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Malcolm leans closer, desperation etched into his features.

“Look, all you have to do is review the structure, confirm the company’s compliant, verify the IP transfer is in process⁠—”

I hold up my fork, stopping him.

“Is it? Is it compliant and in process?”

He pauses and swallows a bit too loudly.

“It will be, I swear.”

I narrow my eyes as I study him.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

He shifts uncomfortably as the low murmur of conversations, the clink of cutlery, and the soothing sound of classical music serenades us. Seconds tick by, and it clicks. The answer is written as clear as day all over his face.

“You already promised the investors that you’d produce this letter.”

He remains quiet.

“You used my name, didn’t you?”

“No, I only referenced your firm.”

I grip the fork tighter while I envision stabbing him in the eye and plucking it right out of his skull.

The law firm Mitchell, Keating, and Watson is known across the country, and we’ve tripled in size since the hostile takeover I facilitated a year ago. Cohen and Sullivan were old school and hadn’t seen me coming. Their lack of vision is why the names on the wall have changed. I did that, and now my cousin—my stupid, idiot cousin—threatens my reputation, and worse, my company.

“Jesus Christ, Malcolm. Are you trying to get me disbarred?”

“It’s not like that, I swear.”

“How exactly is it?”

“They were starting to get antsy, so I said we have legal oversight. They demanded to know who, and I had to give them a name.”

“No. No, you could’ve just told the truth instead of putting my company in danger. You’re nothing but a liar in a cheap suit.”

He changes tactics and chuckles, slapping a wide grin on his face.

“See…this is why clients love you. You have that theatrical air, and I’ll have you know this is not a cheap suit.”

I smack my hand down on the table. The cutlery jumps along with Malcolm and anyone within twenty feet. They all stare, but I don’t care.

“Did you or did you not tell them I approved the company structure?” My voice stays low and threatening.

I don’t normally kill for something like this, but right about now I’m willing to make an exception. Malcolm takes a bite before answering.

“No. I didn’t.”

“Did you imply it?”

He sips his drink and then stares at me in silence.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“How much trouble are you really in, Malcolm? And you better be honest with me, right now.”