Filthy Rich Read online

  She crossed a leg and frowned. “Larry Gills. He’s a stockbroker. He worked at D&M almost twenty-two years before your acquisition. He used to be one of Max’s biggest producers. He brought in new clients before most people were out of bed in the morning and he put the stocks to bed each night.”

  “And then?” Branden asked.

  “And then he talked his clients into investing in the wrong stock. It seemed like a solid investment in his defense, but you know how fickle this business can be. Overnight, his personal clients with the firm lost millions. Most of them pulled out and Max took a big hit financially. He blamed Gills pretty publicly for it all. Max is a good guy, but he has a big mouth. He kept him on, but Gills never really found his stride again. He’s a bit of a pariah around here. His commissions became few and far between and he ended up losing his house and the wife went with it.”

  “So you think Gills may have had a bone to pick with Max and he decided to do that by means of insider trading? I find that a little far-fetched.”

  “That’s good, because that’s not what I was saying, which you would have known had you let me finish.”

  Deena was nothing if not blunt. That bluntness had often gotten her into trouble with stepfather number one, who had no problem resorting to force to make his kids step in line. There were many times Deena had needed her older brother to have her back, and Branden had done just that. Thankfully, his other sisters’ fathers weren’t physically abusive, but their various addictions—ranging from drugs to gambling to sex—had still made his sisters’ lives hell.

  Branden had done what he could—making sure the girls were well fed, dressed, safe, and warm, even if he had to sacrifice himself.

  Branden gave Deena a nod to go on.

  “Larry took one of the young brokers under his wing about a year ago. His name is Rafe Sampson, and from what I hear, the kid attached himself to the old man, telling him he wanted to learn the business from someone who had been around awhile and really knew how things worked. I suppose that was what made him seem suspect to me in the first place. The kid. Why would an up-and-coming young broker attach himself to the oldest broker with the most tarnished reputation in the firm?”

  “He needed a fall guy?”

  “That was my thought. I’m going through the hard drives of both computers now, but I’m guessing that anything we find will be on Gills’s and not Sampson’s.”

  Again, images of Cara drifted through his mind. Not good—he needed to focus. He was supposed to be helping the SEC with its investigation of D&M. He didn’t need to be distracted by a beautiful woman, no matter how amazing she was in bed. And out of it…“And I’m assuming you’ve found something already or you wouldn’t be here.”

  “There are two dummy corporations set up offshore that Gills has been selling a lot of stock for lately. As a matter of fact, his sales have almost doubled over the past six months.”

  “But you’re convinced Sampson is the bad guy here and not Gills? How does Gills not know these are dummies?”

  “I’m convinced that Larry thinks he’s just doing his job, maybe getting his stride back. Sampson is one of those charming, manipulative sociopathic types. Flatters Gills right and left, and blows smoke up his rear. You would have to meet and talk to them both and then you’ll understand what I’m saying.”

  Something tickled the back of his mind. “Wait—what floor does Sampson work on?”

  “Third.” Deena gave him an odd look, as if his sudden question had held more emotion than warranted.

  He placed his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. Deena didn’t need to know about the sexual harassment Cara had experienced. Some things he could keep between him and Cara. “I don’t want it to look like they’re suspect. I’ll go out this afternoon and make my rounds. Try to talk with them.” And figure out if Sampson was one of the little shits who’d made Cara so uncomfortable. He’d promised Cara he wouldn’t take action, and he planned to respect her need to control the situation, but if the man was engaging in shady deals and was the fucker who’d insulted Cara, he’d enjoy firing the man’s ass.

  “Good,” Deena said, standing. “In the meantime, I’m going to get a list of the dates and times that these Internet sales were made in Gills’s name. I’d hate to see the man doing federal time for something he didn’t have anything to do with.”

  Branden nodded again and said, “And what about the other guy you were looking into? Turner? Did anything come of that?”

  “Not yet, but we’re still looking.”

  After Deena left, Branden let his thoughts drift back to the ones that she had interrupted. Cara had been on his mind all day. He hadn’t meant to come off the way he had when he’d asked her about lunch. He knew she thought he was being a possessive, controlling jerk. He was genuinely concerned for her, if not her physical safety, then her professional reputation. If his former stepfather Davies was involved in the online harassment, there was no telling how far the man would take things. He thought about the file that Alex had given him this morning. He was still dealing with Cara being Hank Finch’s daughter.

  He picked up the phone and called Lee. He wasn’t as close to Lee as he was to Alex, but Alex’s brother had been there for him time and again, and was an excellent sleuth.

  “Hey, I need you to find out where my beloved stepfather is, and what he’s been up to lately.”

  “Sure,” Lee said. “But which one?”

  “Number four. The only one who didn’t give me a sister.” And the one, unfortunately, who was partly responsible for Branden’s current financial success.

  Davies had once been an integral part of his life, showing him the ropes of investment at an early age. Ropes that involved some kinky knots—not all Davies did was aboveboard—and once Branden had discovered that, he’d wanted nothing more to do with his stepfather. That had been well before Davies’s actions had ruined Cara’s father.

  “Thinking of a family reunion?”

  Tension whirled around his chest at the thought of seeing Davies again. Yeah, right. Some reunion that would be. “Depends on what you find. Either way, once you find him, I’d like you to pay him a little visit. Then we’ll decide.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Cara was wearing her red and blue Penn sweatpants, a white camisole with a red sports bra underneath, and a purple bandana over her blond hair while she dusted her bookshelves. She loved to clean; it was cathartic. It helped her clear the rest of the world out of her head, and sometimes after a stressful day at work she would clean into the wee hours of the morning. Iris thought she might need to see a therapist because of it…

  Earlier, she’d finished the scarf for Socks. The cat and her soon-to-be-born kittens would never have to know how much swearing had gone into its completion. They wouldn’t mind the dropped stitches—besides, it was nice and soft. She shoved it into her tote bag, intending to give it to Iris the next time she saw her.

  She had her music cranked up so loud that she almost didn’t hear the knocking on the door. She was a little hesitant to open it since the doorman hadn’t called up. Maybe she’d missed the call because of the music.

  She turned it down and approached the door. “Who is it?”

  “I have a package for Ms. Cara Michal.”

  She looked through the peephole. A guy stood there wearing a Yankees hat and a black jacket and jeans, holding a medium-sized manila envelope.

  “Why didn’t you leave it with the doorman?” she asked.

  “There wasn’t a doorman down there, lady. You can call down and check if you like, I’ll wait. But not too long, this is my last delivery. I wanna go home sometime tonight.”

  Cara looked at the time and realized that it was already after nine. That was why Joe, her doorman, hadn’t been there. He got off at nine and the building was locked up. But the management was strict about no one buzzing people in blindly.

  “Just leave it,” she said.

  “I had strict instructions not
to do that. I was supposed to hand it to you.”

  “Then you won’t make your delivery at all,” she told him. “Leave it and go away, or just go away. Your choice.” She wasn’t about to open the door to a stranger at nine fifteen at night when she was alone. She continued to watch him. He looked annoyed and kept glancing at his watch.

  Finally, he said, “I’m setting it here at the door. If I get my ass chewed about not handing it over, it’s on you, lady.”

  “I doubt I’ll be able to sleep tonight worrying about it,” she shot back.

  He threw the envelope down—telling her there probably wasn’t a bomb in it since nothing went boom! She watched him go over to the stairs and disappear. She went to the front window of the apartment and looked down at the sidewalk. After a few seconds she saw a man coming out of the building. He looked like the guy who was just at her door, but it was hard to tell. The street was well lit, but she was pretty far up.

  She went over to the door and looked out the peephole again. The hallway was still empty. She considered calling Branden before she opened the door and picked up the package, and then chastised herself. Hadn’t she just been telling herself she couldn’t rely on him? She had to take care of herself, just like always.

  She took a deep breath, unlocked the door, reached out quickly, and grabbed it. Then she slammed the door and relocked it. She felt silly about the way her heart was pounding in her chest. Branden’s talk earlier about her needing “protection” was playing tricks on her mind.

  She carried the package over to the sofa and sat down with it. It had her name on the front, but no other writing, no postmark, no packing slip…nothing. She started to open it before deciding being safe was better than being sorry. Feeling extremely paranoid now, she went to the bathroom and got a pair of rubber cleaning gloves. She went back over to the sofa and opened the envelope, sliding the contents out onto the table in front of her. It was a stack of paperwork that had her name on it.

  Cara reached down and picked up the paperwork. It was some kind of dossier. The first page was a list of her demographics: address, phone number, workplace, work address, work number. Iris was listed as a “known associate” and at the bottom of the page were her parents’ names: Janine and Hank Finch.

  She turned the page. There were copies of her driver’s license, her passport, Social Security card…

  What the hell is this?

  She turned another page, and there was evidence of her graduation from the University of Pennsylvania, pictures of her at different social gatherings with an old boyfriend from college, pictures of her with her mother, pictures of her with Iris and…

  A picture of her father.

  For a few seconds she smiled as she looked at it. Then she realized the photo had been taken from the local paper in her town when her father had been disgraced and accused of things he hadn’t done. Her smile disappeared, her face flushed, and her hands shook.

  She tossed it down on the coffee table and that was when she saw the last page with pictures of her and Branden.

  Oh, God.

  The photos were of her going into his apartment the night before. His body was framed in the doorway as he let her in, and then there was one of her sneaking out the next morning. He lived in one of the most secure buildings in the city. How could this be?

  She was both confused and frightened. Why would someone have all of this information on her and her family, and why would they leave it on her doorstep, specifically wanting her to have it? Why had they taken photos of her and Branden? And again, how?

  She picked up the phone and called Branden.

  “Is everything okay?” he answered.

  She tried to keep her voice level as she spoke. She didn’t want him to think she was a whiner who couldn’t handle her own business. “Someone delivered a manila envelope, and it’s full of information about me. It goes all the way back to when I was a kid. There are also pictures of us in it from last night, pictures that had to be taken in the hallway of your secure building.”

  “Damn it,” he spat out.

  “Who would spend all that time gathering all of that information and then just have it delivered to my door…and why?”

  “I don’t know, Cara. But I’m not comfortable with you staying there alone. Not until we figure this all out. Come to me.”

  As soon as he said the words, she wanted to. Wanted to rush into his strong arms and let him help her. She wanted it too much. “This is my home. Besides, the pictures of us are being taken at your apartment, not mine.”

  “I’ll send the car to get you. You will stay here.”

  No. She couldn’t. The night before had been an aberration. She’d thought she’d made a change in who she was and wanted to stop running and hiding the way her father did—that she’d go for what she wanted and whom she wanted. But that decision had been made without enough thought. Her actions had been impulsive. The morning had brought clarity and resolve. She wouldn’t sleep with him again, wouldn’t open herself up to that emotional vulnerability. She had to stay in control…especially now. Now that someone was out to get her. And maybe someone who was linked to what had happened to her father.

  Besides, she didn’t think she could focus if she were that close to Branden. To his body. His scent. The dazzle of his smile. The way he touched her face with his hand, and her heart with the way he looked at her, as if she were the only person in his universe. She’d succumb to temptation and end up back in his bed, enveloped by his heat and his essence.

  Her insides quivered with want and need and desire to accept the offer to stay with him, but instead she forced herself to say, “No, thank you. No one has threatened me, and if you know something that I don’t, I wish you would share it with me.”

  “That package is threat enough.”

  “Maybe,” she conceded. “But it’s only been when I’ve been with you—at one of your homes—when I’ve been photographed. How are they taking those photos with all that supposed security?”

  “I intend to find that out tonight. But listen to me, okay? I have something I need to tell you.”

  A long pause followed his statement and she waited, dread filling her chest.

  Finally, he spoke. “I know who your father was.”

  Her heart pounded. She opened her mouth, then shut it as his words permeated her mind, swirled around, then settled into clarity. There was silence on her end. What was she supposed to say to that? If he knew who her father was, did that mean…

  “Carl Davies,” she whispered.

  “He was my stepfather. And as far as I’m concerned, he was—and if he’s alive, still is—the scum of the earth.”

  Oh, God. Oh, God. What was happening? She’d slept with Carl Davies’s stepson? “Why wouldn’t he be alive?” she asked. Not that he deserved to be.

  “I just haven’t heard anything about him in a long time. A guy like Davies can make enemies as quickly as others make friends. He probably takes his life in his hands each time he steps out his door.”

  “You think he’s the one taking photos of us and sending things to me, or that he’s having someone else do it?”

  “I don’t know that, either. But as soon as I realized the connection between Davies and your father, I started looking into it.”

  “How did you find out, about me and my father? I changed my name because of the scandal. Tried to give myself a fresh start.”

  “I had you investigated,” he said, as if it were a normal, everyday occurrence.

  “Excuse me? What makes you think that my past is any of your business at all?” Her words weren’t overly heated, though. She’d done her own brand of investigation on him. She just hadn’t hired someone else to do the legwork.

  “Cara, I investigate all my staff. And you’re my employee…”

  She sucked in a breath. “Suddenly that’s all I am? Last night it didn’t seem that way.”

  “You can’t have it both ways,” he said calmly. “You say that I have no
rights where you are concerned, yet you take offense at the implication that you’re only my employee and not something more.”

  She hated it when he was right. This man exasperated her like no other. “Well, whatever we are, that just feels like such a violation. But if you had me investigated, you know my father was Hank Finch. He was a good man.”

  “I’m confident he was. Davies is not. Please stay at my place until we get this all ironed out, Cara. I’ll stay out at the mansion if you prefer.”

  “You can’t think I’m in any kind of danger from your former stepfather,” she said dryly. “I mean, the guy ruined my father, but what he did to my dad was financial, not physical. My father’s life was never in any danger. So don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit?”

  “Cara, I don’t know what’s happening. But someone is harassing you, and I won’t stand for it. Harassment is personal—and when things get personal, they can quickly escalate to violence. I get that you’ve been independent and in control of your life for years now, but let me help, even if just a little. Let me at least know that you’re safe.”

  She snorted. “In a building where someone took photos of me.”

  “I already messaged security and my friend Alex as we’ve been talking. There will be added security guards stationed throughout the building and a bodyguard right outside my door, as well as another who will escort you wherever you go. Covertly, of course. You won’t even be able to spot him.”

  “Branden…”

  “Cara. I’ve seen some bad shit go down in the financial world. I don’t want you to be a casualty. That’s not something I can take. Stay at my place. Do it for me. Please.”

  It was the simple please that undid her. That made her melt inside, just a little. The word had come out of his mouth so soft, almost pleading, in complete contrast to his demands and domineering method of communication. As if he’d placed his entire heart on the line with the one word.