man stilling preternaturally, his jaw working as he surveyed me. "Those are words tossed around by men who don't understand the business world."
I hummed, pulling out several more sheets of paper. "But it wouldn't explain why three other buildings have been bought and sold by you and these shell corporations, then pushing out the renters by hiking up the rates to nearly double their original contract. Then when those tenants were gone, it was re-developed by the non-profit, to then be bought back under Chase and Harper. Which, if I'm looking everything right, and I am, is another for-profit company you own."
He was silent, but the rage emanating from him was palpable. "You're moving a lot of money around, actually. Have been for several years now." At this point, I pulled out four years of the company's back taxes. "But, being as the money is being moved around to these 'investors,' they aren't showing up on the company's tax filings. In fact, it even looks like we were in a deficit when a few of these multi- million dollar sales happened. But of course, they aren't on Quinn Real Estate or even Chase and Harper. It would be on the 501(c)(3), right? Erkarst is the non-profit. They would be filed as a loss. A write-off, right?"
I didn't wait for him to respond as I lifted out the very last of the paperwork to set before him, his anger a growing writhing thing as his face grew redder at every passing moment.
"You're pushing long-standing businesses out because they can't pay your inflated rates. Because you want to develop the area to be more lucrative for you." It was now my turn to grow angry. "When that happens, the market soars, and people are suddenly unable to afford the property tax on the homes they've lived in for generations so that you can pad your bottom line."
He stood at that, slapping the table, but I didn't so much as flinch. "Those places are barely habitable! Those businesses would have been floundering had I not stepped in, had I not invested in parks and municipalities."
I stayed seated, the epitome of calm and collected despite the blood boiling just beneath the surface. Shrugging I closed the portfolio, balancing it on my knees. "Yeah, you're quite the philanthropist." Then I looked at the various photos that sat perched on the bookshelves behind the desk, pointing to a picture of him and an equally grey-haired man with hands clasped. "Isn't that Senator Grayson? The guy lobbying the state to put a restaurant in the protected woodlands area in Ridgeway Park? That must be a handy ally to have.”
Silence. But not quite. Threatening, wrathful silence. "It's something that could get someone in a lot of trouble, don't you think?"
"Are you threatening me, you little shit?"
I stood at my full height, towering over the 5'11 man who always seemed taller when I was younger. Now, it seemed to slip from my eyes as I saw what he really was. He was a bully, a man so full of greed he gorged himself on it while people starved underneath him. He was propped up by the false image of a doting father and grandfather while he tore down homes and erected parking lots in their place. The portfolio fell to the ground, spilling the contents at my feet as I stood to face the man who had ruled my life for as long as I could remember.
"You see nothing, Sebastian,” he spat, his eyes wide as he pushed a finger into my chest. "You see nothing that I do not show you myself! You are just like your stupid father, unable to see opportunity in front of them.”
That made me pause; my hands that had just been clenched into fists released at the shock of his words. My grandfather never spoke about my father, ever. He had always told me he refused to talk about filth. But there was something behind the heaving, pooling rage that was now my grandfather.
"What the fuck do you mean by that?" My voice didn't sound like my own; it was deep and thready like it was being pulled from my throat.
A laugh. A bark of a cruel cold laugh, "Your father was given an opportunity, Sebastian, to get himself out of the mud and oil that he thought was good enough for the Quinn family. And he spat in my face!"
I was shaking. "My father left us for another family. He was embezzling from his work. He was married to someone else.” My grandfather's face split into a cruel smile as he threw his head back. "Just another deadbeat who would say anything and sign whatever we sat in front of him for a few thousand dollars and a paid-off house. He could have raised you from the shackle of poverty and done what needed to be done, but your piss-poor father couldn't see behind the blinds of his own stupid morals."
I blacked out, and when I came to, I was shaking my fist out as my split knuckles dripped blood on the expensive carpet.
My grandfather had been pushed back several paces, his lip split and swearing. He hadn't even had the chance to yell for his secretary when the tall, wooden doors burst open, and at least eight uniformed officers spilled into the expansive office.
It was Fletcher whom I recognized first, his dark hair pushed back away from his face, and his jaw clenched. His eyes flickered to me, and I nodded, rubbing the blood from my knuckles on my pants. The look on my grandfather's face would forever be etched in my memory, the look of astonishment as I unbuttoned my shirt to reveal the small recording device, which I handed over to my old college roommate, never letting my eyes leave his quickly paling wizened face.
"Charles Edward Quinn, you are under arrest by order of the U.S. Marshals pursuant to Title 18, United States Code, Section 1956. You have the right to remain silent; anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law."
The place was dimly lit, the dive bar slow on a Tuesday night save for an older man playing a solitary game of darts across the way.
Fletcher returned, setting two glasses down on the slightly sticky table along with a manila envelope. I raised my gaze from where my thumb nail had been picking at a splinter in the old wood. It had been hours at the station, explaining everything. Giving over the piles of evidence I had been compiling over the last few nights instead of sleeping.
"You need this more than I do," Fletcher sighed, pushing the beer towards me with a tired but satisfied expression on his face. He motioned to the envelope that I was eyeing with trepidation. I knew what was in it but I couldn't bring myself to open it.
It had been over twenty years.
"Open it, man," insisted Fletcher, sensing my hesitation. Fingering the file, I took a deep, fortifying gulp of the liquid first.
As soon as I slipped the documents out, I was met with a photo of myself, older, with deeper lines and a lighter shade of hair. But my face, my nose, my lips. I swallowed hard around the emotions swelling up. I had never even tried to look up my father; all I knew was that he abandoned my mother and sister.
I didn't have time to mourn him because I was too busy mourning my mother and trying to help my sister through her grief; he was the one who had abandoned us, so he became a placeholder for all my rage. But there he was, suspended in a photograph with the lines of the minimal security prison just an hour's drive away.
"There's sufficient evidence that Charles Quinn falsified documentation to have your father arrested." Fletcher paused, his finger trailing through the ring of condensation on the table before he continued, as if he was struggling to find the right words. "The trail of corruption is vast, Seb. But I don't need to preach to you—it's all in the file. The D.A. is already investigating. Whether or not you want to keep updated is up to you."
I swallowed before pushing the documents back into the folder. I couldn't go through it here. I refused to go through my family's dirty laundry in public.
Chewing the inside of my cheek, I forced myself to look up at Fletcher's exhausted face, knowing that it was a mirror of my own. "You dig this up for me?"
Fletcher shrugged. "What are friends for, or whatever."
Silence passed over us, interrupted only by the droning of soft rock over the bass-blown speakers. Fletcher stretched his arms over his head with a tired sigh. "What's going to happen to the company?" he asked finally, exhaustion etched on his features.
"My Uncle Harry is coming in from New York. He was already the COO, so he'll be taking care of this mess."
Fletcher nodded approvingly, "You staying with it? I know you've had your license for a while." I shook my head before I realized it, a weight lifting from my shoulders with the action.
"I don't want that blood money. The only reason I took a job with Charles was to help my sister and to pay off my debt to him. To mitigate any attention off of her by just keeping him happy." I grinned wolfishly. "Besides, I have enough money that I've invested over the past six years to be…comfortable."
Fletcher chuckled, then looked thoughtful. "So, whatever happened with Georgia?"
My eyebrows pinched together as I regarded my friend. "Honestly, I don't know."
"Have you talked to her?" he asked, keeping his tone light.
Leaning forward, I drained the remaining liquid from my mug before countering, "What about you and Sarah? What happened there?"
Fletcher winced, the smudges under his eyes seeming darker than moments before. "I like her. A lot." He hesitated before continuing carefully, "It doesn't seem fair. When I know more about her than she does about me."
Pulling a face, I dug out a few bills to toss on the table. "What the fuck does that mean?"
Fletcher shrugged. "I can't get into it, man; just trust me, it would be a bad idea." Sighing, I stood and tucked the manila envelope underneath my arm.
"Yeah." I peered at my phone, seeing the fifteen hundred new subscribers for Wolfe and Lace popping up on my notifications after a video on social media went viral. Twice. "Yeah, I know the feeling."
Three weeks had passed since Sarah's birthday, since my grandfather, Charles Quinn, had been indicted on seven counts of racketeering, money laundering, coercion, tax fraud, and tampering with evidence. I laid low, filming solo content and getting takeout or delivery just to stay out of the way.
People knew me and my family; the thought of heading to the grocery store or out to eat and getting those stares made my skin crawl.I wasn’t ready to think about my father; I swallowed around that pain and put my work in front of me, like I always did.
"Are you wet for me?" I purred, stroking my cock as I undulated. My mask was completely down on my face; I hadn't shaved in days and didn't feel like it. Shoving those thoughts away, I focused on the task at hand: my cock, my live stream of horny fans throwing money into my savings account as I swore and gripped my dick harder, chasing the orgasm that I hadn't quite yet been able to release.
She came to mind unbidden, dark hair splayed over my grey bedspread with a red bottom lip pinched between her top teeth as she moaned. The feeling of her cunt around my fingers as I slowly worked her open to take me, the way Georgia's whole body would tense as her orgasm rushed over her. I remembered the way she’d tasted when I’d licked her arousal off of my fingers and the way her brown eyes had widened at the sight.
My orgasm hit me by surprise as I kneeled on the thick rug in front of my business phone. My heart pounded in my ears as I came, nearly collapsing forward as relief washed over me.
I forced a dark chuckle. "Thanks for joining me; if you are a premium member, you can download this live stream in the next 15 minutes. Until next time." Waiting until the red light disappeared from the app, I sighed deeply as I took off my mask, closing my eyes as the cooler air hit my skin.
Stiffly standing, I rolled my shoulder, immediately turning on the shower. It was a relief, sure, a quick orgasm, but it was like scratching around an itch but not directly hitting the spot. I felt empty and unfulfilled. Nearly growling as I tossed the rag away, I got into the shower angrily.
I’d never had this issue before. I came, I recorded, I got other people off, and they gave me money. It was a simple arrangement. And now? Now, it felt hollow.
My skin was red from the heat of the shower, my hair dripping into my face when my phone vibrated nearly off of the sink.
Before I immediately rejected the call, I saw who it was on the caller ID. Natalie. Something twinged in my chest; I missed my best friend, and fuck, if there was anyone I needed to talk to, it was her.
Accepting the video call, I padded to the living room, towel wrapped around my waist as I relaxed back onto the sofa.
"Well, hello to you too," laughed Natalie, looking at my bare chest and still-damp hair. "Is this all for me?"
I flipped her off, drying my hair with the smaller towel, a shiver running down my back as the chillier air hit me. "Isn't it like three a.m. there?" I responded, waving over her shoulder to Jessica who looked as though she was in the middle of getting ready for bed.
"Yes," the blond groaned as she took off her heavy diamond earrings. "There was a gala today for the hospital, and we got a little tipsy."
"No, no, she got a little tipsy. I was responsible and drove her home!" clarified Jessica loudly as her fiancé giggled, obviously still a little inebriated.
Smiling, I replied honestly, "I'm glad you guys are settling in there." Natalie huffed as she collapsed on her bed, phone moving so rapidly I was glad I wasn't prone to motion sickness.
"Enough about me," she huffed, flipping onto her side and still cradling her phone. "Tell me about you! How is everything going? Your content with Georgia?" Natalie fanned her face as I dipped my head with a soft, sad smile.
"I take it you heard about Charles?"
Natalie rolled her eyes and seemed to sober a bit at the mention of my grandfather's name. "Yeah, honestly, it doesn't surprise me. I'm just glad that the bastard is going to get what's coming to him."
"Yeah, we'll see. That's how it works, doesn't it? As long as you're rich enough, most crimes are just a matter of the price you are literally willing to pay. My uncle is taking over the company, and he's a good guy. I think he'll do it right."
The blond chewed her hot-pink-colored lip, watching me carefully over her device as she pried, "Are you staying with the real estate thing?"
Huffing, I shook my head. "I only did that to keep Charles off Maria's back. I don't need it." She didn't ask questions; she knew how lucrative my business had been, knew I’d been saving and investing for years to make sure Maria and I would be set if my grandfather finally disowned us like he had threatened our whole life. Natalie was silent for a moment, regarding me. "You didn't answer me about Georgia. I've noticed you've been solo for the past few weeks."
I opened my mouth just to close it again. Fuck. A large part of me wanted to talk about it, to spill my guts to Natalie and tell her that I fell in love with Georgia Clark like a stupid fucking idiot, but an equally large part wanted to push it down; to not burden my friend with my woes especially ones I brought on on myself.
"Sebastian?" Her voice was soft as if she could read the myriad of expressions that I thought I was keeping to myself.
Goddamn it. Running a hand over my face, I took a deep breath. I didn't do this, I didn't fall in love, and I didn't talk about it.
"Seb, talk to me."
Groaning, I set the phone on the coffee table as I took another breath. "I fucked it up, Nat." She was silent; she was always good at listening, of getting you to let your guard down and share. It had never really worked on me until now. "We slept together."
Her blond eyebrows drew together in a pinch. "Well…obviously?—"
"Not on camera." I interrupted her, my voice dark and regretful. Natalie looked thoughtful, propping herself up on her elbow while she watched me.
"You like her." It was a statement, not a question. I was quiet because I hadn't said it out loud, and at this point, I felt if I kept it inside, if no one else knew that, it wasn't real. It would be something I could get past. "Sebastian, quit with the brooding and talk to me."
Leaning back against the back of the couch, I covered my face with my hands, and every moment with Georgia replayed in my mind like a movie, every kiss, every moan: her laugh and her stupid predilection to eat peanut butter and jelly for every lunch like a teenager.
"Yes, I like her," I whispered, still not looking at the phone. "I more than like her, Nat. I've never felt like this, ever."
I lifted my head when I heard the quick rustling of bedclothes to see Natalie sitting up, smeared mascara rubbed underneath her eyes, looking at me like it was the first time she had ever seen me.
"Holy shit, Sebastian Wolfe Quinn, you like her! Maybe even more than like?" Her face erupted in a wide smile as I made a face. "I knew there was something on those videos! I thought maybe it was just because she just really loved the D, but now I think it's because she loved your dick specifically."
Pulling a face, I picked up the phone again. "You watched them?"
She laughed. "I mean, I had to keep tabs on you. You were my first, you know. "
"Oh god, Natalie, please," I moaned, my face bursting out into a blush.
"I tossed some dollars your way, I wasn't a cheap ass."
I groaned ever louder, thankful that she had diffused the tension because this was hard enough as it was.
It was silent between us for a moment, Natalie settling back against her pillow, observing me, her blue eyes darting over my unshaven face.
"Seb, have you told her?"Silence answered her as she clucked her tongue. "What did you do after you slept with her?"
"In my defense, I was, I don't know…happy. I thought we were on the same page." She waited for me to continue, her eyes not leaving mine. "Then she got up, saying how it would be better for us to forget about it. And I froze. I just…fuck, Nat, I just left."
She looked thoughtful and sympathetic; even thousands of miles away, Natalie knew how to drag words out of me like no one else.
"And have you reached out to her since?" Her tone was slightly rebuking, and I hung my head. "Sebastian…"
"I knowwwww," I moaned, the chill of the apartment finally getting the best of me as a shiver ran up my spine. "I know."
"So I don't need to tell you what to do now, right?"
Everything in me recoiled at the thought of talking to Georgia, but at the exact same time, there was nothing else I'd rather do. To see her again, hear her voice, and smell her vanilla body spray.
"I don't know what to say." I hated admitting I didn't know how to do something; I had to know how to fix everything. All the time. Of course, that was how I got into this mess.
"Listen, Seb, and I'm only going to say this once. You walk around with everyone's problems weighing so heavily on you I'm honestly surprised you haven't caved yet. It's not healthy. This is your life, too, and your grandfather no longer has anything over you." Natalie flashed her bright smile. "It's time to make choices for you . Sebby, honey, you know I love you, but faking intimacy for the camera isn't the same as a real relationship. Not like real sex with someone you care about."
Silence overtook me as anything I was going to say left my mind.
"You use your job as a way to cope with how badly you want to be loved, with how much you want to please others. Wolfe's mask isn't the only one you wear, and I have a feeling the role of dutiful grandson and doting brother is even heavier than the balaclava. It's time to live, Seb."
I cleared my throat, just nodding my head because I couldn't find my voice as her words washed over me. Fuck. She was always right, and I hated it.
"Okay, you're going to talk to that cute little brunette and tell her how you feel." I nodded again, not trusting my voice. "And just so you know, I've been able to see your dick this entire time; you're slipping, man. Get your shit together!"
I quickly closed my legs, moving the towel lower on my legs as she barked a laugh and the phone call ended. The rough itch of my newly growing facial hair drew my attention. If I was going to talk to Georgia, I needed a plan. And to shave.
Glancing down to see the time was barely 7:00 p.m., I quickly searched for the number I needed and dialed it quickly before I could change my mind, holding my breath as it rang.
"Hello?"
"Hi, I know you don't know me, and I know it's late, but I have a proposition for you."