Page 34 of Indiscreet

“You want money that is being investigated?” he argued. “It’s already been spent toward the marketing for my reelection, something that wouldn’t have cost as much if you had just made some calls. Now, I could help you stay afloat by speaking with your father’s lawyers.”

“You most certainly will not,” I said. He would, without a doubt, try to find more money for himself. “You were the one who recommended Dalton in the first place…” I almost dropped the phone. The pieces were falling into place. Patrick had to have known. He’d fucked me over better than he had ever fucked me in our marriage.

“I didn’t know about Dalton. I’m as upset as you are,” he said nonchalantly. “I’d help you out if you’d help me. We can put this divorce behind us if you’ll make some calls to get some of my previous donors to renew their annual donations. I’m sure I can recover some of your overhead, out of love and friendship—”

I hung up on him.

“Fuck!” My voice echoed off the walls of the practically empty room.

My phone rang again, and this time I didn’t answer. I didn’t have answers.

When the voicemail sounded, I checked to find that it was Dane again. I had too much on my plate to talk to him or think about getting together again right then. A moment later, I dialed my father’s number before I lost my nerve. There was a sliver of hope that he might be able to help me.

“I’d like to speak to my father,” I said to his private nurse when she answered. “How is he today?”

“He’s quite alert today,” she said in a cheery voice. “He’ll be happy to hear from you. One moment.”

My chest tightened as I waited for my father to come on the line. His memory had become fuzzy after the mild stroke he’d had a few months before. It had been unfortunate that we’d had an argument about finances before it happened. However, on his good days, he was still my favorite person in the world. That was how I greeted him, and he replied in kind.

“Missing my favorite daughter in the world,” he said. Hearing the slight shake in his voice had the tears rising again.

I caught myself and tried to focus. “I had hoped you would be able to spend Christmas here this year. I sent the tickets, but your doctor advised against having you travel right now.”

“You did? I didn’t know, Gia,” he said. “Did you tell me?” he asked in a cautious tone, and fear clutched my heart at the thought of him being taken away from me.

“No. It was going to be a surprise,” I said, trying hard to seem upbeat.

“Oh good,” he said. His sigh of relief was its own reward. “Now, you called about something else—I can hear it in your voice,” he said. “You can tell me anything.”

I swallowed, trying to work up the nerve to steer the conversation to the trust my grandma and grandpa had willed to me. I would only be accessing it eighteen months early. “Daddy, do you remember my company, Perfetto?”

“Oh, don’t go into business,” he replied. “It’s a dangerous gamble. Most businesses fail in the first few years. I know you were upset at me when I asked Dad to keep me in charge of your money until you’re thirty, but money is wasted on the young, and with the way Patrick goes through cash, you’d end up broke—or is that what has you sounding funny? Is Patrick in need of help again?”

“No.” I cleared my throat. He didn’t recall our divorce.

“Good, because he’s not getting his hands on your trust, I made damn sure of that,” he said then tutted disapprovingly.

I sighed heavily. There was no way I could ask him to help me now. My trust had been our last argument before his health failed. As executor, he had convinced them to add in a stipulation to have it held until I turned thirty. He had been right about Patrick all along, though now with his memory mixing up, I couldn’t tell him. There was no way he would pass a health evaluation to sign any release of money right now. I was on my own.

I wiped the tear that dropped on my shirt. “Did you like the Christmas present I sent?” I asked, changing the subject.

“You got me the…” He paused.

“The big band records,” I finished for him.

“The music I love,” he said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Dad,” I said thickly. “I’ll call you soon. I love you.”

“I love you too, my sweet pea,” he said, and we hung up.

A moment later, Stuart arrived in a Brooks Brothers suit, leather case in hand, to discuss what he knew so far. From his initial report, I learned my antiquated home and a few stocks were all I had left for the next twenty months. Even with the litigation, I wouldn’t be able to recover the money needed to keep Perfetto running. There was no way my dad was of sound enough mind to sign the documents to help me, so I’d lose Perfetto. I dropped my head in my hands, despairing at my stupidity for agreeing to use Dalton’s firm, though I wasn’t completely to blame—Perfetto wasn’t the only company DP Management had swindled. However, I prided myself on staying on top of the business. I didn’t know what to tell Astrid and my employees. Would I need to ask Patrick if he could use whatever connections he had as governor to help me save it?

My stomach lurched at the thought. Then again, I knew what was behind his curtain—he had no clout. Still, shouldn’t I try? I couldn’t just let go of my company so easily.

“Perhaps the buyer would be willing to be a temporary partner until you receive your trust or secure another bank loan, though the market will make taking one a higher risk,” Stuart said, breaking through my thoughts.

I tensed. “You’re recommending I sell off more of my company?”

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