“That’s fucking clear,” he spat.
I unlocked the latch. “Have Paul call Renee. She’ll set up a meeting for our legal teams.” I closed the door and walked into the hall.
Kimble instinctively wrapped an arm around me as soon as I appeared. My knees shook and my palms were sweaty inside the gloves. I believed I had masked it all from Knight.
“We’re leaving now,” he stated.
I nodded my head. “Okay.” I couldn’t argue. I had to get as far away from Knight as I could.
17
Knight
Twelve hours earlier
Paul looked as if he had aged like a president in the five years I’d been gone. His hair was gone from the top and there were heavy lines around his eyes. Deep crevices from stress. Lines that developed from the dark secrets he kept for my family. I knew the man had been working around the clock since my father died, but it was more than black circles under his eyes.
“We need to move quickly,” I stated. “Dad always wanted me to run the organization from here once I moved from Paris. Are there papers to sign? Just put them here.” I tapped the top of my father’s desk. I was impatient. I was unsteady from running into Kennedy.
I reached for the crystal decanter on the corner of the desk. I poured a rich bourbon. I wasn’t going to let it register that I was the man sitting behind the desk now.
“Knight, we have a lot to discuss about your father’s estate.” I saw the weariness blanket him.
“Is there a question about the will?” I asked. “A dispute? I thought that was rock solid.”
“No. nothing like that. You are the sole heir with specific requests on behalf of your mother and Seraphina. There are notes to set up a trust to keep the Castilles from receiving anything.”
“Of course,” I muttered. Family had boundaries.
“Is it the off-shore accounts?”
He sighed. “I think I should start with these.” He shoved a file across the desk. I opened the top flap.
“What the hell is this?” I saw the ledgers. The numbers. The property listings. “This is the warehouse district. And the distillery.” I glared at Paul.
“There are more.” He handed me a second file thicker than the first.
I shook my head. “I don’t understand. There are second mortgages. Third mortgages. Losses. On every single fucking property.” I skimmed the notes. “What organization is this? Who does my dad owe this money to?” I gulped the bourbon, trying to decide what was fact or fiction. “Is this a real company?”
Paul crossed his leg over his knee. “It’s very real.”
“Carpe Noctem, LLC?” I closed my eyes as the pain of a knife sliding between my ribs might feel. “It’s not possible. It can’t be.” I shook my head.
“It’s Kennedy Martin. You should know she has notes like this all over town. She owns New Orleans now.”
“Kennedy? The girl I dated?”
“She studied furiously under her father before his passing,” Paul explained. “He taught her his own techniques. They’ve worked for her.”
“What the actual fuck, Paul?”
“She’s fair. Respected. But she’s not backing down or going away. She’s made a mark here. Most of the organizations like doing business with her.”
“Why?” I was fucking dumbfounded.
He shrugged. “A pretty face, but a lethal business mind. It has its draws.”
“What do I do? How to get the properties back? I want the distillery.”
“You’d have to exceed your projected profits for the next three quarters. She already takes a hefty share of all the revenue.”
I ran my hands through my hair. “How did my father allow this to happen? He never mentioned one damn word to me about this.”
Paul expected the questions. He was the only one who knew. “He tried to expand in shipping to beat out Lucien Martin. He overspent. He didn’t know the market well enough. When things floundered, Kennedy set up a meeting and offered to bail Raphael out.”
I blinked. “And he accepted her offer?”
“He did. And more than once. It’s been going on for three years. She became his bank. It’s all here in the files. She has a hold on almost everything in the Corban Organization.”
“Fuck,” I muttered, refilling my glass.
Paul cleared his throat. “But there is one corner of the business she doesn’t own.”
“What is it?”
“Well, Seraphina and Brandon came to your father a few months ago. One of Seraphina’s friends wanted a financial backer to start her company. Your father offered to fund it a hundred percent. He is the sole investor.”
“Oh shit. Tell me it’s not a bridal shop.”
“It’s not.” Paul unclipped his leather binder and retrieved a file. “It’s a small tech company.”
I felt the pit in my stomach rise to my throat. What was my dad doing in tech?
“This is what I have? A tech company?”
“You still have all the other properties, but you no longer own a majority in any of them. Kennedy Martin does.”
“Stop saying her name.” I waved my hand in the air.
“Well, most people do call her queen of the Crescent City.”
I stared at him. “I didn’t need that.”
“Sorry. It’s been a long few days.”
“Why don’t you go home. I’ll read these and we’ll meet again after the funeral service.”
“Yes, sir.” Paul rose to his feet.
I was about to correct him. My father was the sir. But he was gone. I was the head of the Corbans. “Good night, Paul. Thank you.”
“I’ll see you at the church in the morning.”
I leaned into the chair, prepared for a moment alone when my mother walked into the study.
“You’re done with your meeting.”
I looked up from the statement on the tech company. “Yes.”
She looked happier. Lighter. She carried a glass of wine with her. “Your father would be pleased to see you sitting there.” It wasn’t sentimental the way she said it. Just a matter of observation.
“Maybe.” I kicked away from the desk and stood. “I
