Page 50 of Billionaire Corruption

I realized he must have had someone in the office spying on the investigation. Perhaps he had access to Grace’s work email. I hoped her private email had not been compromised. Otherwise, he’d know the documents had come from me.

“Jerome is a friend, he is on our side. I can’t have him pulled into this!” Brock looked suddenly tired, he slumped against the table.

“I managed to make the files go away, but you have to get that girl under control.”

“What do you mean?”

“This is my company, do you understand?! I created Ladden and I brought you in to grow it!”

“And I did!” I was rising to the bait. “You think you can pull my strings like a puppet master?! I was supposed to be CEO here, making my own decisions.”

Brock rose to his full height and strode over to where I was standing.

“You arrogant fool! Do you think you can destroy everything I’ve built here?!”

I had never seen Brock like this, so aggressive, but I was not intimidated by him. If anything, I enjoyed the confrontation.

“You thought I wouldn’t ask questions, just follow your orders. You didn’t think I’d start to think for myself!”

“Of course, you’ll follow orders! Why else did we bring you on board! You better shut that girl up or there will be big trouble!”

I left Brock’s office knowing that I would have to speak to Grace quickly. She needed to know that they were onto her. If the documents had gone missing, her boss would want her to try and find them again from her source. She needed to lie low for a while.

I took a taxi to my parents’ house.

“Paul?” My mother was surprised to see me. She opened the door herself, looking elegant as usual. “I was about to go out, is everything all right?”

“Is Father here?” I asked, pushing past her to go to his study.

“No, I think he is at the club,” she called after me. “Is everything all right?”

I didn’t answer her, going straight into my father’s study, looking at the walls with their framed awards and certificates, the framed photographs.

Finally, I found what I was looking for. It was a picture of four men on a golf course. Brock, my father, the mayor, and a man I didn’t recognize.

My mother came to stand next to me.

“What’s going on, Paul?” she asked me, concerned.

“Who’s this man?” I asked pointing at the fourth man on the photograph.

She looked uncomfortable.

“Mom?”

“That’s Leonid Sholnakov.”

“Is he the one they call ‘Boy’?”

She nodded, biting her lip.

“But he’s Russian Mafia?”

“I don’t know, Paul, this is your father’s business.”

“Mother, he’s made it my business! Did Father get Brock to hire me, to get me in at Ladden?”

“I really don’t know,” she said, looking unhappy.

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