Page 31 of Ace

"Leave us, Alice."

I look around my assistant to William who just entered my office like he was raised with no manners at all.

"You're ready for this," I tell her before nodding to let her know everything is fine.

I keep thefake smile on my face until Alice closes William and me in the office alone.

"What is your problem? And just who do you think—"

"Do you think I want to be here?" he snaps, walking to my desk and throwing what appears to be a bank statement of some sort down in front of me. "I tried calling your cell phone but it says it's out of service."

"I got a new number."

"And you didn't think it was pertinent to give it to me?"

I pull my new cell phone from my purse and shoot off a text to him. "Now you have it. Besides, my office line works. You could easily call me on that one."

"There are certain conversations we can't have on unsecured lines."

I open my mouth to remind him he's being paranoid, but then I remember why I had to get a new phone in the first place. I didn't know if they were able to tap phone lines, so I opted for a brand-new number just to be safe.

For some reason, I made sure Mr. Anderson had it but didn't consider William needing it as well.

"What is this?" I ask, picking up the statement, but I know what this conversation is going to be about the second my eyes lock on the ten-thousand-dollar transaction.

"Why exactly are you tracking my transactions?" I snap.

I hate the idea of anyone knowing what I've been doing, but my little brother finding out I went there makes my skin crawl. I still feel dirty for what I participated in while I was there, despite everyone's assurances that they were there of their own free will.

"Everything we do is being tracked. I'm just glad our people found this before someone else did."

"We're being tracked?"

William hisses a huff of irritation. "All politicians are tracked and everyone connected to them. Donors want to know we're spending their money where we said we would. Constituents want to know we aren't living too lavish of a lifestyle while they suffer. Opponents want to find dirt on our families to splash across the media. Of course, we're being tracked."

"This is private," I snap, waving the paper between the two of us.

"Nothing is private! You should know that better than anyone.Care to explain why you were at a fucking brothel?"

I snap my head back at his anger. William can usually keep it together, making this a side of him I don't see very often.

"Care to explain why they asked me if I wanted to put my visit on the family account or if I wanted to pay for it separately?" I counter.

This gives him pause. "What?"

"Apparently, we have a family account."

"Chris?" he says. "Jesus Christ, this family is fucking doomed."

"What? No. He wouldn't. Would he?"

Will turns back to look at me. "Then who—no, gross. Not Dad."

I hold my hand up, the threat of bile burning the back of my throat.

"Seriously," he mutters, his nose scrunching up in disgust.

There aren't many times in recent years when William and I share a brother-sister moment, but I feel a level of solidarity with him for a brief second.

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