Rise: Rise & Fall Duet Book 1 (Shaken 3)

by Grahame Claire

  I appreciated his faith in humanity, but that was one lesson I’d never learn from my brother.

  People always let us down.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Lincoln

  “You purchased a sixty-million-dollar apartment without a title search?”

  Kane Zegas set his glasses down on his desk. I had a team of lawyers on retainer who were good, but they weren’t Zegas.

  “I ordered a title search. Paid for a title search. The company didn’t perform it, although they sent me paperwork declaring otherwise.” I leaned back in the chair and willed the pounding in my head to stop.

  “But you’re only now finding out about it?” He might as well have added idiot to the end of the question.

  “I presume when I hire someone to do work, they do it competently.” I glared.

  He pointed at me. “That’s your problem. Never presume.” He picked up his glasses and twirled them. “I presumed my wife wanted to marry me for my sparkling personality. I can assure you that’s a mistake I won’t make again.”

  Zegas had a sparkly personality?

  “Why would you think anyone likes your personality, let alone enough to marry you because of it?” Patrick Whitley strode into the office and tossed his briefcase on Zegas’s desk.

  He grumbled something unintelligible.

  “And can one of you please explain why you believe I’m still practicing criminal defense?” Whitley dropped into the chair beside me. “What are they trying to nail you with now?”

  “I am not a criminal.”

  It was the first time I’d denied any of the potential charges against me.

  Whitley grinned. “But now you’re talking like one.” He wagged his finger.

  Perhaps I should’ve contacted my usual attorneys first.

  “Get a load of this, Whitley.” Zegas smirked. “This guy bought a shit-ton of property without a proper title search and now it’s come to light a lot of it ain’t clear.”

  Whitely looked at me incredulously. “I thought you were the premier property expert behind your father.”

  I pressed my lips together. “I am,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “How’d you figure out they screwed you?” Zegas asked.

  “City attorney gave me a courtesy call.” If it could be called as such. After spending a few hours in his office, I’d determined much of my personal portfolio of properties as well as many company holdings were potentially in jeopardy.

  “What tipped them off?” Whitley angled toward me.

  “I’m not sure, but they have an entire room of filing cabinets they’re checking into.” Over half were my properties.

  “Ooh. Class action suit.” Whitley rubbed his hands together. “I’ve never handled one of those.”

  “Thanks for dropping a gold mine in our lap,” Zegas said. “But we’re still charging you for fixing this mess.”

  Money. It was always about the money.

  “Fine. Just make sure I keep my holdings.”

  “You’re a greedy bastard.” Whitley glared at Zegas.

  “You know I don’t have the time or inclination to get involved with a class action suit.” Zegas shuffled a stack of papers on his desk. “I need the records of all properties you used that company to do title searches on.” He considered a moment. “It might be beneficial if you provide records of all properties so we can prove you did due diligence.”

  “Hard copies or electronic?”

  “Both if you have it,” Whitley answered.

  “I’ll begin sending immediately.” It could take weeks to gather the information despite my meticulous records. We did thousands of transactions a year. Having to dig back so long ago would be difficult.

  “I’d start with your apartment,” Zegas said. “Unless you’ve purchased something more valuable.”

  Hollingsworth Properties did high-dollar transactions on a regular basis. But that apartment was personal to me. Maybe it didn’t have the homey feel of Lexie and Eric’s place, but it was mine.

  “What are the ramifications? Assuming the worst that there are liens against the titles.”

  I understood the inner workings of property law. A situation such as this—not that I was aware of one on this scale—did not usually bode well for the person in my position. Potentially there could be a statute of limitations. Or a desperate rationale might be that I’d lived in the apartment for over a decade, therefore I was privy to squatter’s rights.

  “I’m going to bring in a friend of mine who specializes in real estate law,” Whitley said. “Before we make any presumptions, he may have some insight. We need Dixon on this. Start sending those records, and we’ll meet tomorrow afternoon.”

  I nodded and stood, shaking hands with both men. “I’ll be in touch.”

  How the hell had this happened?

  I was meticulous. Overly thorough. And I’d trusted the wrong people to do what they were supposed to do.

  I breathed in the cool city evening air, but it did nothing to still my racing mind.

  Please don’t let that city attorney contact my father.

  Who was I fooling? Nothing escaped his knowledge.

  As much as I needed Beau’s expertise, I couldn’t burden her with this. I hoped I’d have this resolved before either of them was aware a problem had occurred.

  What benefit did Titan Title have by not doing as promised? I couldn’t wrap my mind around offering a service and not following through.

  This was beyond unscrupulous.

  And if they did what it appeared they had, I would make certain they never saw the outside of a jail cell again.

  I pushed into an uncrowded coffee house.

  “I’ll have coffee. Black.” I pulled out my wallet and inserted my credit card in the machine.

  “Can you try again, sir?” the cashier asked. “It didn’t go through.”

  I tried again.

  He shook his head. “Do you have another card?”

  I stuffed the black card back into its slot, irritated I’d have to make an unnecessary call to the credit card company.

  The machine beeped when I inserted a different card.

  “Sorry, man. That one didn’t go through either.”

  “Is something wrong with your processor?” I snapped.

  “That lady over there had no problem with her card.”

  I tried one more.

  When it too was declined, I slammed cash on the counter and stalked a few paces away to wait.

  “Sir, you forgot your change.”

  “Keep it.”

  I dialed the number on the back of the card I used most and was immediately connected to a concierge.

  “Good evening, Mr. Hollingsworth. This is Vincent. How may I help you, sir?” the pleasant voice asked.

  “You could stop declining my cards,” I growled.

  “Oh no. Let me see what’s going on.” The clack clack clack of a keyboard sounded in my ear.

  “Here’s your coffee.”

  I grabbed it and burst out the door onto the sidewalk. The concierge typing wasn’t muffled by the city noise. It only ramped up my impatience.

  “Mr. Hollingsworth. I’m sorry, sir, but your accounts have been frozen.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Lexie

  “Thank you, Eric and Lexie. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Garrison held open the door to his shop for us. We’d dropped off a second load of dog food for the day after an emergency call around lunchtime that he had sold out of what we’d brought that morning.

  He was quickly becoming our biggest customer.

  “Let us know if we need to pare down your order since we brought extra this afternoon.” It was a stupid thing for a businesswoman to say, but profit wasn’t everything. I didn’t want to sell Garrison product he didn’t need.

  “The way this is selling, we’ll need to double it.”

  I gulped. We were going to need a bigger kitchen. And more hours in the day.
>
  If you dictated the schedule, you could streamline the process.

  Lincoln’s words came back as a big fat I-told-you-so to kick me in the pants. I shoved them out of my head and smiled.

  “Just text me.”

  “Why? You don’t answer your phone.”

  My skin crawled. I didn’t want to turn around. Didn’t want to face the man I hadn’t seen in seven years.

  “Or does she answer yours?” The voice was nasty, accusatory.

  Garrison appeared taken aback.

  “Bitch probably picks up on the first ring ’cause you got money.”

  Oh no. How did he find us?

  I whipped around. “That’s enough.” I glanced back at Garrison. “I’m sorry.”

  He nodded and ducked back into the safety of his shop.

  “Dad?” Eric stepped closer. “Did you get my letter?”

  “No, shit for brains. I didn’t get your letter.”

  My hand flew before I could think. The slap connected with my father’s cheek so hard, his head turned.

  His eyes widened and then he laughed. “You are your mama’s daughter.” He rubbed his cheek.

  My hand shook. “Let’s go, Eric.” I took him by the elbow, but he remained rooted in place.

  “You’re not going anywhere with my son.” His tone was back to acid and it stopped me cold.

  “You no longer have any children.”

  Save your breath, Lexie. It’s pointless.

  “Not sure that’s what the state of New York thinks.”

  “Stay away from us.” I tugged on Eric’s elbow and thankfully he followed me.

  I wobbled as we walked the short distance to the van.

  “Shit for brains. Shit for brains.”

  My heart broke as my brother muttered under his breath.

  The urge to go back was strong, but I refrained. I'd never desired bodily harm on anyone, but I wanted to kill my father.

  Eric kept mumbling as we loaded into the car. I dropped the keys while trying to insert them into the ignition. After a deep breath, I cranked the engine and shifted into drive.

  My grip was iron on the steering wheel to keep from trembling.

  “Why did you hit Dad?”

  “Because he’s a horrible man,” I said quickly. I regretted my brother had seen my behavior, but the action was justified. “And a liar. Don’t you listen to anything that comes out of his mouth.”

  He’d spoken terribly to his son.

  My tolerance level for that was zero.

  If I knew a police officer to call, I’d try to have him sent back to jail. That was where he belonged. Far away from us.

  “You should leave him to the state. Live your life and forget about him.” My mother took a drag off her cigarette. “I get it. The money they send is good.”

  How could she?

  I couldn’t leave Eric to the state’s care. Who would make sure he was okay? Why would she want him with strangers? How could she be so callous to her own children?

  And I hadn’t known anything about the money because she had the checks sent to another address.

  “This was a mistake.” I pushed away from the table. Everything was stark here. The walls, the carpet, the furniture. Her.

  “Sit down, Lexie.”

  I’d obeyed that tone all my nineteen years. But she couldn’t tell me what to do any longer. Because she was locked up in here, and I was free.

  “You should think about your life while you’re in here. Maybe if you ever get out, you can do something good with yourself.” It felt good to be able to say what I pleased without fear of what she’d do to either me or Eric.

  “When I get out, I’m gonna lock you in that closet again for talkin’ to me like that.”

  I shoved away the darkness that threatened. She was the one in a closet now. One with bars. And guards.

  “Then I’ll have to make sure you stay right where you are, Mother.”

  That was the one and only time I’d ever been to visit my mother. After that, I hadn’t bothered with my father. They were selfish scum who manipulated their son’s vulnerabilities and tormented their children.

  Everything was about what they could gain. I hate them. I hate them both with everything in me. What they did to us, said to us, how they treated us like garbage.

  Mostly I hated the hate within my heart because of them. Why? Why did they act this way toward us?

  When will I be free?

  And even worse, how long before my mother was free too?

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Lincoln

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Hollingsworth. Your assets at First National Bank and Trust are frozen.”

  I slammed the phone down.

  That was the fifth call that had gone the exact same way in the past half hour.

  Someone had cut me off.

  It wasn’t just my credit cards, but every visible financial account I had. If it weren’t for the stash of cash in my vault and a few offshore accounts, I’d be hitting the panic button. I hoped I had enough to last until I could get things unfrozen.

  I banged my fist on the desk.

  “That outburst is no way for a Hollingsworth to behave.”

  Slowly, I lifted my gaze to find the last person I wanted to see.

  My father.

  He made himself comfortable in a chair opposite me as though he had an open invitation into my office. “Problem?”

  “No.”

  Every nuance of the word said the exact opposite.

  “Lincoln, I raised you to handle your own situations but—” he paused for emphasis. “If you stopped being so stubborn, you’d realize I can help you.”

  By staying out of my way.

  Instead of speaking my mind, I said nothing. I didn’t have the time or energy for this mental dance with him.

  “I have a closing,” I said through my teeth as I got to my feet.

  He crossed his leg as if he were just getting settled in. “About that.”

  I froze with my fingers around the handle of my briefcase. This was a personal property purchase. He should know nothing about it.

  “The title company called me concerned about your wellbeing. They received notice the funds didn’t process from your account.”

  My nostrils flared. In all the chaos, I hadn’t considered the transaction wouldn’t go through.

  “I offered to cover the expenditure, but they said you’d been flagged as unable to purchase tangible property in the United States.” No. Not my livelihood. He spoke innocently, as if he didn’t understand why this would be happening to his son.

  It was an act.

  A punch.

  And it made me see stars, but I had to hold it together until I could get away from him.

  “I’ll see to it.”

  “You know how I feel about our family name. If you’ve done something to tarnish that, now is the time to confess to me.”

  He wasn’t my priest. And I hadn’t done a damn thing wrong except be born his son. Anyone who cared would’ve been on the battle lines with their children, using every resource they had to straighten out this mess.

  Instead, he seemed to take some sort of perverse pleasure in seeing me in distress. Like throwing me into a shark tank to see if I could make it out alive as a test to prove I was worthy to be a Hollingsworth.

  Whether he liked it or not, I already was one. And my name was the least of my concerns at the moment.

  “I have to go.”

  “I’m glad to see you’ve taken your counsel seriously. Perhaps you should spend more time with Mr. Zegas and Mr. Whitley.”

  I tried to live without his shadow looming over my life. I’d become good at forgetting the constant tail he had on me. But I needed to remember.

  Just because he was my father didn’t mean he wasn’t my enemy.

  He’d never give me his loyalty.

  He wouldn’t help me.

  The only thing that could right now was strawberry ice cream.
/>   Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Lexie

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  I squeezed my eyes closed.

  Please tell me he hasn’t found where we live.

  I crept to the peephole and peered through.

  “Who is it?” Eric whisper-hissed.

  I screamed.

  Eric screamed.

  “Lexie,” Lincoln shouted.

  “Lincoln!” Eric yelled back. He muscled around me and opened the door. “You’re here.”

  Had he known he was coming?

  “Why were you both screaming?”

  I threw up my hands. “Still no hello.”

  “I scared Sis.” Eric was brighter than he had been since the run-in with my father that afternoon. “Then she scared me.”

  I may not be pleased to see Lincoln, but if he had this effect on my brother, I’d take it.

  He made a satisfied noise. “What are you wearing?”

  I looked down at my pajamas. Flannel pants and a fluffy white sweatshirt that looked like it was made out of cotton balls. Oh, and two socks that didn’t match.

  “My relaxing outfit.” I blocked his path inside. “If you’re going to be ugly, you and your insults can turn right back around and go.” I’d reached my limit for dealing with nastiness for the day.

  “I’m here for strawberry ice cream.”

  I blinked up at him. Without my heels, he was a head taller than me. Stress lines radiated from his eyes and mouth. And while he still looked like the same beautiful put-together man he always was, something about him was tired. Like he’d taken one too many punches today.

  “You’re in luck. We only ate most of it.” I moved to the kitchen, grabbed the carton from the freezer, and slid it across the counter. Stop noticing how good-looking Beau’s brother is, Lexie.

  He looked at it as if he wasn’t sure what to do.

  I offered him a spoon. “No need for a bowl when that’s all that’s left.”

  Our fingers brushed when he took it. We might both be exhausted, but the electricity that zapped through me at his touch was full of life and fire.