CHAPTER 56
Victoria
“Do you mind repeating that for me, Father? Because you could not possibly mean what you just said.”
“Spare me the drama, Victoria. I sent you to Yale to study business, not theater.”
He spins around in his custom leather office chair to the credenza behind him.
He pours himself a crystal tumbler of what is undoubtedly a thirty-year-old double-malt whisky.
Like all his acquisitions, my father prefers only the best of the best. He downs it in a single gulp, then turns to face me again.
“I knew that with you at Yosemite Ranch, the men would take their eyes off the ball long enough for me to make the magic happen.”
The horror rolls through me. He means it. My face starts to tingle and heat up. I fear I’m going to be sick. “You… you sent me there because I’m attractive?”
“Brains and beauty. My secret weapon.”
It takes me a moment to put the words together. “So you pimped out your own daughter to cheat the MacLaines.” I made sure that was a statement and not a question.
“It would be irresponsible of me not to. I always use every asset I have to get what I want.”
“I’m not an asset. I’m your daughter.”
He rolls his eyes. “Enough.”
“You set me up too.”
“How so?”
“The background research you gave me. It was all inaccurate. The MacLaines aren’t broke.
They did not take out loans to meet expenses—the sons’ tech company is so successful that they put the ranch back in the black.
This was not the mutually beneficial business arrangement you claimed it was.
This was just a hostile, dishonest shell game. ”
He shrugs. “That’s one way to look at it, I suppose.
But you saw that place, Victoria. All that land is going to waste on cows when it could be a real money-maker, with residential and commercial development, casinos, hotels, and whatnot.
Sulfur Springs alone is the perfect setting for a world-class resort. ”
“You paid Arlo Westervelt.” My voice sounds empty, and the truth settles like a boulder in my gut. “He switched out the BLM lease on your behalf.”
My father smiles and claps his hands. “Good on you for figuring that out!”
“How did you get him to do your dirty work?”
He shrugs. “Blackmailed him.”
“How?”
“I simply said that I’d show the MacLaines how he’d been cooking the books for decades. He was delighted to lend a helping hand after that.”
“How did you know he was dirty?”
My father tips his head back and roars with laughter. “I didn’t, Victoria. It wasn’t until he caved to my pressure that I knew I’d been right.”
“That’s extortion.”
“That’s business, Victoria.”
And just like that, any second thoughts evaporate. I truly don’t want to see my father sent to federal prison. I won’t go out of my way to ensure he’s prosecuted to the full extent of the law.
But I won’t protect him. I won’t hide what I know.
And I will never, ever work for him again.
I pull myself taller and lean in. “What you’ve done is wrong on every possible level. I can barely look at you.”
He begins to laugh again but goes silent when I smack my open hands onto the desktop. “You disgust me.”
“Come now, Victoria.” He leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers like some sort of cartoon villain.
“Land acquisition isn’t exactly the most squeaky-clean way to make a dollar, but it was good enough to pay for your sailing and piano lessons and your fancy Ivy League education and your condo, am I right? ”
I walk backward toward his office door. I don’t want to turn my back to him.
“It’s a little late to get all high and mighty on me.” He stands up and shoves the chair away behind him. It smacks into the credenza.
I take another step back.
“Since you happily accepted all the goodies my money provided, I figured you weren’t morally opposed to what we do around here. If you wanted a clean conscience, you’re in the wrong line of work, sweetheart.”
I’ve reached the door. I fumble behind my back for the doorknob.
He walks around his desk and comes closer. I’m backed right up against the door.
My father stops just inches from me, places his hands on my upper arms, and leans in to kiss my cheek.
I might vomit.
“Now listen up, my brilliant and beautiful daughter. I’ll expect you back here bright and early tomorrow. We have a lot of details to wrap up.”
Yes, we sure do.
I push him away, throw open the door, and run out. As I’m racing down the hallway toward the stairwell, the truth of all this hits me, hard.
My father never intended to make me partner.
My father is a criminal.
And the only value I brought to this company was my appearance.
I stumble down the stairs, my throat burning with the sobs I’m suppressing. I run through the glass-and-chrome lobby.
“Have a nice evening, Miss Backlund,” the security concierge says. “Is everything all right?”
I make it through the revolving door and sigh in relief—my car is out front, just as the pilot promised.
I’ll thank him later. I drive home too fast, gunning through yellow lights, half-blind from the tears welling in my eyes.
The tires squeal as I find my garage parking spot.
I take the elevator to the twentieth floor and fumble for my phone to unlock the smart lock of my condo.
The instant I step inside and the door closes behind me, I fold in two, hands on knees. The apartment spins around me. I crumple to the floor.
I’ve lost my tidy little life. It’s gone. I can never go back.
The only family I have is a user and a criminal.
I cry. Eventually, I push up from the floor and stand, thinking to myself that life as I know it may be over, but I’m still alive. I’m breathing. My heart may be broken, but it’s beating. And I have very important work to do. It’s already in motion.
I somehow get myself changed into sweats and a tee shirt, open a bottle of white wine, and pour myself a glass.
I take it to my piano bench and sit down at my beloved Fazioli baby grand.
Once the investigation begins, I’ll lose my piano.
Anything bought with my father’s dirty money—my home, my car, my jewelry—gone.
I glance at the scores propped on the music rest—Chopin, Liszt, and Fauré. I place my fingers on the keys and the condo fills with the first few chords of “Let it Go” from Frozen. I bust out laughing because, if that isn’t fucking perfect, I don’t know what is.
But my laughter turns frantic. The belly laughs bring another flood of tears. I drop my cheek to the keys and sob.
I’ve lost my only family, my father. More accurately, I’ve lost the illusion of the man I thought he was.
I’m about to lose the material things I thought provided stability and freedom.
I’ve lost my professional identity.
And worse than any of those things, I’ve lost Cal. What a pointless tragedy. The loss is more than I can take.
Hardheaded. Argumentative. Unforgiving. I was all those things. So was Cal. And for nothing!
He’ll never speak to me again.
A pitiful wail escapes my lungs. I hold the exhale in silent misery until I can’t breathe. From the depths of my low-oxygen despair, I feel a light touch on my shaking shoulder.
“I’ve got your double-fudge brownie ice cream, Victoria.”
I drag in a gulp of air and glance up at Millicent. She stands by the piano bench, a paper grocery sack balanced on the extra-large banker’s box gripped in her hands.
“And not a moment too soon, it seems.”