“Not exactly, but I would like to get access to the money that belongs to me without him being made aware.”
“How much money, Rhys?”
“A considerable number of millions.”
“Shit,” Sebastian mumbled.
“So, like I said. An attorney. I’m sure you have one now.”
“His name is Brent Jarman,” Sebastian said. “I’m texting you his number. I’ll let him know to expect a call from you.”
“Thank you,” he said. “Please don’t tell anyone about this.”
“What time on Saturday?” his brother asked.
“Eight.”
“I’ll tell Remington.” Sebastian sighed into the receiver. “If there’s anything else you need, will you let me know?”
“I don’t need your help with this, Sebastian,” he snapped.
“Clearly you do.”
He dragged his tongue across the front of his teeth. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”
“For now.”
“I’ll see you this weekend, Sebastian.” Rhys ended the call and dropped his head back to stare at the ceiling.
He would think of a way out of this. He didn’t have any other choice. Rhys was committed to breaking free of his father, of the family businesses. He was going to stay in Myers Bluff, and he was going to be with Beckett. He would find a way to apologize to Callahan. One day, if Beckett allowed it, he would buy that man the restaurant of his dreams and hand over the keys.
He knew the last one wouldn’t come without a fight.
But he could do none of those things if he couldn’t get access to the money he’d been setting aside since the day his father told him he could never marry Callahan McMillian. That he could never marry a man. Back then, he hadn’t understood why he’d started saving aside from the money he already had access to. It wasn’t like the family was ever at risk of losing their income. The University made an exorbitant amount of money every year and would continue to do so until the day it closed its doors. And that was just one channel of revenue. There were dozens more, just as lucrative, if not more.
Rhys had been so furious at his father, so brokenhearted over having the future he wanted stolen away from him, that he’d set up a private account at a separate financial institution. It was in his name and his alone, not tied to the school or any of the LLCs associated with the St. George name. While he’d certainly never planned on running away and eloping and needing the money for something like that, it just seemed like a good idea to have it.
Just in case.
Just in case he needed an escape plan, apparently.
But when he reached out to Jeremiah to deal with accessing the money, he’d been surprised to find out the account wasn’t secret. He’d been even more surprised to learn there was a clause in the first employment contract his father had him sign that stated any accounts opened during the course of business would default to Marcus R. St George. And in this instance, Rhys had opened the account from the computer sitting on his desk at his brand new job at St. George’s University at 2:17 pm on a Wednesday, which according to all parties involved, apparently meant it was during the course of business.
There was no way in hell his father would see a dime of that money.
Rhys was a patient man when he needed to be, but the thought of waiting to start his life until his father died was an unimaginable hardship. He couldn’t even wrap his mind around another five, ten, fifteen years of controlled and calculated misery. And he hated Callahan and he hated Sebastian and he hated Ashley, and Remington, and Daniella, and Jace, and Beckett for making him realize how truly miserable he was.
To make him realize how little he had.
He called Brent, who answered quickly, sounding as put together and professional as Rhys would have hoped.
“Brent Jarman.”
“Mr. Jarman.” Rhys cleared his throat, conscious of the fact he needed his voice to not betray his nerves. “My name is Rhys St. George. I believe my brother is a client of yours.”
“I know your brother,” Brent said, “but I couldn’t say either way as to our relationship.”
“Are you making it a point to demonstrate your dedication to confidentiality, Mr. Jarman?”
