Page 195 of Most Eligible Billionaire CEO

“I still can’t believe he was seeing someone serious enough to marry her,” Cassie says. “There was always a crowd of groupies at the end of his events, asking extra questions. He seemed to be doing the rounds,” she says in air quotes. “He had hooked up with one of them? Huh!”

“I was also clueless,” Sofia says.

“Brad was smart in not showing his cards,” I say.

“He was,” Sofia says.

“Fraudster.” Cassie sneers.

“Said fraudster had a three-month head start on my team. There was a lot to uncover about the asshole—the use of two different names, him bouncing around the planet, and him getting married in Bulgaria to his Russian girlfriend.”

Sofia’s brows dip. “Did you discover something new about him?”

“The Croatian police found him—”

“Finally!” Sofia cheers at the same time as Cassie pumps her fist in the air, “Yes! One less scumbag conning people!”

“To your point, Brad will never defraud another human being ever—”

“I hope they give them life behind bars,” Cassie says.

“Brad won’t be going to prison—”

“Why?” Sofia asks at the same time as Cassie asks, “What?”

Sofia glares at me. “How can that be?”

“Brad is dead.”

Sofia and Cassie gasp.

For a long beat, they stare at me in shock.

“What about the money he stole?” Cassie asks.

My girl is still too shocked to speak.

I sigh. “The jig is up—”

“He spent it all?” Cassie throws another question at me.

“No, he didn’t he spent a bit of it, but he’s been conservative since he left New York.”

Sofia finds her voice. “Where is the money?”

“In Russia,” I say. “In an account under his wife’s name.”

“Can we go after her?” Sofia asks.

“When my team leader informed me about Brad, I called my brother. The money—four million dollars Brad stole plus another eight million, amounting to a grand total of twelve million dollars—was sitting in an offshore account until he left Mexico. We searched encrypted messaging sites criminals in the underworld use to communicate to see if anything on Brad would come up to explain the origin of the eight million dollars, but nothing came up. That remains a puzzle.”

“Twelve million dollars.” Cassie shakes her head. “That’s a lot of money.”

I nod. “It is. Even without concrete proof, I’m willing to bet the eight million is dirty money.”

“No doubt,” Cassie says.

I keep updating them. “Brad distributed the money into seven fictitious numbered holding companies––so, a company that uses a number instead of a name. Three days after he got married in Bulgaria, the money was transferred to a bank in Russia.” I take in my girlfriend’s somber expression. “We’d have to prove the money in Russia is the same money Brad stole. This could take months. Several months. Even with all that effort, we’d still hit a wall.”

---