3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Caleb

I make a call to my buddy, Beckett. Better known as the second project that I’m working on with da. Beckett answers on the third ring. “Caleb. What’s going on, man. You saved me.”

“Yeah? How’s that.”

“My brothers are razzing me because Tanya proposed to me last night.”

“She proposed to you ? Dude, that’s epic.” I’m impressed. “Let me buy you a congratulatory drink, man.”

“Thanks, that’s okay.”

“Seriously. I’m sitting at the bar up the street from you. Come on over.”

“Are you sure? What are you doing drinking at two o’clock in the afternoon?”

“I’ll explain when you get here.”

I’ve got a beer waiting for Beckett when he arrives, and I’m working on my fifth or sixth, but who’s counting. “I’ve been drinking since lunch time, technically.” I chuckle, patting my buddy on the back in a half hug.

“I see you’re having a worse day than I am.”

“Your day can’t be so bad, man. You’re getting married, and you got your deal.”

He furrows his brows. “How did you know about that?”

I sip my beer and then speak. “I told you. I have to protect my investment. Da’s got me on official duty.”

“What, have you got a spy watching me?” He asks in a half laugh.

I wave and change the subject. “Do you love her?”

“Like nothing I’ve ever loved before.”

“That the truth or what you’re telling yourself?”

He gives me a look. “It’s the truth”

“You know Laney McAdams?”

He hesitates, trying to place her.

I help him out. “Billionaire mogul. Owns a hedge funding corporation.”

“Oh yeah.” He nods. “Wasn’t she voted the most successful entrepreneurial woman last year? That whole feminist charade deal?”

“Yeah.” I scoff. “She’s the biggest bitch on the planet, too, trust me. Hates men. All of them. The only thing she ever wants to do with men is advance herself in some way.”

“Are you speaking from experience?” He asks me, taking another sip of beer. “Have you had a little tete-a-tete with Laney McAdams yourself?”

I look at him like he just called da a cocksucker. “Are you out of your mind? I wouldn’t touch that woman with a ten-foot pole.” I pause and decide there’s no better time than the present to say what’s on my mind. “I better get used to it though.” I add, and pause again, looking at him, point blank. “My da is forcing me to marry her.”

His eyes widen. His brows furrow. “Get out of town. Really? Like an arranged marriage?”

I lift a hand to stifle him, and then lift the other hand to tip my beer bottle to my lips. After I swallow, I continue. “I don’t want to talk about it.” I lift my bottle again, gesturing to it. “It makes me do this.”

“I get it.” He changes the subject. “So, what do you think, man…do you think the old man’s wife found out, or do you think that he’s moved on to another woman to warm his bed?” Beckett asks, referring back to Harry and his sudden and unexpected change of heart. Harry is the owner of NovoMax, the company that the Ford boys are trying to make a huge deal with. Recently, the deal has been sullied by a paternity suit. It seems that Chas Ford couldn’t keep his dick in his pants, and messed around with Rachel, Harry’s lover, and consequently his Executive Assistant, which is how she and Chas crossed paths. Oh, rest assured, he didn’t get her pregnant. Evidently, it was just front seat shit that they did, but Rachel decided to play the manipulation card, and filed a suit against Chas Ford, to try to threaten the billionaire family.

The plan backfired when the Fords hired Ericka, an attorney, that responded to the lawsuit with certain expectations that couldn’t possibly be met, namely a positive pregnancy test backed by a laboratory of their choice, which would reveal that Rachel is so full of shit her eyes are brown. It came down to the Fords considering walking away from the deal, to avoid buying themselves further trouble. However, Henry had unexpectedly made a call to Beckett right before I called him, saying that he’s decided to drop the suit and move forward with the deal, confusing the Ford boys, my new investment clients, to no end.

“He better hope he found someone else to warm his bed.” I say.

“Why’s that.” Beckett asks conversationally, lifting his beer to his lips.

I look at him, like I’ve got all the answers.

Feeling suddenly as sober as a judge.

Feeling like everything is finally falling into place.

...“Because that Rachel lass is dead.”

His gaze darts to mine. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

I play dumb and numb, sipping my beer again. “You mean you didn’t know?”

Now it’s his turn to make a face that looks like I just called his da a cocksucker. “Is this the face of someone in the know?”

“Take it easy, buddy.”

He rises. “No, I will not take it easy! What the fuck are you talking about? Never mind, you’re fucking crocked! I’m outta here.” He walks out of the bar, pissed right off. I consider ordering another beer, but I’ve once again attracted an audience. All eyes are on me. It’s time to get the fuck out of here. If anyone didn’t know who I was five minutes ago, they do now. I pay my tab, surprised that old Bruce is letting me drive, but then he stops me before I put my wallet away.

“You got a driver, Caleb?”

“No, but I can get a ride.”

He gestures with his chin towards the door. “Your friend waiting outside for you?”

“That’s doubtful. But I’ve got someone that has wheels. Don’t sweat it. Thanks for the concern.”

He smiles. “I’m not fond of my patrons leaving here dead is all.”

“I get it.” I pick up my phone, showing him that I’m calling someone, and I do. One of my goons is outside, as always. I wouldn’t say that I have a permanent bodyguard, but I usually have an entourage of some sort within a few blocks' radius of my whereabouts. Minutes later, I’m in a car, and another goon is driving my truck home. Once I reach home, I wait to go to bed, until I know that my truck is home first. My house is big and modern and filled with enough medieval shit I could probably wear a different suit of armor every day, and host regular sword fights.

That is the one thing I miss about living full-time in Scotland. I love castles and history. America, at least where I live for most of the time, has nothing historical. No architecture, no cathedral buildings, no castle ruins, nothing. But that could also be because I never get out enough to see it if anything like that did exist. I’ve only had a home in America for the past ten years, and it’s only been five years since I’ve lived here more than in Scotland. Mama and da still live there, in our childhood home, running our flagship business. Da had me, along with a load of family and some friends, move out here, to help expand.

He’s promised me for years that I could go back but it’s only as a reward for good behavior, which I have yet to achieve, seeing as I’m still here. Sure, I’ve colored outside the lines on many occasions. Just like da, I’m a man with imagination and exemplary nonconformity. Case in point, my forced marriage to Laney. The backhanded compliment, regardless of how much it stung at the time, rings true. There has not been one thing to date that I have not been able to fulfill for my da. From moving out here to America, to growing our business here in the states, to securing as many successful accounts as possible. There has not been one stone left unturned.

I hate it, but I also love it, how da likes to test the limits. It's how he's grown the business to where it is, and it is a trait that I have inherited from my family. It's the challenge that I love. And as much as I hate to admit it, marrying Laney is going to be the motherlode of challenges. Or, at least, getting her to marry me. Normally, I don't have a problem getting women into bed. Can't say I've ever been in a relationship before, but I'm sure willing to give that a try, for the sake of fulfilling da’s wish. Also, a small part of me wants to torture Laney, by having her marry me, the most eligible bachelor, according to whatever the trash magazines have been writing about me.

One thing I will tell you, is that being a billionaire sure doesn't help you sleep at night. As I lay in bed, I rewind in my mind what happened today. Even though the beer buzz has long worn off, with at least half a day's work behind me, I can still see the look of shock on Beckett Ford's face. And just as I'm thinking that, my cell phone rings, and sure as the nose on my face, it's Beckett.

He doesn't even greet me with a hello, he just rips right into me. “How did you know?” He demands. “Unless, of course, you're answering your phone in a jail cell.”

“Do you honestly think I'd risk everything to do that?” I ask with a half chuckle, incredulous that he'd ask such a thing, although I do see where he'd get that idea from.

“Come on, Caleb. Everyone knows that billionaires tend to get themselves out of trouble with the law. Everyone has their price.”

“In that case, I should be asking you the same thing, Beckett. You're just as much of a suspect as I am.”

“You're off your rocker if you think that I would do that to a girl, just because I have fantastic legal counsel that would get me out of this mess.”

I ignore his statement. “Besides, how do you know it wasn’t old Henry himself that did it?”

“You called me up, asked me to come to the bar to meet with you, and then you drop the bomb on me. Before I even knew a goddamn thing. How do you explain that, Caleb?”

“What did your brothers have to say? When they found out that you're free and clear, with the added bonus of Henry already wanting to do business with you?”

“They're more worried about the fact that we may be doing business with a murderer, if you really want to know the truth.”

“Look, man. I swear to God, I didn't touch her. I don't even know where she lives.”

“That's a weak alibi, man. You know damn well that she didn't die at home.”

“Beckett, focus. I could persuade any multi-billionaire mogul to join forces with me. I'm not that desperate for business to go as far as murdering to get it.”

He ignores me, continuing his tirade. “You could easily just hop a plane and head back to Scotland to sidestep the law.”

“And I would get extradited, just like anyone else, Beckett. Besides, why would I do that, and risk being banned from coming back to America? No matter which way you slice it, my man, nothing would be worth murdering someone for money.”

He's about to go off again, and I stifle him, growing irritated. “Do you want me to do a lie detector test, Beckett? Because I'll do it to prove to you that I'm not fucking lying.”

Then he says something that shocks the hell out of me. “Her throat was slashed, Caleb. And I know that you're into them medieval swords and shit, don't deny it.”

“Anyone can own a sword or a knife, Beckett. Don't be ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but that would be your own brand of vigilante justice, wouldn't it, Caleb? I bet your dear old da told you to do the deed, didn't he? Just so that me and my brothers could secure that deal with NovoMax, and we could pony up the dough to you.”

“And witness losing my first account, because of a fucking murder trial, huh? Sounds like a win-win to me.”

“Don’t get cocky with me, Caleb.”

“Well, I don’t mean to be, Beckett. But you’re not making any sense. And, frankly, until the cops come knocking on my door, I think you’re out of line. I’m telling you I didn’t do it, and I have no reason to lie to you, man. Look, your account doesn’t mean that much to me, dude. Like I said, I can partner up with thousands of other billionaires.”

“Yeah, but you know me, Caleb.”

“And you know me, Beckett. Have I ever lied to you? Have I ever laid a finger on a soul? I’m a peaceful man, Beckett. And I know that you know that, otherwise you and your brothers wouldn’t be doing business with me.”

He pauses for thought. I think I got through to him. So, I leave it alone and change the subject slightly, trying a different angle. “Is Chas flipped out?”

“Yeah, especially since a neighbor saw him fucking show up at her doorstep recently, arms flailing. He’s probably going to be a suspect, too. And that’s the last thing we need. God, Henry will pull out, the skyscraper project will pull out, and fuck, my other brothers may even pull out of the fucking airline deal, too, for all we fucking know.”

“Beckett, take it easy, man. Like I said, you don’t know what shit’s going down with the cops. Until you do, just chill.”

“Maybe you’re right. I mean, hell, it could have even been Henry, like you said. But if that’s the case, then we need to pull out of the NovoMax deal.”

“Don’t pull out of any deals, my man. Don’t jump the gun. Wait until the investigation is underway and see what comes of it. I love you, buddy, but I think you’re blowing this way out of proportion.”

He sighs. “Chas is having a fucking cow. Dale and Bryn are staying with him.”

“What, while you freak out?” I say with a soft chuckle. “It looks like you’re the one that needs to be watched over, if you ask me.”

“I’m fine. I just…this is shit that we’re not up for.”

“Your other brothers have had their share of trouble, too, man. It doesn’t end.”

“God, do you know everything?” He practically growls, but it’s sort of a half laugh, and a half ‘I really don’t know about you’.

“It’s my job to know everything, Beckett. And if you’re smart, you and the other four Fords will double up on your security measures, and on your eyes, if you want my advice. You guys are prey to many now. Hell, I can loan you some of my eyes or we can make a deal, but either way, you’ve got to get better backup for shit like this.”

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s about time we protected more than just our fucking assets after this shit. The last thing we need is someone pegging one of us as a murderer.”

“That goes double for me. My da spares no expense for eyes. Never has. There isn’t a social security number we haven’t checked, a body we haven’t followed, or a background we haven’t fully investigated since da’s bank account reached seven figures, and I was just a tyke then.”

“And you swear that’s how you knew about Rachel.” He says flatly, checking.

“I swear to you, man. On everything I own and love.”

But as I say this, we both hear my security panel sound, and as I check my phone, I see two police cruisers in the monitor, waiting to be let in. “Who’s coming over to visit you at this time of night, Caleb?” Beckett asks, but from his tone, we both know well enough who it is.

“You called it, my brother. It’s our boys in blue.”

“Care to take back anything you said to me in the last ten minutes, man?” He asks, levelling with me.

I hesitate only for a second, before saying. “Not one fucking word.”