I level my gaze at him. “And the answer is the same. Eat shit. You’re not getting a penny from me for that Svensson puppy mill you’re running.”
“More like a feral cat colony.” Fitz is cheerful as he spears a fritter. “They were literally climbing up the walls when I was in HArrogate the other weekend. And racing goats in the foyer.”
“I thought you all forgave and forgot,” Hawthorne adds, crossing his arms.
Crawford slides his glass away and slowly stands, leaning over the table. “Greg had a momentary lapse in judgment. I did not. Hunter did not. Garrett sure as shit did not. You still owe us.”
“I don’t owe you shit.” The words rumble around the room.
“I think you do.” Crawford’s voice is dangerously even. “You tanked Svensson Investment.”
I can’t stop the smug grin on my face. “Sure did.”
Hawthorne kicks me under the table.
“It’s hardly tanked,” McCarthy protests. “They didn’t even lay anyone off.”
“It will take a couple years for the fund to recover,” Crawford counters. “Greg’s being tightfisted with the money, and all those kids aren’t free.”
“That’s why I never had any.” I turn back to my drink.
Crawford’s gray eyes narrow.
“There’s a dozen of them about to go off to college. They deserve to have a normal life—well, as normal as it can be.”
“They can get a job.” I take a sip of my scotch.
“We also still need to find the rest of our sisters.”
Hawthorne sucks in a breath.
I don’t look at Crawford. “Maybe they don’t want to be found.”
Whitman starts to protest.
“Shut up,” I hiss at him.
“You're so fucking selfish.” Crawford’s fist slams into the heavy-wood tabletop.
I’m unbothered. “It’s called ruthless pragmatism.”
Crawford huffs out a derisive laugh. “Stop acting all tough. You were in the military four years and didn’t even see combat. You sat at a desk.”
“Correction. It was a standing desk. And that trillion-dollar defense budget wasn’t going to allocate itself, you know.” My tone is flippant.
“Yeah, and you sure got your cut, didn’t you.”
“My brothers deserve nice things.”
“You’re a coward.”
“That’s capitalism, baby.”
“Piece of shit. You didn’t even help put Dad in prison.”
Hawthorne looks guilty.
I’m not. “Right back atcha, Crawford. So if you’re done trying to appeal to my nonexistent better nature, get the hell out of my city.”
