Page 30 of The Older Brother
“Mike,” I use his new name. “I think you’re overestimating my father’s opinion of me. He likes showing off the idea of being a family man, but I’m not the guy he’s going to invite to the table to really learn the business. If anything, the only reason he updated the trust I signed a few days ago was for tax purposes. I’m sure it’s a write-off, or?—”
“Or a way to make you and your brother take the fall?” He quirks a brow. The twist he offers lands in my chest with a thud.
Before I can open my mouth with more questions, he pulls a second folder from the leather satchel next to him and drops it in front of me. The buzzing in my limbs is less from excitement now. This burn is from dread, and my fears are confirmed as I flip the cover open and see the stamped copy of the document I signed a few days ago.
“It’s not a trust agreement, Rowan. Your dad is setting you and your brother up to take the fall if his house of cards comes tumbling down. And if you want to keep your ass and your brother’s out of federal prison, I think you’ll find a way to make your dad’s opinion of you rise. You could say your future depends on it.”
Fuck. I could. Because it fucking does!
I flip through a few pages, catching my signature in the key spot along with the words that read a whole lot more like a partnership agreement than an inheritance document. I knew something was off about these. The date alone, now so obviously a hire date.
“My guess, which comes from a lot of years working cases like these, is that you’ll see your dad’s firm put out a few press releases in the coming months with a lot of that false information. And I am guessing you or your brother will be sourced on those press releases. And then when securities blow up and inevitably come crashing down while your father conveniently shorts them?—”
“Anyone that looks too hard will think Caleb or I rigged the system,” I finish his case for him.
“Exactly.”
I close the second folder and push it across the table just as I did the first one.
“Are you even a parole officer?” I lift my gaze, which now feels heavy with the weight of the world.
“To everyone that matters, yes. I am a parole officer. And our weekly meetings will continue. I’ll be your point. As Steven.”
I draw in a deep breath that burns my now quivering lungs. I’m not one to be afraid of things. I’ve almost flipped my car drag racing out in the desert. I’ve taken cash from dudes I’ve hustled at pick-up basketball who could easily have kicked my ass or stabbed me. I took my share of beatings and gave them right back when I was in juvie. But this shit now? It has me feeling off my game. There’s a lot riding on it. Caleb might be a shitty brother, but he’s still my little brother. I can’t let him go down for my father’s criminal behavior. He tried this same shit with our mom, right before he cheated on her. I protected Caleb from those things back then, which, upon reflection, I shouldn’t haveguarded him against so closely. Now he idolizes a man who is capable of horrible things. And he hates me.
And then there’s Saylor’s mom. I wonder if she knows just how deep her poor decisions have dug her. Allison has her faults, but I don’t think federal financial crimes are on her rap sheet. Trusting the wrong men? Definitely. But fraud? From what I know about her, she seems to play by the book.
“Want to take a look at the car?” He flashes a wide grin. He’s barely taken a bite from his sandwich, so my guess is he’ll stick around here after I leave, playing up the role-playing he’s taking very seriously.
“Guess I should see what I’m buying,” I groan.
He snags the satchel and folders from the booth, and I slide from my seat to follow him toward the exit. In any other scenario, I would be doing back flips on my way out to the parking lot right now. He wasn’t lying—the price is a good deal. This is going to make us a nice profit. And apparently, I’ll be using the money we’re giving him on partying with the assholes I hate.
“You all need a check?” The waitress catches us on our way out, and Mike-Steven flashes a toothy grin.
“No, no. I’m not leaving that sandwich alone for long. I’m just going to get my buyer his keys and settle up. I’ll be right back.”
He winks at her, and I swear she blushes when she says, “Alright, darlin’.”
I don’t open my mouth until we get to the back end of the car.
“Witnesses, huh?” I’m assuming this keeps his cover and mine intact. The need for a cover has me wondering just how bad my father’s associates truly are—or how dangerousheis.
“Nothing unusual about two people making a private car sale, should anyone mention it to your dad. And you’ll have the car, and I’ll have the money for it.”
“Yeah, yeah. I get it. I’m not meeting with the feds,” I mumble.
The curt way he clears his throat and proceeds to pop open the trunk indicates I should keep my mouth shut about what’s really happening and follow his lead. I realize exactly how serious this all is when I spot the recording gear and wired vest in the trunk. I’m getting him on tape or digital, or whatever the fuck they do for audio now, in his own words.
I swallow hard while Mike-Steven proceeds to talk about the spare tire and jumper cables, as well as the jack and a few extra parts from the engine rebuild. Meanwhile, he shows me exactly how the recording system works with his hands hidden deep within the well of the trunk. It’s a lot like the movies, and I’m a technical guy, so when I tell him, “I got it,” I mean it.
Handing me the keys and a copy of the registration and a pre-signed bill of sale, he offers his other hand for a shake on the real deal we’re making. We grasp hands and lock eyes for a beat, and in that moment, the earth’s gravity feels like it’s pulling me down twice as hard.
“Pleasure doing business with you . . . Rowan. It is Rowan, right?” A few people are walking by in the parking lot, so I play along.
“Yep,” I confirm. “Thanks again, Mike. If we have any questions, I’ll be in touch. I’m sure she’ll run just fine, though.”
He smiles and nods, with nothing in his expression indicating that anything more than a normal private car sale occurred. He’s inside before I even get the driver’s side open. I crank the engine and feel the roar turn into a violent purr around me. This car is a work of art, and I wish it weren’t a Trojan horse. But it is. And that makes me hate it just a little.
