“I want you to sell them off, but do it quietly. I don’t want to start raising any red flags.”

I’ve got Charles from the London office on speaker phone and Larry is sitting in the chair across from me. I figured it was best to get the word out in one go, rather than tell each of them separately.

I haven’t told either of them about what I found in Kevin’s files. I know that Kevin suspected that someone in Bennett Financial was working with Excelsior. Unfortunately, it didn’t look like he found out who it was, or at least if he had, he hadn’t recorded it either digitally or in any of his paperwork. I know I trust Larry, and Kevin always mentioned how trustworthy Charles is. All the same, I’m taking no chances.

“Right, right. Damn shame though, they’re still performing brilliantly,” Charles sighs, but quickly adds, “ I understand why of course.”

“It does make sense…considering,” Larry adds. He looks just as upset about it as Charles sounds on the phone.

Yes, it stings to get rid of such a lucrative asset, but I would think both of them would understand the long term consequences of holding on to them. The risk is too great.

“So I suppose this also means a definite no with regard to the Excelsior buy-in,” Charles says, almost jokingly on the other end.

“It was never a consideration to begin with,” I point out, slightly irritated. “This underhanded move of theirs is all the proof I need that we were right to say no in the first place.”

“Did Kevin’s files mention exactly why they were buying the same assets or what their plan was?” Larry asks.

“No, but I do have my suspicions,” I confess. “However, not knowing is almost as bad as knowing. We deal with enough risks in this industry, I’m not about to add this wild card to the mix.”

“So, does everyone understand what to do?” I ask, looking at Larry.

“Understood,” Charles’ voice says over the speaker phone.

“Good,” I say, before pressing the button to hang up on him.

Larry is the next to go, “I think we’re making the right move here.”

“Agreed,” I say, suddenly distracted by an email notification on my computer.

* * *

Josh Upson.

I’ve been staring at his photo for at least five minutes now. A million rivers of raw emotion flow through me, converging in the bubbling ocean of bile that stirs in my stomach. Hatred. Anger. Resentment. Vengeance. Envy.

I recognized him instantly as soon as I opened the attachment in the email that the private detective sent me. The wedding might as well have been yesterday, so vivid is the memory of him and Simone. He was the photographer’s assistant who swooped in when I callously dismissed Simone as nothing more than a ‘silly, cotton candy brained,’ maid of honor.

It could have been you.

Six years. Six years the bastard had her to himself and he threw it all away. For what?

I intend to find out.

I’m certainly not going to ask Simone about it. The last thing I need or want is to ruin what we’ve just started by stirring up memories of the man she’s moved on from.

Besides, this is a reckoning that’s best handled between Josh and me, face to face, man to man, and if necessary, fist to fist. I can already feel mine curl, itching to smash right into the face that’s staring back at me with a smile so guileless it borders on stupid. Then again, I could be biased.

I reach out to press the intercom to talk to Agnes.

“Yes, Mr. Bennett?”

“Cancel anything I have going on for the rest of the day. I’ll be out of the office.”

There’s a pause, short but definite, on the other end. I have never once made the “cancel all my appointments” announcement to her. That sort of crap only happens in movies, mostly because it’s a sure way to lose business and foster a bad reputation. Yet, here I am.

“Yes, Mr. Bennett,” she responds.

I can hear the surprise in her voice, but by now Agnes knows better than to question my orders. It should be a sign that I’m acting rash. I can still feel my elevated heartbeat, a mixture of anger and the hunger for a good fight. I should know better than anyone that you don’t confront the other side while emotions are still riding high. I should stop. Let Mike and his people take care of finding out where the video came from. They are the experts and can handle it with the sort of professionalism I have no intention of indulging in.

However, neither he nor Hope Fenwell, or anyone else for that matter, know about the video. I didn’t tell my own damn attorney about it when I first saw it, and now more than ever I intend to keep it to myself. The thought of anyone else laying eyes on it only causes my blood pressure to go up one more notch.

“No Josh, this is between you and me,” I say to myself.

I’m out of my chair before I can talk myself out of it. I walk past Agnes without even making eye contact, though I can feel her curious eyes follow me to the elevator.

I jam my finger into the button. The excited anticipation inside of me builds as the seconds go by. When the elevator finally arrives I feel like a balloon that’s ready to burst.

I don’t bother with my usual driver, hailing a taxi instead. Somehow it seems more fitting. By the time I make it to SoHo where his studio is, the fervor has settled and my rational mind begins to takeover in my head.

Which doesn’t bode well for Josh Upson.