Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
J ustin slumped against my office door. "Well, that went well." His tone was laced with sarcasm.
"What are you talking about? We nailed it." I shuffled the mess of hastily prepared slides into a folder, avoiding his knowing smirk.
"Yeah, it would have gone smoother had you been prepared." Justin tapped his Mont Blanc pen against the doorframe—tap-tap-pause, tap-tap-pause—that irritating rhythm he always used when he thought he had the upper hand. "Maybe next time you can spend less time consoling and more time preparing ." His lips twitched at the corners as he pushed off the doorframe, strolling into the office before lounging against my desk, one eyebrow arched in that infuriating way that made him look like a smug cartoon villain.
I rolled my eyes and busied myself organizing papers, avoiding his gaze. My jaw tightened as I recalled two hours of watching executives shift in their seats, of finance slides pulled from thin air. Somehow we'd stumbled through to unanimous approval—but I'd rather eat glass than give him the satisfaction of admitting he was right.
Justin checked his Rolex with an exaggerated flick of the wrist. "I'll be out of the office the rest of today and most of tomorrow." He already had his phone out, thumb scrolling through what was undoubtedly another packed calendar. "Have other business to attend to."
His head snapped up suddenly, eyes narrowing with interest. "Tomorrow night, right?"
"Ye—" The word died in my throat as Olivia's face flashed through my mind. I looked down, pretending to organize the papers on my desk. "Actually," I cleared my throat, "I may not make it this week."
He was referring to our once-a-month get-together, a tradition that had started back in college and dwindled from every Friday to every other Friday to one Friday a month and entailed too much alcohol, women, and friends.
He looked intrigued. "Does this have something to do with Miss. She's not my type ?" I narrowed my eyes. "Bring her with you! We'd all like to meet the girl who's got your panties in a bunch."
No way in hell was I going to bring her. That would start all kinds of rumors, and the media would have a frenzy. "We'll see; now, get out of my office. I have work to do."
He laughed and disappeared out the door.
The door clicked shut behind Justin, leaving only the soft hum of the air conditioning and the tick of my watch.
I leaned back, rubbing my temples as I tried to figure out where to start. I needed to get Olivia situated before I could do anything else but the harder I tried to piece together Olivia's story, the more holes I found. Each answer spawned three new questions until my temples throbbed with the effort of keeping it all straight.
I pulled out a blank sheet of paper and wrote down a list of everything I'd have to take care of myself, then started making calls. My first call was, of course, to Emmett, which again ended in voicemail. I left him a brief message telling him to call me, then disconnected.
The afternoon sun crept across my desk as I dove into Olivia's paper trail. Each dead end only raised more questions. South Florida University's admission office put me on hold three times before finally delivering the news: no record of Olivia Ryan. Not even an application.
My next call was to America’s bank. My index finger tapped an irregular morse code of impatience against the mahogany desk as I waited for Brian, the bank manager. The hold music grated on my nerves, a tiny reminder of how many calls I'd made. Finally, his voice came through.
"Mr. Pearson, what can I do for you?"
What started as a simple request for a new bank card turned into something else entirely. Brian's typing echoed through the phone, followed by a sharp intake of breath.
"I'm looking at her account now." His professional tone faltered. "Or what's left of it. Someone cleared it out this morning. Closed completely."
"Who closed the account?" The words shot from my mouth, sharper than I intended.
Keys clicked on Brian's end. Each second of silence wound my nerves tighter. I drummed my fingers against the desk, counting the beats.
"Olivia Ryan." The name hung between us.
I gripped the phone tighter. "Where?"
More typing followed, then Brian cleared his throat. "New York branch. This morning."
I pressed my fingers against my temple, the pieces refusing to fit together. "Brian, at four AM this morning, Olivia was stepping onto my jet in New York. Unless she's figured out how to be in two places at once..."
The line went quiet. When Brian spoke again, his banker's polish had cracked. "That's... not possible. The system shows her ID was verified in person. Photo matched. Signatures matched."
"Someone's gotten very good at being Olivia Ryan." I leaned forward, my reflection in the window looking as grim as I felt. "Run it through fraud investigations. Now."
"Yes, sir. Right away."
"How much did they take?" My voice was steady, but my fingers had gone white around the phone.
"One moment." Brian's keys clicked. "Final withdrawal: one hundred twenty-four thousand, seventy-eight dollars and?—"
"That's it?" The words escaped before I could stop them. Something wasn't adding up. The Ryan inheritance had been split three ways, and Olivia's share alone had been...
"Brian." My words sliced through his recitation. "What was the starting balance?"
Keys clicked in the silence. Then—a whistle of breath, so soft I almost missed it.
"Account opened nine years ago. Initial deposit..." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Fifty million dollars."
The room tilted. Fifty million. The number blazed behind my eyes, each zero a burning accusation. My free hand found the edge of the desk, steadying me as nine years of carefully managed wealth dissolved into vapor.
Where did it all go?
"When did the account become accessible?"
"She couldn't access the money until she was 18; however, her guardian was able to access it from day one."
Emmett.
"Don't worry about looking into it; I think I know what happened. Could you please have an additional credit card attached to my accounts done by today with Olivia's name on it? I'll be sending Rachel Mathis to pick it up."
"Yes, sir. Give us thirty minutes."
"Thanks for all your help." I disconnected.
What the fuck are you up to, Emmett ? First, the fire and now the bank and the school? I had no idea what to think, and on top of everything else, I couldn't get a hold of him to ask him. I did the next best thing and called Anthony, who answered on the third ring, "Hello."
"Anthony, it's Nick."
"Nick." Anthony's voice carried an edge I'd never heard before, a tightness that sent warning signals up my spine. "I was about to call you. Olivia—is she safe?"
My grip tightened on the phone until my knuckles whitened. The muscles in my jaw worked as I stared out the window. "She's here. Protected." I swallowed hard. "What's wrong?"
A long breath crackled through the line. When Anthony spoke again, his voice had dropped to nearly a whisper. "Fire marshal just left. They found accelerant." He paused, and I could picture him glancing over his shoulder, checking his surroundings. "Professional job, they said. Whoever did this wanted to make sure nothing survived."
The implications turned my blood cold. "And Emmett?"
"Gone." Anthony's voice dropped lower. "Came back from the airport, expecting Emmett to meet me here. He never showed." He let the sentence hang. “I haven’t seen him in weeks.”
"If Emmett's the target, then Olivia should be safe here," I mainly stated to reassure myself. I didn't like that Emmett was a target, but he was resourceful and could take care of himself. Olivia, on the other hand, was young and na?ve. I wasn't as convinced that she could.
"I believe so," Anthony stated. "Look, I'll let you know if I find anything else."
"Thanks, I appreciate it." He disconnected, and I crossed Anthony's name off my "to-call" list.
Anthony's "driver" title had always been a smokescreen. Oliver Ryan, Emmett and Olivia’s father, fresh off making his first billion, arranging security for his newborn while building an empire that made him more enemies by the day. The irony twisted in my gut—he'd protected his children but left himself exposed. Now his kids had inherited not just his wealth, but his enemies too.
Glancing at my watch, noticing how late it was, I grabbed my phone and sent a quick text to Hannah.
Nick: Bring Olivia to my house once you're done.
Nick: Do you have an ETA?
It didn't take long for her to reply.
Hannah: Finishing up and going to get a bite to eat.
Hannah: Don't wait up!
I sighed, powering down my computer. No reason to stay any longer. The office had emptied hours ago, the cleaning crew already making their rounds through the darkened hallways. I gathered my coat, took one last look at the notes spread across my desk, and headed for the elevator. Outside, the city had transformed into its nighttime self. The city lights blurred past my car window as I headed home, the clock on my dashboard creeping past nine.
My neck ached from hours of phone calls, and questions about Emmett and Olivia tumbled through my mind like clothes in a dryer. Each theory I came up with was worse than the last.
By the time I made it home, all I wanted was a shower, food, and sleep.
Hot water pounded against my shoulders, but each muscle it loosened seemed to redirect the tension straight to my gut. Steam clouded the mirror as I yanked on a fresh shirt, fingers fumbling with the buttons.
"Mr. Pearson?" Arlena's voice floated up the stairs. She paused for a moment, then added, "Miss Hannah and Miss Olivia have arrived."
I abandoned my half-buttoned shirt and moved to the bedroom window, catching sight of Hannah's car in the circular drive. Its headlights cut through the evening mist, casting long shadows across the manicured lawn.
The front door opened below, voices drifting up. I froze on the landing, my hand gripping the banister mid-descent. For a moment, I thought Hannah had brought back the wrong person.
The woman in the doorway couldn't be Olivia—except those eyes. Ice-blue and unmistakable, they locked with mine across the foyer, and her chin lifted slightly in recognition. My pulse quickened as I forced myself to continue down the stairs at a measured pace.
Gone was the frightened girl in the oversized shirt. In her place stood someone who made my chest tight with an emotion I couldn't name. Her dark hair cascaded past her shoulders, catching the foyer lights like silk. The black dress she wore told a story of its own, one that made me forget I was supposed to be her protector.
"Earth to Nick," Hannah's voice cut through my trance. "You're drooling, boss.”
My mouth shut as he sharp, sour tang of stale beer hit me before she'd taken three steps into the room. It clung to her like a second skin, replacing this morning's smoke with something equally potent. My nose wrinkled before I could stop it.
"Did you two go swimming in a brewery?" I crossed my arms and leaned against the newel post.
Hannah glanced at Olivia, her lips pressing together to suppress a smile. "No, Olivia spilled a beer," she replied, busying herself with her purse strap.
"It was more like four beers," Olivia corrected, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. She ran her fingers through her dark hair, meeting my gaze with a hint of defiance that hadn't been there this morning. Her shoulders straightened slightly, as if preparing for a lecture.
"Arlena, please show Olivia to her room so she can change," I directed Arlena. Olivia followed Arlena up the stairs, and I couldn't help but watch as the form-fitting dress hugged her assets perfectly. Hannah cleared her throat behind me, and I suddenly remembered she was still there.
Hannah dangled the credit card between two fingers. "Here's your card back, Mr. Pearson." A mischievous smile played on her lips. "Do you want to know the damage?"
I waved off the question, my eyes still fixed on the stairs where Olivia had disappeared.
Hannah's heels clicked against the marble as she turned toward the door. "All right, then I guess I'll head home."
"Thanks, Hannah." I forced my attention back to her. "I owe you one."
"Nah." She paused in the doorway, shoulder propped against the frame. Her expression softened into something genuine. "I like her. Hopefully, we can hang out again."
I smiled and nodded. It would be nice for Olivia to have a friend here in Florida. Someone she could trust.
I watched Hannah's taillights disappear down the driveway before closing the door. The grandfather clock in the hall chimed once, marking the half hour. I found Arlena in the kitchen, preparing to leave for the night.
"Will you be needing anything else, Mr. Pearson?" She untied her apron placing it on the counter.
"No, thank you, Arlena. Get home safe."
After she left, I poured myself two fingers of scotch and threw it back before pouring another glass and carried it upstairs. The questions I'd been collecting all day needed sorting. Fifty million dollars didn't just disappear without a trail.
The house settled into night-quiet. I paced the hallway, pausing at the sound of running water from Olivia's room. Arlena's departing footsteps had long faded from the marble foyer, leaving only the subtle creaks of the house settling.
I counted off ten minutes on my watch, then ten more, rehearsing questions in my mind. Finally, my knuckles met the heavy wood of her door with three measured taps. It swung open before the echo died, as if she'd been waiting just on the other side. Steam escaped like a sigh, carrying the scent of jasmine and something warmer.
The silk robe clung to her curves, pink and with black lace shifting like shadows as she leaned against the doorframe. Droplets of water traced slow paths down her neck, disappearing beneath the collar of her robe. I swallowed hard, my gaze dropping to the floor before climbing back to her face. My thoughts wandered down dangerous paths as my hands clenched and unclenched at my sides.
The hall clock's midnight toll jerked me back to reality, each chime a warning. I cleared my throat and took a half-step back, creating necessary distance.
Questions about Emmett burned in my throat, fighting with the warnings from the bank, the fire marshal's report, all the pieces that didn't fit. But Olivia stood there in that thin silk robe, droplets of water still clinging to her collarbone, and my carefully prepared interrogation dissolved.
"We should talk." The words caught in my throat like sandpaper, rough against all the questions I needed to ask.
She lifted her gaze to mine, tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear. For a heartbeat, something dark flickered behind those ice-blue eyes—fear? Calculation? Her fingers stilled against her temple, and the expression vanished so quickly I might have imagined it.
Her shoulders slumped then, the perfect picture of exhaustion. The silk robe slid slightly, revealing the delicate curve of her collarbone. "Tomorrow?" A yawn escaped her lips as she blinked heavily. "It's been..."—another yawn, this one maybe too perfectly timed, her hand not quite covering her mouth—"...a long day."
I studied her face, searching for the truth behind the performance. My index finger tapped against my thigh.
Professional instincts warred with personal ones. Everything I'd learned today screamed for answers now. But her vulnerability seemed so genuine, her fatigue so real. Or was that just another performance?
"Right. Tomorrow." I pulled her door shut, but sleep was the last thing on my mind. In my office down the hall, bank statements and investigator reports waited. Tonight, would be a long night of piecing together who Olivia Ryan really was.