TRISTAN’S MIND WAS in a fog when he showed up at Mischa’s.

Ash let him in. “Where’s Victoria?” she asked.

“Couldn’t make it. Probably not again. We decided it’s inappropriate for the two of us to be spending so much time together.” He struggled to keep the words casual and clinical.

She worked her jaw, but then shook her head and pointed to the living room. “I have to step out in an hour or so to pick up Kelly from a friend’s, but we’re all set up in the office.”

He nodded and followed her into the other room. Mischa had pulled a large whiteboard out, and secured it on one wall. It had Timeline written at the top.

Tristan wanted to be pleased they were doing things this way. It was a good idea. But he was still focused on Victoria.

Not a lot of words were exchanged, greeting-wise, before they dove into work. Every time someone forgot a detail in the timeline, even if it was him, Tristan snapped.

“Why are we doing this again?” Mischa’s tone implied he wasn’t impressed with Tristan’s attitude.

Tristan didn’t care. “You’re really asking me that?”

Ash ducked her head and focused her gaze on the laptop she held, but her frown said she was listening. She’d grown quieter as the minutes ticked away.

“I don’t mean looking for a solution, I mean the timeline. We’ve already been over this shit a dozen times,” Mischa said.

Tristan clenched and unclenched a fist. “And we’ll go over it again until we figure out where Wolfram got the impression we did our steps out of order.”

“Maybe he made it up.”

“That’s forgery. He’s a jackass, not a criminal.” Though maybe his word wouldn’t carry so much weight if the latter were true. It also still wouldn’t solve the problem.

“I have an idea.” Ash’s voice was tiny in the midst of the mounting tension. She waved Tristan over and pointed to her screen.

She had multiple reports and spreadsheets open, with different accounts and numbers on them. “See this here”—she pointed to one, then flipped to the next—“you transfer the funds over here.” She continued to tab through screens, explaining a series of complicated financial transactions.

He was stunned silent when she was done. Where the fuck did she learn to do that?”

“Will it work?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I mean, yes, if you can get away with it, it works. But, wow.” He’d never seen something like that before. It was half Ponzi-scheme, half income-tax evasion. A far more severe level than he was accused of. “It’s illegal in about ten different ways though.”

“No it’s not.” She frowned, and tabbed through her open files again. “I must have explained something wrong. Dad does it.”

“What?” The anger was gone from Mischa’s voice.

Tristan erased half the timeline from the whiteboard. “Show me.”

“I just did.” The confidence was gone from Ash’s voice.

“Show me what Ralph does. Where did you see this?”

She crossed the room, and grabbed a marker. “It’s been a while, so I might have some of this wrong. Keep in mind I was only sixteen last time I had access to any of his records.”

Exactly what Ralph had said. It didn’t matter. If she was capable of pulling this level of detail out of an eight year old memory, Tristan had a feeling she understood what she’d seen.

“I want to look at it in one place. Use made-up numbers if it’s easier,” Tristan said.

He and Mischa watched as Ash repeated herself, drawing a series of numbers in a convoluted flow-chart.

She was patient as they interrupted her every few minutes with questions, until her arm fell limply to her side, and she stepped back.

“Oh.” Her voice was soft. “It really is illegal, isn’t it?”

“Ralph Wolfram runs his accounts this way?” Mischa sounded stunned.

She nodded. “I mean, maybe he’s changed things around since then.”

“Was he ever caught?” Tristan asked.

“Do you think you’d have to wonder, if he had been?” She looked at him, eyes wide. “I know where to find all of this information. This is huge right? Like, the kind of consequences you’re being threatened with?”

It was bigger than that. This was investment fraud and more. “It doesn’t help me any, but it’s not good for him.”

“Does it make him less credible?” Hope crept into Ash’s voice. “Because I’m willing to go on record with any of this.”

Tristan hoped he never pissed his child off to the point where her eyes shone with glee at the thought of putting him behind bars. He had a hard time imagining getting mad at his baby for even doing something like violating curfew though.

And that was a dangerous tangent, because it led back to the life he didn’t have. “You’re not talking about custody battles and threats that don’t play out,” he said. “You’re talking about sending your father to jail.”

Her smile was a twisted kind of bitter he’d never seen on Ash before. It was a little terrifying. “My father is involved in something that will cost dozens of people their jobs, and shut down a fucking charity. Because he’s throwing a temper tantrum.”

Mischa wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close to him. “Not that it would come to this, but if you had to sit in front of a jury, or even a room full of legal counsel, and look him in the eye and say these things, could you?”

“In theory.” Some of Ash’s bravado wilted.

Tristan wanted to focus on the news. The horrible, astounding information she’d revealed. They had other things to figure out, though. “It doesn’t matter. Or rather, it does, but it doesn’t solve our issue.”

“But it would feel good,” Ash said.

“I can’t argue that.”

“Keep brainstorming. I have to get Kelly. I’ll be back soon.” She kissed Mischa on the cheek and pulled away.

Mischa tugged her back for a longer kiss, before slapping her ass and shooing her out the door.

It was a simple exchange. Sweet and genuine. And watching it surged through Tristan with an envy he nearly gagged on.

He and Mischa turned back to their search for solutions.

“If the problem is the donation, can’t I file an amended return, and not claim it as a tax deduction after all?” Mischa asked.

Maybe if anything about this entire transaction were simple. “If that were an option, we would have done it when we first got notice there was an issue.”

“So I’ll start there, and we’ll cross the next bridge when we come to it.”

God, it must be nice to just make up shitty solutions and expect everything would turn out for the best anyway. “We’re already crossing it. We’ll deal with it now, because I’m facing prison time.”

“That’s a worst-case scenario, and you’re being melodramatic,” Mischa said flippantly.

Tristan wasn’t in the mood to brush this off, or pretend life was that easy. “Maybe if we stopped thinking the worst wasn’t possible, we wouldn’t be in this situation. We should have considered the consequences from the start. You can’t just say this sounds like a swell idea and then do it. That’s why we’re here.”

Mischa clenched his jaw. “It doesn’t matter that the idea was spontaneous. We did a lot of planning and due diligence after I suggested it, and it was some serious work. You know that.”

And now he was talking to a brick wall. “Fine. Refile. That’ll fix everything, I’m sure.”

“I’m not saying it’s the ultimate solution.” Mischa’s voice had shifted to match Tristan’s anger. “If it’s a small victory, it deserves a little recognition.”

“It’s a bullshit answer, and it’s not any sort of solution, let alone a victory of any size.”

“Does this have anything to do with why Victoria isn’t here tonight?” Mischa asked.

The question knocked Tristan off-balance, and his mind skipped a few times, trying to catch up. “Why the fuck would this be about Victoria? This is about a cluster fuck of issues with no solution.”

“The two of you might not have been so great for each other.”

Tristan couldn’t believe this was happening. “First, are you fucking kidding me? She and I are bad for each other? Hi Pot, Kettle calling. And second, what does this have to do with the conversation?”

Mischa shrugged. “You’re distracted and pissy, and it’s not like you. Well, maybe the pissy bit. If clearing your head helps you focus—”

“Why would she and I be an issue together?” This wasn’t what they should be talking about, but Tristan couldn’t let it drop now.

“You’re both a bit... high strung.”

Tristan swallowed a barking laugh. “Did I give you shit for hooking up with someone—and it wasn’t even real when it started—who’s as impulsive as you are?”

“You like Ash. She does good things for you.” Mischa’s tone was casual, but his posture was tight and coiled.

“I don’t even know where to start in dissecting that. I like Ash because she’s a good person, and you’re implying you don’t like Victoria.”

“This is what I’m talking about. You’re all wound up over it, and I’m just trying to have a conversation. She’s done this to you.”

Tristan was about point-five seconds from throwing a punch. This was why he hadn’t gone to Mischa back then. The man was a stubborn ass, who thought he knew best. “You don’t have any idea who Victoria is.”

“And you do?” Tristan was done holding back. “You almost destroyed her. You got caught up in your own little world of playing the knight in shining armor, and it nearly tore apart a girl who didn’t have any idea that kindness could be used as a weapon just as easily as cruelty.”

“Excuse me? You’re blaming me for caring.”

“No,” Tristan said. “And I’m not saying you’re the only one at fault. She made her decisions, but you sure as fuck didn’t help. Sometimes it’s hard to see the light at the end of your own tunnel when you’re standing next to someone who’s never had to work to find theirs, because it shines so bright.”

Mischa rolled his eyes. “Fucked up metaphor. But I seemed to do all right next to you.”

“Excuse me?” Tristan must have misunderstood, because he could only see one meaning in those words.

“You. The guy who’s never had to work for anything.”

Tristan let out a barking laugh. “I don’t have any idea how you’re serious right now. Big surprise. I trained every fucking day, from the time I was old enough to walk, with the top coaches in the world. You came along with your shitty homemade board, and like that, you were a superstar.”

“Do you hear yourself? I didn’t have Mommy and Daddy’s name to propel me to stardom. I earned this. Every single penny I have.”

“Minimal effort.” Tristan spat out the words. “And I earned it too. You know how my parents are. I built this firm—”

“We built this firm. And don’t you dare say you did it without any help. Sure, Dad might not have signed over the check for you to open the real estate business, but his money paid for your snowboarding gear. Your coaches. The connections that got you endorsement deals, and contacts willing to take a chance on a real estate start-up when no one else would.”

“Which all still too work.” Tristan refused to admit he saw the logic in Mischa’s argument. He was raw inside, and that was easy to cling to. “When was the last time you earned something that wasn’t at least in part thanks to a luck roll?”

“As in, most recently?” Mischa asked. “How about the shitty deal with Wolfram?”

“Which landed you a wonderful fiancée and an instant family, and placed me in the path of criminal prosecution.”

“Placed us there. God, you love playing the martyr. The deal also drained me financially. But fine, let’s step back a couple of years. To when I was dating a woman I was infatuated with, and suddenly the tabloids labeled me a predator. My name still comes up in conversations as the guy who ruined America’s sweetheart when she was barely more than jailbait. Because I met a pretty girl in a bar. We didn’t do anything wrong. Neither of us. Doesn’t matter how many times anyone says otherwise, Victoria and I were both feeling our way through life.

“Or let’s go back to pre-Victoria days. When I broke a contract to keep my likeness from being used in ways I didn’t agree with. And people still call me the guy who can’t handle a business deal. The Wolfram situation didn’t help.”

Tristan opened his mouth, but Mischa talked over him. “But sure. Go ahead and focus on the fact I have natural skill when it comes to skateboarding. Ignore that maybe my competition wasn’t as tough as yours, or that I don’t have to rely on weather to ride the halfpipe. Blame me for finding a woman I love who feels the same. That all makes my life way luckier than yours. In every sense of the word.” Sarcasm oozed from his voice.

“Thanks for twisting my words and making this about you.” Some of the fight had evaporated from Tristan, and he struggled to ignore the nagging that insisted Mischa might have a point.

“I think we’re done for the night.” Ash’s voice sliced through the tension in the room. “You need to leave.”

Tristan whirled to see her standing in the doorway, her face etched into a furious mask.

He nodded. “I think that’s a good idea.” He didn’t look back as he stormed to his car. He started the engine, more furious at himself than Mischa. He didn’t like this feeling at all.