The ten clients his father had stolen money from plunged into a nightmare of bankruptcy and destitution. The company’s—Joshua’s—agreement to pay back the families so they wouldn’t file a lawsuit. How some of them still hadn’t recovered from Vernon’s selfish, unforgivable and criminal actions.
And then Joshua.
The artist turned CEO who had stepped into the vacant shoes of his father to save Black Crescent. Yes, it shared how he’d left his promising art career and turned the company around, saving it from ruin, but it also painted him as Vernon’s puppet, coached and raised to take over for him since Joshua’s birth. Which was bullshit. At one time, his path had been different. Had been his.
The article also cited that no one had heard from Vernon in a decade and a half, but despite rumors that he’d been killed in retribution for his crimes, there was also the long-held belief that his father was alive and well. And that his family was secretly in contact with him. That Vernon still pulled the strings, running Black Crescent from some remote location. Which was ridiculous. After his father initially vanished, his mother had hired a team of private detectives to locate him. Not to mention the FBI had searched for him, as well.
Fuck. He gritted his teeth against releasing the roar in his throat, but his head echoed with it. What did he have to do to redeem himself? What more did he have to sacrifice? He’d stayed, facing judgment, scorn and suspicion to rebuild the company, to restore even some of the money lost. He’d stayed, doing his best in the last fifteen years to repay those affected clients at least part of the fortune they’d lost to his father as promised. He’d stayed, enduring his brothers’ ridicule and disdain for following in dear old Dad’s footsteps. He’d stayed, caring for their mother, who’d become something of a recluse.
He’d stayed when all he’d wanted to do was quit and run away, too.
But he hadn’t gallivanted off to Europe or found sweet oblivion in drugs and parties. Pride and loyalty had chained him there. Fatherless. Brotherless. Friendless.
And Sophie Armstrong dared insinuate he hadn’t busted his ass all these years? That his father had done all the soul-destroying work.
His sharp bark of laughter rebounded against the interior of the vehicle. Its serrated edges scraped over his skin.
A part of him that could never utter the sacrilegious words aloud secretly hoped Vernon was dead. Just thinking it caused shame, thick and oily, to slide down his throat and smear his chest in a grimy coat. But it was true. He hoped his father no longer lived, because the alternative... God, the alternative—that he’d abandoned his family and emptied their bank accounts without the slightest shred of remorse and never looked back—sat in his gut, curdling it. If Vernon wasn’t dead, then that would mean the man he’d loved and had once admired and respected had truly never existed. And with everything else Joshua had endured these past few years, that...that might be his breaking point.
His cell phone rang, and a swift glance at the screen revealed Oliver’s number. On the heels of his past staring him in the face this morning, his chest tightened. He and his younger brother’s relationship was...complicated. Oliver lived in Falling Brook, but he might as well be across the Hudson River or even farther away.
Once, they’d been close. But that had been before Joshua had stepped in to head Black Crescent in place of their father. He’d lost some respect in Jacob’s and Oliver’s eyes that day. And a part of Joshua mourned that loss. Mourned what had been.
Briefly closing his eyes, Joshua slid his thumb across the screen and lifted the phone to his ear.
“Hello.”
“I’m assuming you’ve seen today’s paper,” his brother said in lieu of a greeting.
“Yes.” Joshua stared across the parking lot, no longer seeing the building that had been the blessing and curse on his family. In front of him wavered an image of a perfect family. Of a lie. “I’ve seen it.”
A sound between an angry growl and a heavy sigh reached him. “This shit again. Why can’t people just let it die?” Oliver snapped.
“Because it makes for good copy apparently,” Joshua drawled. “We’ll ride this one out like we always do.”
He uttered the assurance, and it tasted like bitter ashes on his tongue. He was tired of weathering storms. And more so of being the stalwart helm in it.
Oliver scoffed. “Right. Because that’s what Lowells do.” Joshua could easily picture his brother dragging his hand through his hair, a slight sneer twisting his mouth. “Do you know if Mom has seen the article?”
“I don’t think so.” Joshua shook his head as the stone of another burden settled on his shoulders. “I’ve sent Haley over to make sure the paper isn’t delivered.”
Thank God for Haley. She was more than his assistant. She was his taskmaster. Right-hand woman. And the bossy little sister he’d never had.
When the scandal around Black Crescent had broken fifteen years ago, and employees as well as friends had abandoned the company and the Lowell family, Haley—a college intern at the time—had remained. Even forgoing a salary to stay. Through the last decade and a half when Joshua had given up his own dreams and passion to step into the gaping, still-hemorrhaging hole his father had left, she’d been loyal. And invaluable. He couldn’t have dragged Black Crescent from the brink of financial ruin and rebuilt it without her at his side.
The woman could be a pain in his ass, but she’d proved her loyalty hundreds of times over to his family. Because she was family.
“Since Mom doesn’t leave the house too often, I’m not concerned with her mistakenly
