Chapter 22 Convict Mila burst into tears. Not heaving sobs, but the heartbreak of long-held pain with her features crumpling, even as she fought it. I couldn't bear it. Just like when she'd been on the camera in the game, her tears did something strange to me. I didn't know physical pain, but I had the suspicion this was what the emotional variety felt like. Reaching for her, I tugged her to my chest. Mila scrubbed at her eyes with her sleeve. "If I'd only gone sooner, maybe he wouldn't have worked so hard. Not if he'd had someone to split the responsibility with. But I wanted to see every place we owned, so I begged him for more time in the field. While I was out enjoying the work, he was getting increasingly stressed until his heart couldn't take it anymore." "Or he would have died anyway because his time was up and it was nothing to do with you. Can I ask some questions?" She sniffed and sat up. "Yes. That might help. My thoughts are so scattered." I kept her hand in mine, brushing my thumb over her knuckles. So far, I'd heard a lot about how two rich people had brainwashed a teenager into working for them and not a lot about why that girl then threw herself into harm's way. "Where does Rhys Jacobs fit into this?" "Right. Other than knowing about him from school, he's an associate of my grandparents who I saw at my grandfather's funeral. He was in my grandmother's ear, whispering to her. Then he was at the next board meeting which was held two weeks ago to discuss the future of the company." That stricken look tightened her features again. "Marchant Haulage has been suspended. There are legal complications over the company's operations, so the board announced it had to cease trading until those were resolved." Things were starting to make sense in my head. I tapped her hand. "If the company isn't making money, those people don't get a payout." "Exactly. That's their monthly income they've relied on for years, and it's just gone. They can't pay their bills. It's devastating. As of right now, they are cut off." "Which you're trying to fix." "I am. It's complicated, but by the next board meeting in a few weeks' time, all those with voting rights get to make the decision over whether the company folds or continues." "How many people is that?" "Four. My grandmother, her second son who is my Uncle Wallace, me, and Kane. Kane, who I'm not supposed to know about, thinks like me and would vote the same way. But let me play you this." Mila leaned to the coffee table and picked up a phone, settling back at my side. Notifications filled her screen, but she dismissed them all to play a voicemail of a whiny male voice. "Mila, this is Wallace. Mother wants out. We all need to vote with her. Do the right thing for the family and let's put the old girl to bed. Marchant Haulage is done." She tossed the phone to the cushions. "Not in my wildest dreams would I believe that my grandmother would throw away everything she and my grandfather worked for. Sure, she wasn't the lead in every discussion, but she was always there in the background, guiding his decisions. She can't want the company to fall. I refuse to believe it." "Have you spoken to her?" Her words in the cell in the basement returned to me. She'd raged at Jacobs and asked what he'd done. Mila shook her head. "I've seen her once in the past month, and that was at the funeral where the single thing she said to me was what Wallace reiterated. That she's done with the business. She won't take my calls and she won't see me. When I go to her house, she isn't there. It's like she's disappeared off the face of the planet. Likewise, Wallace won't answer my messages. The only reason I know his intent is that voicemail." I didn't like the sound of Wallace. "What's he to do with the business?" "Nothing at all. I'll show you what he's about." She grabbed the phone again and searched for a social media account, flicked through photos, then held it so I could see. Wallace, a forty-something man, in Speedos on a yacht. Wallace with his arms around much younger men and women in some beach location. Wallace at a party on a rooftop against the New York City skyline. "He's a playboy." Mila's lip curled in disgust. "If the yachts got any bigger, I'd assume he was compensating for something." I whistled. "I can't decide if I hate him or want to party with him." "My grandparents despaired over both of their sons. My bio father took their money and went on drunken and drug-fuelled binges, one of which cost him his life when he overdosed aged just twenty-six. Wallace somehow escaped the same fate and is on a never-ending holiday." "Isn't it in his interest to keep the money coming in?" She reached for the stack of papers on the table. "You'd think so, but the will you found is an earlier draft of my grandfather's. I don't know what's different in the newer one, only that it exists, and I'm assuming some parts haven't changed. It is right here in black and white that Wallace gets a massive payout if the company is sold. Far more than his monthly dividend. It doesn't matter to him that everyone else might have to wait years for a settlement, if they are even entitled to a penny once it's all wrapped up. The reading of the new will is what we're waiting for. Once that has been held, the voting can happen and the future of the business can be decided." "Tell me how Jacobs is between you and your grandmother." "Since my grandfather died, he seems to have permeated their business. He is absolutely in contact with my grandmother, because the solicitors told me so. She's still talking to them, by the way. Just no one else besides Jacobs. That random businessman with a history of selling women for sex was at the funeral, in the company affairs, oh, and I forgot to mention this-if the family vote is split, from what I can tell, a thing called a trusted company panel casts the final vote. It's like a failsafe for circumstances like this, my grandfather explained once. There are three companies listed on that panel, with any of their multiple executives being able to take the vote, and guess who's involved with every single one? Rhys fucking Jacobs. The bastard has his fingers in all these pies and yet has vanished from sight. That's what I discovered. That's why I need to see him and why I was willing to go to any lengths to do so." She sagged back into the cushions as if telling me all of this was a huge weight off her shoulders. On the other hand, I felt bolstered. I knew nothing about her business or the payroll, but I cared that she did. That made it matter. I was immediately on her side. I cared that she was hurting over this. She was trying to do what was right for people she loved and those she felt she needed to protect. I fucking adored that about her. I wrangled my phone from my pocket. Creating a chat with Tyler and Shade, I sent them a voice message. "I'm going to be searching for game candidate Rhys Jacobs. He's fucking over Mila's family. Can we make it a crew priority?" I was pushing my luck after last night and the game. For all I knew, Arran could've already heard and sent them a message that I was out. If that happened, I'd still deliver for Mila. Just on my own. Reaching for her, I pulled her closer then kissed the mouth I'd been staring at while she'd laid her life bare for me. Mila's lips parted under mine, and her fingers slid into my hair. I kept it light and ran my knuckles down her face, loving the wary expectation in her eyes. "All that talking earned you a reward." She arched a brow. "You're deeply messed up if emotional vulnerability gets you going." "Certified, probably." "Is my reward you finding Jacobs?" "No, but when I do, I'll force him to the ground in front of you to explain himself." I stood, catching her hand to keep her with me. "You earned the reward that had you all hot and bothered when I described it." She breathed out, following me from the living room. In her bedroom, I picked up the white rug from beside her bed and placed it exactly where I wanted, in front of the tall, silvered mirror. Then I smiled at my lass. "Last chance to call for a safe word." She didn't flinch. Brave little thing. "Good," I murmured. "Now get over here, Mila." Unmoving, she clung to the doorway, her cheeks flushed pink and her lips apart. Damn. I loved the shy-girl look on her more than anything before. "Scared?" I taunted. sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ ƒind ηøᴠel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. A tightening of her jaw told me her thoughts, even if she still didn't speak. It brought an idea to my mind. An upping of the ante. Mila needed help not only in her family affairs but in how she and I worked each other out. We'd be having a lot of sex, after all. From my pocket, I drew out a skeleton bandanna and tightened it between my fists. I had just the way to help her into this.