25. Reese
CHAPTER 25
Reese
“Are you positive?” I sucked my teeth, the sound echoing in the quiet room as I leaned back in my chair.
Nathan spread the papers out in front of me. “I am. The numbers don’t lie, Reese. Money’s been slipping through the cracks for years.”
Frustration coiled in my chest. “ Years? Be specific. How many years?”
He tapped one sheet. “Six. Maybe a few years before that is what my gut says. We’re still finalizing numbers, but the earliest discrepancies go back to then.”
We were losing money when Conrad was leading.
I leaned forward. “And you’re telling me no one caught it? Not you, not the auditors, not a goddamn soul?”
“A few hundred here, a thousand there. Someone should have raised concern, but it was ignored.” Nathan shifted, clearly uncomfortable.
“Should have,” I echoed. My conversation with Jennie ran through my mind. “This is an inside job?”
“That’s the most likely scenario. The patterns suggest someone with access, someone who knows your accounts well enough to avoid detection. ”
I tilted my head, studying him. “Someone like you?”
“If I were guilty, I wouldn’t have brought this to your attention.”
“Fair point.” I leaned back in my chair, the tension in my chest simmering. “So, who’s the most likely suspect? Give me names, Nathan.”
He exhaled, running a hand over his neatly combed hair. “I can’t point fingers without more evidence. But whoever’s behind this has been careful. The amounts, the timing—it’s deliberate with our losses and gains in the market.”
“But if we were losing money when Conrad was here, he must have known this.”
Did he try to stop it? Did he ignore it? If it wasn’t that damn boat he cared about most, his money was the next thing. I was surprised he didn’t know.
If word got out that someone was stealing from me, it would feed the narrative of Reese can’t handle the company. Reese isn’t Conrad.
“I want everybody interviewed. Fire the entire accounting team. Then go through every employee here, anyone who walked into this distillery—family, employees, partners, I don’t care. No one gets a free pass.”
If this was a setup, and someone was playing both sides, I couldn’t let it go on. I was losing money every day, and I couldn’t afford to lose any more.
“Make sure you cover all the bases,” I continued. “I want this bastard’s head on a spike. I don’t care who you need to get involved. If we need to bring in outsiders, make sure they sign an NDA. Just find out what the hell’s going on.”
Nathan didn’t hesitate. “Don’t worry, Reese, we’ll get to the bottom of this. Do you want me to contact your sister? Go over the resort’s numbers?”
“Yes, tell her I sent you. She’s had some concerns as well.”
Nathan scribbled something down, but I barely noticed it. Laurene still hadn’t said much to me since the confrontation in the gallery the other day. My distillery, Jennie, Laurene, the blackmailer, Conrad. Too many balls in the air, and I was juggling them all, barely keeping up.
“Get me answers,” I muttered.
I stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor, the sound like nails on a chalkboard. Nathan nodded and quickly left.
If I didn’t find a way to vent this tension, to release it somehow, I was going to snap.
That’s when I remembered.
There was a gym that had opened up not too far from here. I hadn’t gone back to mine since, well, since everything with Blair and the blackmail started. It didn’t feel like my place anymore. I’d passed it a few times, and honestly, it felt like a godsend right now. Something physical. Something that could match the chaos in my veins.
I moved toward the door, almost without thinking.
“Hold my calls for the rest of the day,” I muttered to my assistant as I passed.
The elevator ride was slow, too slow, like the floors were moving at half-speed, and I couldn’t stand it. Someone was stealing money from us. How could I have missed that? Hadn’t I been trying to prove myself to everyone I could lead?
How would this affect my infused line? If they were stealing money, were they leaking secrets?
When the elevator doors opened, I practically stormed out, heading straight for my car, I pulled onto the street, weaving through traffic till the gym came into view.
I parked quickly, my hands already shaking, as I stepped out.
Slayer’s Gym.
Rap music blasted me the moment I stepped inside, along with the rhythm of fists hitting something. It was way different from the gyms I usually went to.
The walls were peeling in places, the floor scratched, and the smell of sweat and metal filled the air. The heavy door slammed behind me, and I turned the corner into the main entrance of the gym. The lighting wasn’t soft or flattering, just harsh enough to make the sweat gleam off the fighters in the ring, the echoes of punches and grunts reverberating off the walls.
It was the kind of place that felt dangerous. And for some reason, that felt right.
“Can I help you?” a rough voice came from across the room, sharp and cutting through the noise.
I turned to see a tall, dark man with dreadlocks that fell down his back, with his arms crossed coming toward me, a deep frown on his face. His face was sharp angles, and his build was massive.
“We don’t let fans up in here, partner. You gotta go.”
I recognized him immediately. The tattoos, the intimidating presence, the aura of raw strength.
“Ronin Slayer?”
He didn’t flinch, just narrowed his eyes at me, sizing me up. “Yeah, that’s me. What the hell you want, rich boy?”
I didn’t even blink. “I thought your gym was based in Oakland.”
“Burned down.” Ronin’s jaw ticked. “Still, you should probably get your ass outta my gym now. Fighters only.”
“I’m here to train. This where you do it?”
Ronin burst into laughter. “You? Fight?”
“Yeah, I fight.” I leaned in, the corners of my mouth curling slightly.
His laughter died off as quickly as it came, replaced with a sharp, challenging look. “Alright. I’ll give you a chance. Get in the ring, and we’ll see if you last thirty seconds.”
A rush of energy spiked through me, and that made me grin wider. Ronin looked me up and down before whistling and calling out to the guys in the ring, who broke apart.
“Go get your stuff, rich boy. I’m sparing you five minutes of my time.”
I didn’t need to be told twice. My hands were already itching for something—anything—that would get my mind off the mess I was dealing with. I turned and walked back to the parking lot.
I got to my car and froze.
The tires were slashed—completely destroyed. Every last one. The adrenaline faded, replaced by a bone-deep chill that sent shivers down my spine.
Less than five minutes.
That meant I was being followed. I whipped around, looking around the small parking lot. No one. Few cars. But I felt eyes on me, even if I couldn’t see them.
I hadn’t even noticed the note wedged under the windshield wiper until it caught my eye.
I grabbed the paper and unfolded it.
I’m getting tired of playing games. Laurene will publicly resign from her position at the art gallery. You’re going to hand over 10% of Ashbourne Distilleries to a third party.
I clenched the note in my hand, every muscle in my body tensing. The bastard wasn’t playing games anymore.
And that’s when my phone rang.
The sound cut through the thick silence of the parking lot. A distorted voice came through immediately.
“You got the note?” It wasn’t even a question.
I could hear the low, steady breath on the other end. I gripped the phone tighter, my knuckles white.
“Yeah, I got it,” I forced out, my voice low. “And if you think for one second you can control me, you’re fucking wrong.”
The voice chuckled. There was no humor in it. Just cold, clinical.
“You don’t have a choice. Do what I say, or things get worse, Reese. Much worse. You saw what I did to Laurene. What else can I do to the rest of your family?”
The line went dead.
And I slammed my fist against the side of my car.