Page 35 of Takeover
“That would be me, yes. William wasn’t pleased.”
“No, I bet he wasn’t.”
Now that was an interesting comment. Sam considered his next question. “Fabian, are there things I should know?”
A grunt. “Maybe. Whatdoyou want to know about William?”
Everythingwasn’t a good reply. “What’s he got his fingers into? Where else is he working? Officially—”
“Randy, you’ve been around the block enough times to know William doesn’t do everything officially.”
“That’s why I’m asking. If he’s got something else going on, I sure as shit don’t know. Not like he’s going to tell me.”
Fabian coughed a laugh. “Oh yes. You, who show him up. The younger, better-looking, more successful man. And you’re ethical.”
Sam winced.Ethical. Except for the part where he was bending over and begging his employee to fuck him hard up the ass. If Fabian knew, this phone call wouldn’t be happening. Church-going, devout, and kind Fabian had twisted his face into knots the one time they’d both been at a tech conference in Chicago during the same weekend as Pride.
But Randell Anderson wasn’t gay. Justethical. Sam chewed on his own hypocrisy. “I figured if anyone knew, you would.”
A chuckle from the other side. “Because I like keeping my enemies closer?”
His turn to laugh. “Pretty much.”
And then Fabian told him. Within a minute Sam sprang up to retrieve one of his pens from the floor and started taking notes. He’d filled a page with writing by the time Fabian finished.
“That enough?”
Holy hell was it ever. “Yup. That’s great. I owe you one.”
“Come to Boston and I’ll owe you twenty.”
Boston. How apropos. The place where he’d climbed into the closet all those years ago. Bile burnt his throat and he coughed. “I’ll look over the information. Get back to you.”
“Great.” More clattering, then the laughter of children. “Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll forward you the job details tonight.”
“Thanks, Fabian.”
“It’s nothing. Talk to you soon.”
Fabian hung up.
Sam set the phone down on a file of financial records, then dropped his head to his hands. Between William and the thought of returning to Boston, the sick, sharp taste of bile threatened to overwhelm Sam.
Apparently William had quite a bit going on off the books. Fingers in dealings with several other companies—including some of the same ones Taylor had been officially a part of when their money had gone missing.
Then there was the investment scheme William had on the side.
There’d been rumors about one with Taylor, but no hard evidence. Sam closed his eyes. What William had his hand in sounded close to a Ponzi scheme. People plunking money in and getting great returns. Unheard-of returns for this point in the market.
If that were the case, then Four Rivers would have been in deep shit if Sam hadn’t been brought on board. Every last employee—including Michael—would have been out of a job by now. Sell the assets, make a bit of money, shove it out as interest and lure more people in.
Did someone else on the board know what the hell was going on? Or had they just been sick enough of William’s mishandling of Taylor to hire Sam and screw it all up by accident?
Shit. This was over his head. He should do a bit more digging to verify what Fabian had told him—but if any of this were true, he needed to hand it over to Sundra’s legal folks. He ripped the sheet off the notepad and folded it into a tight rectangle. Research, he could do from his apartment.
Sam sat back, then stared at his cell phone.
That left Boston and the ache in his chest where his heart should have been.
