Chapter 19
HATTIE
Present Day
The door to Marcus’s office is locked.
“Bastard,” I curse under my breath.
Marcus isn’t careless, and I knew that going into this sneaky little mission. I should have guessed that coming to his office while he’s away at a lunch meeting, and actually finding something worth the risk of getting caught snooping, was going to require more than just luck.
The handle jiggles. I check the hallway with a glance over my shoulder before trying one more time. I stare down at the handle like it’ll change its mind and let me in, but it refuses to budge.
I close my eyes as my forehead falls to the door with a soft thud. This week has already been exhausting, and it’s only Wednesday.
I’ve spent the last three days reading everything I can about financial coercion cases.
It’s discouraging to know that there’s little I can do to stop him if I don’t have proof, but many of the articles and books said the same thing about where to start: if money is involved, there are always fingerprints left behind. They’re just waiting to be found.
Literal paper trails might be a thing of the past. But if I can find something concrete, like proof of a shell company, an offshore account number, or maybe even an encrypted drive with a spreadsheet or transfer record on it . . . I can take the evidence to Savannah.
If he’s as smart as he thinks he is, then anything I might find beyond this door will be meticulously hidden.
No one locks their office unless there’s something inside worth protecting.
But I have to try. I’ve been kicked in the teeth so many times in my life, maybe the universe will take it easy on me and lead me straight to a painting that’s hinged on one side, hiding a safe built into the wall that he forgot to lock up.
Do people really do that? In hindsight, the heist movies I watched in preparation for today probably weren’t a valuable resource.
I scrunch my face and think.
Maybe the window is unlocked.
I pull my hand away with a loud exhale and make my way outside. Not wanting to waste time, I march right up to the window and pull at the tab on the side of the screen.
“Hattie?” My entire body jerks back. I turn to see my dad standing in the driveway, dressed as if he were headed to the barn for an afternoon of training. His head is cocked, and his hands are on his hips. “Whatcha up to over there?”
“Just . . . checking on something,” I reply with a nervous, lopsided smile.
He looks at the window and then back at me. Even from a distance, he knows my answer smells a lot like bullshit.
“Checking what?”
I hesitate, which tells him everything he needs to know. His brows pull together slowly, like he’s making quick progress on a puzzle he didn’t know he’d be piecing together today.
“Marcus keeps his office locked,” I admit.
“Okay. Lots of people lock their offices.”
I can’t help but unveil a bit of my suspicion. “Do they?”
He crosses the driveway and stops in front of me. “What’s going on?”
His question lands heavy. I’ve been carrying this alone, and while I want to protect him by tackling it on my own, I’m not sure I can anymore. The honest answer isn’t simple or easy to let out, but I try my best.
“I think Marcus might be planning something.”
“Wouldn’t be surprised. Never met a guy that enjoys planning as much as he does,” Dad answers lightly, not realizing that I’m not just talking about wedding preparations and surprises at a party.
“With your money,” I clarify.
He studies my face for several seconds. “My money.”
“I don’t have proof, but—”
“You’re trying to get it?” he finishes my sentence.
I press my lips together and nod. God, I feel sick.
The one thing that’s made a positive difference in my dad’s life lately could turn out to be a massive disaster, and of course, I’m right in the middle of it.
I know he’s proud of me and loves me to no end.
But it’d be nice to deliver him anything but stress for once.
I’d like to stop increasing the amount of silver hairs around his temples.
Dad is deep in thought, and I blurt out more information than I planned on sharing.
“I tried to have a talk with him the day I found out he’d sent invitations without even mentioning it to me.
I wanted out, Dad. I know that’s embarrassing since we’d only been engaged for a week, but I couldn’t go through with it. ”
“And I’m assuming he didn’t take that well.”
I shake my head. “He wasn’t having it at all. It was frustrating at first, but I kept trying, and he still wouldn’t accept it. I chalked it up to denial until he basically admitted he could bankrupt you overnight if he had to.”
The air around us goes still. I look from side to side, expecting to see Marcus’s car pull up at any moment to catch me turning his business partner against him. Instead of jumping into action or grilling me with more questions, Dad steps forward and cups his hands around my elbows.
“Are you okay? Did—I mean, he didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“No,” I answer, voice utterly dejected. “But I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired, Dad.”
He sighs and pulls me in for a warm hug. I let him squeeze the anxiousness out of me, knowing that this exact position is one of the safest places in the world I could ever be.
“I’m sick of dealing with crap like this.
” The pearl snaps on his shirt are cold against my cheek as I cry into it.
“I know nothing worth having comes easily, but is life supposed to be this hard all the time? It’s just one blow after another, and I can’t do anything but worry and cry and regret.
It feels like everything I do leaves me with yet another big, stupid problem to deal with. ”
He’s steady, soothing his hand over my upper back and letting me have the breakdown I needed. “You can stop at any time.”
I sniff and raise my head. “Stop? Stop what?”
“Being scared to make a choice that might affect anyone but yourself.”
“I don’t like feeling selfish,” I say quietly.
“Sunshine.” He looks down at me with a quirked brow.
Mom used to call me that. My lips quiver relentlessly as I fight off a sob.
“You’re many things,” he goes on. “But since the moment you took your first breath, the very last thing you have ever been is selfish.” He puts his arm around my shoulders and leads me toward the house. “Let’s go inside.”
It’s quiet when we step through the back entrance and into the cluttered mudroom. Dad nudges the door closed and leads me toward the breakfast nook by the window like he’s done a thousand times before.
Afternoons on a ranch have a peaceful quality to them that I’ve always cherished.
Early morning chores can feel urgent or hectic, and people in this industry are hard-wired to complete the bulk of their work before the sun climbs too high.
But by this point in the day, things naturally slow down.
Taking a relaxing breath when afternoon hits is built into my DNA, and I do exactly that as I take a seat next to my dad.
The chairs across from us are empty. I stare at them with my arms folded on the edge of the table.
“So,” Dad breaks the ice. “It sounds like we’ve got a rotten apple on our hands?”
My lips turn down sympathetically, but I don’t look away from the chairs. “Rotten apple. Yeah, that about sums it up.”
“Tell me what he said to you.”
“He apologized a lot,” I say, recounting the awful interactions Marcus and I have had recently.
“He’s good at smoothing things over, but I tried to stand my ground.
More than once. The biggest red flags that stood out were when he mentioned that things could go south if he didn’t stay on top of your asset portfolio, which he controls, and then on a different night, he talked about how much he’d increased your worth since taking over.
We argued until he finally stormed out and said he could bankrupt you by morning. ”
Dad huffs with a half-smile and nods slowly. It’s a bit jarring, and I’d almost rather he look scared or panicked.
“I don’t want to visit you in jail on the weekends for the next thirty-five years.”
“All of that,” he says, ignoring my warning, “and he’s not letting the marriage thing go.”
“Yeah, that’s the part I’m stuck on.”
He inhales twice as long as a normal breath and rubs the side of his head. “And you’re just now telling me about this.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, hanging my head. “I haven’t told anyone at all.”
“You were scared.”
I look up at him with watery eyes and nod. Looking back now, I can see how it was silly of me to keep it to myself. The whole situation is absurd. I never should have let this happen. I can see the long list of questions on my dad’s mind just by the look on his face.
“You were finally happy again,” I offer as an explanation. “The ranch was thriving, and you had someone you trusted at your side. You seemed so good. We were good. Better than ever, and I thought . . . maybe if I married Marcus, everything would stay that way. I wanted to protect it.”
Dad leans back in his chair and looks at me seriously. “I had a feeling that’s what it was.” He drums his fingers on the table for a moment. “You don’t marry someone to protect me, darlin’. You marry someone because you can’t imagine living without them.”
I know that. Deep down, I do. I swallow back another bout of tears. “But—”
“I kind of messed that up for you, didn’t I?
” he cuts back in with a remorseful tone.
“You know, I didn’t handle your mom’s passing very well.
And after your brother died, I—I felt like I was losing my grip.
I thought the only way I’d survive was to hold on tighter to the only thing I had left. You.”
“Of course, that’s what you thought.” I sniff and turn my body toward him. “No one judges or blames you for that. Especially not me, Dad.”