The Auction (Club Indulgence Duet, #1)(90)

Horns blare at me. I accelerate, passing traffic as fast as possible. I wait until I haven't seen the Charger for several miles before I feel confident I've lost it. I'm still unsure if I was being followed, but it's got me rattled.

Is Hugh onto me?

No, he can't be. He's clueless, and his life falls apart more and more every day.

This will be over soon.

Hugh doesn't have the resources left to pay anyone to follow me.

It's only a matter of weeks until he's completely out of his money. Jones has drained the last of the offshore accounts. I alerted the banks we use for our business accounts about the hacks on Hugh's personal accounts. Most already knew since Hugh had banked personally there as well. I asked them how we could add additional layers of security to play it safe, even though Jones is always watching.

After the bank meetings, I informed Hugh that we would get alerts for any transfers in the accounts. Normally, those things are on statements and George reviews it all. But now, he and Hugh can't hide anything.

Hugh didn't like it, but there wasn't much he could say without blowing up his secret regarding all the stolen funds. And it's stopped him from taking any more.

Hugh declared I should have spoken with him first before speaking with the bank. I innocently asked him again why it was a problem.

He stayed silent, still unable to give me a good answer.

I offered to lend him money when he complained that he was out, but Hugh was too proud. This past month, he's offloaded personal items, selling several cars and other valuables to cover his cash flow issues.

But tomorrow's the big day. He'll have nothing after I force him to sign his shares over to me. Then, once I transfer the funds to buy him out, I'll steal the payout back.

It crosses my mind again that he might already know I'm behind all this. But I shrug it off, convincing myself that it's impossible. I've done everything I can to cover my footsteps. There's no trail, but I make a note to be extra vigilant.

My phone rings, tearing me out of my thoughts. Madelyn's name appears on the screen.

Why is she calling me?

I hit the button on my screen. "Madelyn."

She slurs, "Riggs, Riggs. You have to come over. Hugh's... He's out of control."

"What are you talking about?" I question. Normally I'd think she was being dramatic, but not with everything going on.

She begs, "Please come over! He's unstable!"

I bite my tongue. Madelyn chose an interesting word since she's been unstable for years. I play the part, obliging, "It's going to take me about an hour, but I'll be there as soon as possible." I hang up.

The smog in L.A. is the thickest I've seen in months. I drive through it, trying to stay calm in the crowded lanes, and eventually arrive at their Beverly Hills mansion.

The place is a disaster. I've never seen it in such a state. The gates are open, and the security guards are gone. Weeds flourish in the flower beds, and the grass is several feet high.

This is what happens when you have no funds to maintain your lifestyle.

Another wave of excitement flies through me. I turn off the Porsche and climb up the front steps.

Madelyn opens the door before I get to the top. It's the first time I've ever come to the house where a staff member hasn't greeted me.

She looks smaller, so tiny you can see her bones. The typical booze smell wafts around her, and I assume she's been hitting the bottle and pills for days. She throws her arms around me, and I feel like I might break her if I hug her too tight.

She slurs, "Thank God you're here."

I gently push her off me, feeling nostalgic about my mother. God, I hate the memories. The thought of my poor pet growing up with this woman as her mother only irritates me further. I can only imagine what it was like for her. And while Blakely had some things better than I did, our situations aren't that far apart.

Blakely lived in a house without affection and where addiction was common. She may have had money, but the neglect can't be erased.

I curtly ask, "What's going on, Madelyn?"

"My baby," she cries.

The hairs on my arms rise. Did something happen to Blakely? Does Madelyn know something I don't? I try to stay calm, inquiring, "What are you talking about?"

She shrieks, "She's married. Hugh knew and didn't tell me." Tears stream down her face.

Hugh appears in the doorway, his hair disheveled, shirt rumpled, and a ragged beard growing on his face. Red burns his cheeks, probably alcohol induced since a crystal tumbler of scotch is in his hand.

I can't help myself and dig, "If you need me to send some yard people over, let me know. You can't let your place go like this."

It infuriates Hugh. He snarls, "You want to send some of your staff as well? Ungrateful cocksuckers. You employ them for years, miss a few paychecks, and they desert you."

I assert, "Yeah, they have families to feed. You can't expect them to stay without payment."

Hugh scowls at me.

"This is your fault," Madelyn accuses, pointing at him.

He scoffs. "Madelyn, go cry somewhere else."

She pushes him, claiming, "You know where she is. Stop hiding her from me."

He downs the rest of his scotch, declaring, "I've told you I have no idea. Now stop this nonsense."