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Cal moved slowly through to the other room like he had a disease, as well. But there was nothing she could do for him. He’d brought the sickness on himself.
She studied the layout of the bank account page. There were a range of tabs, and it would take hours and financial genius she didn’t have to understand it fully, but what he said was correct. Loads of money funneled in from various sources and then back out again to a huge range of causes. There was a balance and it was impressively large, but she could never know if it was already allocated to doing good.
The next tab she opened was Cal’s personal account. There wasn’t much to it in terms of detail. A regular monthly deposit that looked suspiciously like an ordinary salary landing as it did on the same day each month and a single large deposit. It sat there bloated and ripe, ready to be plucked. She opened a new website, her own bank app, the one she’d set up for D4D, because she could be Robin Hood, too.
It took no time at all for the money in Cal’s account to transfer to hers. There was only the small problem of the need for a password to enable such a large transfer. But it was stupidly easy. Albatross.
It took a little longer to set up a new set of transfers from D4D to twenty-five of their project partners. But it took less than ten minutes to redistribute millions of dollars to where it would do the most good.
Cal could be proud; he’d taught her well.
“Come to bed, Fin. I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”
She shut down the apps and the laptop. “I’m coming.” She put it on the table beside the ring box and curiosity got the better of her. She opened it and had to jam her hand over her mouth. It was the most beautiful ring—simple, elegant, a vintage piece, filigree gold and a brilliant round white solitaire.
Some other con artist would eventually wear it.
In the bedroom, she lay on the bed still in her Bonnie clothing. “I don’t want to talk.”
“I’m sorry it had to be like this, my darling. I love you. I’m in love with you. I don’t want to go on without you and I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy.”
He opened his arms. She steeled herself not to show how it hurt to crawl into them, to put her head on his shoulder, her thigh over his legs, her hand on his lying, cheating, deceiving heart.
It took a long time for him to fall asleep. She might never sleep again. When he was out, she got up. She found the go-bag in the false bottom of a wardrobe in a guest bedroom. On the street, she hailed a cab, took it home, had the driver wait while she collected some things. Scungy watched, unamused at the early morning activity.
“I’m sorry, buddy, I have to leave for a while. Aunty Lenny will come take care of you. She won’t like it, so you have to be good or she’ll have you made into a hat.” Scungy tried to bite her when she cried into his fur. She knew how he felt.
The cab took her to the airport. From the backseat, she booked a flight, the first suitable one, and sent Lenny a text.
Dumped Cal. Bastard. Can’t stop crying. Have to get out of town. Please take care of Scungy. Owe you one. Will call when my plane lands.
It was five in the morning; she didn’t expect a response. And when Cal called she hung up on him, right before she threw her phone under the wheel of the cab and heard the satisfying crack it made as it shattered like everything she thought she knew.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Nec sinitur quiescere te homini honesto. You can’t cheat an honest man. It was the Sherwood motto, written in Latin to lend it an air of ancient wisdom. It was emblazed behind their reception desk in shiny, laser etched letters.
It was the truth, and Cal had been living a lie. He wasn’t an honest man, and he’d brought the deception down on himself when that should’ve been impossible.
Fin had done it. It wasn’t an accident or a slip up. She’d deliberately conned him. She’d let him believe she was hurt, distressed, and confused, when she’d been ready to enact her revenge. She’d accepted his arms around her, when she’d been softening him up to shove a dagger in his chest.
He’d been too arrogant, too willfully blind and stupidly devoted to see it coming.
He was a chump, a rube, an egg, a sucker.
He was the worst kind of mark there was—a lovesick fool.
It was early still when he moved through reception to his office. The rest of the family would start arriving soon, and he was a coward; he didn’t want to have to explain the early morning emergency meeting a dozen times over as they all staggered in.
He’d made the same mistake with Fin as he’d made with Rory, compounded a billion times. This time, his lies of omission and overconfidence had cost him everything.
It was a gut punch. It had him doubled over with remorse and disbelief; he felt numb and unbalanced. He’d been wrong about Fin, and he was never wrong about people. She didn’t trust him. She didn’t love him. And he’d put his whole family in danger for not understanding that.
He could trace the money, he could have the transactions reversed, and he could track her down from wherever she’d run to, but the truth was he deserved everything she’d plated up for him.
When it was time, when he knew his family would be in the boardroom, he closed his office door for the last time and joined them. There was one mistake he could correct.
Dad was the first person he saw, his chair parked at the end of the table opposite where Cal normally sat. “What is this about?”
