Page 117 of Lavish
“You’re a smart man, Miles. I don’t need to spoon-feed you what I’m selling here.” He gestured to the bag at my feet, the folder on top. “Make the right choice.”
CHAPTER 27
Miles
I leftthe money in the trunk of my car.
The whole ride home, it felt like I had a bomb that was ticking away, ready to explode at a moment’s notice. It was like after Victor left, a curse fell over the site.
Equipment kept malfunctioning. Materials went missing. I almost fell off the fucking ledge inside the mansion.
I had a plan—clean, simple. Get him talking. Get evidence. Pass it off to somebody. Maybe even Dante could help with something like this, even though I didn’t fucking trust the guy. I heard that last year, when Reese’s mom’s assistant freaked out and almost killed Laurene and Reese, Dante and the Kings covered it up.
You need help.
I was hurt everywhere—plaster stuck to my skin, aches in every damn muscle. I needed a good shower, a drink, and sleep.
Now I had a duffel bag full of dirty money in my possession like a bomb and a sick feeling crawling up the back of my neck. That bastard had flipped the script.
And if I went down? I took Serena with me.
I needed to end this. Fast. Permanently.
Opening the front door, I shouted, “Honey, I’m home.”
Kicking off my boats, I drug myself down the hall, and I could smell food.
“Oh lord, please don’t tell me you cooked.”
“Haha, jerk,” Serena’s voice rang out.
I did some more research on just what was going on with Victor.
Victor was sloppy.
The dude had three companies under review, two permit violations, and a sex-trafficking rumor tied to one of his warehouses. Bad shit. Just bad.
You could have prevented this years ago.
And that was the part I couldn’t stomach.
Because I knew what King Developments meant to her. Knew how hard she worked, how deep her loyalty ran—even when it didn’t serve her. Yvonne. Erik. The entire King legacy. She’d burn herself alive to keep it intact.
Victor wasn’t just a liability. He was a shadow, dragging Whitmore Ventures back into the same gutter my father had drowned us in before.
And maybe…I’d been too stubborn to admit it, but?—
This company wasn’t a legacy. It was an anchor tied to my ankle.
I kept trying to save it like it was some life raft. A way to prove I wasn’t Omar Whitmore. That I was different. Better.
It was clear to me now.
I had to let it go.
Not just the name. The guilt. The story I’d been telling myself—that holding on meant I was winning. I wasn’t winning. I was just stuck.
“What’s smelling so good in here?” My stomach did growl but part of me was also alarmed if Serena had cooked.
