So where had that money come from?And when was Becca coming for Abby?Because that account and the money in it meant Becca still had a job to do.And she needed Abby to do it.
Legs crossed, Nic sat waiting in one of the leather chairs in the lobby of his father’s building.Or was it?Price Holdings was still listed on the lobby directory as occupying Suite 200, and PH still technically owned the building.Nic had checked the assessor’s records first thing this morning.But now there were a dozen other companies listed on the building directory with PH too.While the first floor had always been rented out—the downtown Burlingame location drew premium rents—the second story used to be solely occupied by the family office.No longer, according to the directory, and evidenced by the stream of twentysomethings in branded polos bounding down the stairs and out the doors.
Nic squinted against the flare of bright light, the sun reflecting off metal, marble, and glass.His father’s first major real estate purchase, the building had been significantly renovated since Nic had last visited.More than once, according to the assessor’s records.In its present incarnation, it bore every appearance of wealth, but if one looked closely, the carpet was worn thin on the side stairs tucked out of sight, the grout between marble slabs needed repair, and the tech at the reception desk was at least five generations out of date.The building receptionist behind the desk probably had better tech on the phone she hardly glanced up from.
When Nic’s sight returned, it was to a smartly dressed young man—smug business-school attitude written all over him—striding across the lobby toward him, ignoring the other two gentlemen in the next set of chairs over.“Mr.Price,” he said, hand outstretched.“Harris Kincaid.I work for your father.He’s not in at the moment.”
Nic knew that.He’d waited in the coffee shop across the street until he’d seen his old man leave, then waited another thirty to make sure he hadn’t come back before entering.“I actually came here to speak to you,” he told Harris as he stood.
The kid, who couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, fresh out of business school if Nic had to guess, buttoned his jacket and stood taller, which still left him a half foot shorter than Nic.Looking up, he jutted out his chin, defiant.“About?”
“Let’s go up to the office,” Nic said, arm out toward the stairs.The cocky little shit looked like he was going to argue until Nic reminded him who his boss was.“I don’t think my father would appreciate his business discussed in public, do you?”
Harris paled, confirming to Nic that his father remained an uneasy man to work for.And he wasn’t Harris’s only boss.
“Of course,” Harris conceded.
Upstairs, it was as Nic suspected.Only one corner of the second floor remained occupied by PH—two offices, a conference room, and a reception area, the desk unstaffed.By the layer of dust gathering there, it hadn’t been for a while.Harris led him through the small lobby, past his father’s office—the solid wood door with the brass nameplate closed—and into the other, smaller office, which was meticulously neat.
Nic claimed a visitor chair as Harris circled to the other side, unbuttoning his coat as he sat.“What can I do for you, Mr.Price?”
“You knew who I was in the lobby.”Unless Harris hung out at the courthouse, there was no reason he should have.They’d never met, and Nic hadn’t set foot in this building since he was eighteen.
“The receptionist called up.”
“You ignored the other two men in the lobby and headed straight for me.”
Harris lowered his chin, hiding a small smile.“He talks about how smart you are.”Before Nic could get over that shock, Harris delivered another.“And I knew it was you from the picture in your dad’s office.”Which must have been recent for Harris to recognize him because other than his blue eyes, Nic did not take after his blond-headed father at all.And certainly no longer looked like the gangly eighteen-year-old in his graduation photo.
Harris righted his face, some of the earlier smugness gone, asking again, “What can I do for you, Mr.Price?”
“I’d like an update on PH.You signed the last corporate filing as the asset manager.”
“I’m sorry but I’m not authorized to provide you that information.”
Nic relaxed back in his chair, resting an ankle on his opposite knee.He was going to enjoy this, especially after a day spent preparing court documents for tomorrow’s arraignment.This would be a good warm-up, not that he expected to question witnesses tomorrow, but he never walked into a courtroom unprepared.
“The company is still a limited liability company, is it not?”Nic asked.
“As are many real estate holding companies.”
“And the sole member of the holding company is the family trust, correct?”
Harris inclined his head.“You’ve done your research.”
“I am an attorney, who checks corporate filings on the Secretary of State’s site regularly.”Nic dropped his leg over his other knee.“And last I’d heard, I’m also the secondary beneficiary of the family trust, after my father.So you see, I have a vested interest in this company, and I want to know its status.”
“I thought you weren’t interested in your father’s money.”
“Your boss tell you that?”
Harris rested his forearms on his too-clean desk.“Your father hasn’t?—”
“Your other boss, Mr.Kincaid.”
The kid’s gulp was audible in the otherwise silent office.He laced his fingers together, which only made his whole fist shake.
“You’re married to Duncan Vaughn’s niece, aren’t you?”Nic didn’t give him a chance to answer, going right for the hammer instead.“While I was checking the property records on this building, I also checked the records on your million-and-a-half-dollar Silicon Valley hovel.Not one but two loans from an entity that traces back to Vaughn Investments.”He hadn’t actually had time to dig through the corporate filings and peel back the layers of ownership.He was hoping Harris would confirm his suspicions for him.
