Page 7 of Billionaire's Accidental Marriage
After almost a month of going from store to store and taking intricate lists of absolutely everything that needed to be done—including the remodels that were on the schedule—I had a twenty-page list of shit that needed to happen. Everything from AC units being exchanged to heating units being looked at to leaking pipes being strung up with duct tape. No, I wasn’t joking about that last one.
“I have no idea how my father stayed in business,” I whispered to myself.
The punches kept coming, too. When I finally found the time—and strength—to go through his belongings at his place, I came across all of the files I needed from his home office. I quickly set up camp there, making my childhood home my place of work whenever I wasn’t at the spa running the schedule Guadalupe set up for me.
And when I finally started digging into the financials to put down payments on these remodels, the red tape slapped me across the face.
“You havegotto be kidding me.”
Not only did my father neglect his buildings, his businesses, and his employees, it looked like he neglected his financials as well. None of the numbers made sense even after I ran them three separate times, and after tallying up everything in his bank accounts that I now controlled, there was still a total of five hundred grand missing.
It made me sick to my stomach.
“Maybe he’s already made the down payments,” I whispered to myself.
I knew I was grasping at straws, but I called the contractors anyway. I spoke with them about what had happened with my father, how I wanted to proceed with the remodels, and whether or not he had placed any sort of a down payment for the work. Well, not only had he not put any money down, but he still owed money to one of the contractors from a previous job he had never finished paying off.
I decided to rectify that debt since I had the cash on hand in one of his accounts. But, that didn’t even pierce the surface of this vast ocean of problems I needed to right to save this sinking ship.
“What have you done, Dad?” I murmured to myself.
After what seemed like an eternity of constantly being slapped around by the businesses I had inherited, I broke down and called Michael. I needed his guidance. I needed to know if he knew about any of this shit my father had pulled. So, on my lunch break at the spa, I waited for him to show up at my office.
“Knock, knock,” he said with a smile.
I sniffed the air. “You brought food.”
He held up a bag. “Tacos, chips and queso, and some rice.”
I licked my lips. “Please tell me you brought drinks.”
He chuckled as he slipped into my office and closed the door. “Got two ice-cold sodas in here as well. Anywhere I can sit?”
I shrugged. “Just scoot some stuff over and cop-a-squat.”
“Can do.”
The second he sat in front of me, though, the tears started falling. He dropped the bag of food to the floor and scooted closer to me in the small rolling chair he found stuffed away in a corner and quickly took my hands in his. Even though his warmth comforted me, the tears flowed anyway.
“I can’t do this,” I said through my broken sobs.
“Sh-sh-sh-sh,” he said calmly, “it’s okay. I’m here now. We can talk everything out and get a game plan going.”
I shook my head. “No, no, no. You don’t—you don’t get it. Dad, he-he-he—”
“You have to calm down for me, Maggie. We can’t talk or resolve anything unless we can communicate. It’s okay.Shh.”
I drew in deep breaths before I closed my eyes. “He cut every corner possible, Michael.”
His hands twitched. “What?”
My eyes slowly opened. “I’ve spent the past month going from store to store and evaluating all that needs to be done. There are eleven locations, Michael. Just look at this.” I reached behind me and picked up the twenty stapled pages. “See this?” I asked.
He took it from me before his eyes widened. “Oh, boy.”
“That’s everything that needs to be fixed between the eleven stores.”
He kept flipping through the pages. “Oh, boy.”
