My skin feels like a conduit for electricity as I stride up the stairs to Cook’s second floor office. It’s a pre-war building with a retrofitted elevator, which is unofficially reserved for those who truly can’t navigate the stairs.

I’m so close to having all this nonsense squared away that I can taste it. This business with my accounts seems like the last bit of bullshit in a line of events that started with meeting Emerald.

Once I find out what Cook has to say, I’ll be able to move ahead.

The failed acquisition will be in the past. The account trouble will be in the past. And I’ll be free to focus on building my business and being near Angelica as much as possible.

My heart thuds in a quick rhythm while I climb, Angelica’s heels tapping against the wooden stairs behind me. We’re going out to celebrate after this. Anyplace she wants. It’s going to feel so good to have my life squared away again.

Whatever’s going on with her brother, we’ll be able to sort it out together.

I stop on the first landing, and Angelica stops short of running into me. Her cheeks are pink from the trek up the stairs.

I love you.

I want to say the words out loud, but now’s not the time.

Tonight at dinner. That’s when I’ll tell her.

Angelica looks to the side, then back at me. “Are you—okay?”

I kiss her on the cheek. “I will be very shortly.”

We go straight into Cook’s office. His secretary has been expecting us, and she comes in behind us with two glasses of sparkling water on a tray. The size of the building is misleading—Cook’s firm is one of the most sought-after in the city, but most of their staff works in a different building. It gives clients like myself an extra layer of privacy. There are some people working on the lower level who are never allowed to attach names to the accounts they work on.

“Mr. Brandon,” Cook says, standing up from behind his desk and extending his hand. He’s a silver fox—probably the original silver fox. Every time I see him, I think they should put his picture on the Wikipedia article for accountants.

“What do you have for me, Cook?”

“Ah,” he says, looking mildly uncomfortable.

The secretary sets the small tray with the glasses on the surface of Cook’s desk. “Can I get you anything else, Mr. Brandon?”

“No, thank you.” She’s gone in a flash, closing the door discreetly behind her.

Cook remains standing, then offers his hand to Angelica. “Jackson Cook,” he says as they shake.

“Angelica Chandler.”

“Lovely name.” He gives her a genuine smile as he says it, but when he turns to me his expression is serious. “Jett, I hate to put you in an uncomfortable situation, but....”

I know what he’s asking. “She can stay. It’s all right.”

Cook nods, then takes his seat. Angelica takes the chair on the left—ornate, with leather padding—and I take my usual seat on the right. She doesn’t reach for my hand, but tucks both of hers onto her lap.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” Cook says. “I’m waiting on one final piece of information. I wanted to get in contact with you as soon as possible in case you were a distance across town or wanted to arrange another time to meet—.”

The handset on his desk rings, loud and shrill. “One moment,” Cook says, excusing himself to take the call. “Cook.” He pulls a legal pad from the center of his desk toward him and picks up a thick ballpoint pen from a groove at the edge. “Yes.” He writes some figure on the pad. “Correct.” Another scribble. “Yes, it’s relevant.” Another piece of writing.

The urge to leap up and pace, moving to kill time, is strong. I don’t give in. I stay seated and glance over at Angelica. Her lips are pressed tightly together, and her face is oddly pale. Dinner sooner rather than later, I think.

“Thank you, Damon,” Cook says and hangs up the handset gently. “I’m sorry about that, Mr. Brandon.”

I wave away the apology. “Quick, Cook. I want to know what’s happened with my accounts.”

“It’s a very odd circumstance, Mr. Brandon. What we’ve uncovered is not, as we first suspected, due in any way to the automated investment system. I’ve had a team of people working on this since we last spoke, and they’ve confirmed that.”

My chest tightens. “What the hell is it, then?”

“It was difficult to pinpoint exactly what was happening, because many of these transactions were being moved between your own accounts. Earlier today, one of the members of my team uncovered the culprit. It’s an outside account disguised to look like one of your own.”

My skin goes hot. “Are you telling me that someone hacked my account?”

“It appears so, Mr. Brandon.” Cook looks me in the eye despite the color coming to his cheeks.

“Your servers are supposed to be secure.”

“That’s the thing, Jett.” Cook folds his hands on top of the legal pad. “In all, we’ve accounted for close to a million dollars in moved funds, with two hundred thousand already deposited into that account.”

I grit my teeth together.

No way.

“Rest assured, please,” Cook says, clearly struggling to keep his tone even, reassuring, “that all of this money will be returned to your accounts. We’ve already started the process of—”

I slap my hand down on the surface of the desk. “How did you let this happen?”

“Well...we didn’t, as a matter of fact.”

“What?”

“Our tech personnel were able to track where the access originated from. Everything that happened was started from your personal computer.”

My mind can’t make sense of this. What in the literal fuck is Cook trying to say?

“I didn’t steal my own money.”

“I’m not suggesting that. But someone had to have access to—”

I stand up, towering over Cook. “Wonderful. I assume we’re in the process of launching a full investigation to catch whatever greedy piece of shit did this?”

“Absolutely, Mr. Brandon. And again, I—”

“Wait.”

Angelica’s interruption is the last thing I expected to happen.

We both turn to look at her.

“What is it, Angelica?”

Her eyes fill with tears.