Page 3 of Billion Dollar Lie

“Kat, we should—”

The door shuts behind my back, drowning out the rest of his sentence. I don’t need to hear his consolatory words.

I don’t need him.

But I do need money. Fast.

Chapter 2

Logan

“Told you! A loaded bank account is not enough to convince those motherfuckers,” my friend Chase says at the other end of the line. “I don’t even understand why you’re so desperate to join their dumb club.”

“I’m not desperate,” I retort.

The traffic light ahead turns green and my driver steps on the gas so hard that the phone almost falls out of my hand.

“We’re not in a hurry, Christopher!”

He’s driving as if we’recaught in a chase tonight. His shift ends after this trip and he probably wants to get home to his family, cradling his newborn baby while his dutiful wife serves him dinner. How wholesome. A life so different from mine, so normal—so fucking mundane.

Christopher slows down the car. “I’m sorry, sir.”

It’s a farce that a man like him would have a better chance with the Vanguards than myself, if he could pay their membership fee. But while he lacks the money, I—apparently—lack the integrity of a gentleman deemed suitable for their exclusive club. I’m too young, too inexperienced, and show no traits of a responsible family man.

“Then why not just let it go?” Chase asks. “Who needs those staid and stuffy dudes anyway.”

“I do,” I say. “They may be squares, but their network is worth a mint. Once I’m in, everything will change. My name will no longer be tied to the Reid clan, but to the Vanguards, a well-respected business community.”

I’ve been living under my family’s murky shadow for too long. Sure, I used their ways to accumulate wealth, but—unlike my brothers—I’m aware of the fragility of it all. You can’t build a long-lasting empire on dirt. It will all crumble at some point, and I want to get out before I end up behind bars like my father.

“Well, you’ll still be a Reid,” Chase reminds me. “Unless you marry and take your wife’s name.”

He pauses for a chuckle, before he adds: “Hey, why don’t you just do that? Find a wife! You remember our pact, don’t you? Just kill two birds with one stone.”

Oh, that damn pact. A drunken joke the guys shared at our friend Aston’s birthday party just a couple of weeks ago. The four of us—Gabe, Chase, Aston and me—were inseparable during college. We all went our separate ways after graduation, but were bound by a common desire to become part of the super rich before we turn thirty.

And now that we all achieved that goal, the boys decided that we need a new pact—the goal to find a wife and produce heirs. But it was never more than a joke—at least to me.

“Solid advice,” I lament. “You know I have no intention of thwarting myself with a nagging wife.”

“Get one that doesn’t nag,then!” Chase laughs, obviously amused at my indignation.

I roll my eyes. “You’re not helping.”

“Dude, chill,” he replies. “I’m just saying. Sounds like this could help with your problem. The Vanguards might look at you differently if you had a wife hanging onto your arm. Makes you look more legit, more—”

“Normal,” I interject, rolling my eyes.

“Yes, exactly! Squares like that dig a good old ball and chain to keep them in place.”

I hate that he is probably right about this. A wife would polish my image in no time, as ridiculous as it is.

The car stops and I’m met with the familiar sight of a refurbished brick stone facade, telling me that we have arrived at our destination.

“Listen, I gotta go,” I inform Chase, already unbuckling my seatbelt. “Talk to you later.”

“Hot date with the future Mrs. Reid?”he asks.

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