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“You need to lay off the smokes,” Chance says.
Shankle ignores him. “I assume at least you, Chance, know that your father had other investments outside the ranch.”
“Sure,” Chance says casually.
“First, let me assure you that all the money generated from the Bridger Ranch is clean. I made sure your father’s personal funds were never commingled with that of the family land.”
An anvil settles in my gut. I’ve got a real bad feeling about what’s coming.
“Just spit it out.” Miles rakes his fingers through his blond locks.
“Bridger Investments has majority holdings in many chemical plants throughout the US and Canada. The DOJ says they have evidence that several of the plants here in the states have been illegally disposing of hazardous materials in direct violation of EPA regulations. If these allegations are proved…”
“Just say it,” Chance says.
“There are criminal penalties.” Shankle coughs again.
“You mean prison time?” I ask, completely astounded. What the fuck have I walked into?
“Yes, but since you and Miles have had nothing to do with your father’s business, it won’t affect either of you.”
“Hey”—Chance rises, his gaze landing on Shankle—“I knew—know—nothing about my father’s other holdings. He shared nothing with me. Nothing.”
“And you never asked?” Shankle says.
“The few times I did, he told me to mind my own fucking business. I’m a rancher. That’s it. I had nothing to do with anything else.”
“It’ll be a harder sell since you lived and worked beside him.” Shankle adjusts his bolo. “But we can probably prove you knew nothing.”
I regard my youngest half brother. His fair complexion has gone even paler. He’s scared, and pissed based on the way his jaw is clenched. For good reason. Chance has been a pain in my ass, but the man’s not a criminal.
“That’ll keep you out of the slammer,” Shankle continues, “but that’s not the only criminal penalty you might get. There are hefty fines. Plus you three will be ordered to clean up your mess.”
“Our mess?” This time I stand. “We didn’t have anything to do with this.”
“No, but your father did, and someone has to take responsibility in civil court. You’re his heirs.”
Right. The billion fucking heirs.
“For fuck’s sake.” I shake my head.
“Look, nothing’s been proven yet, but they clearly have evidence, otherwise they wouldn’t be threatening to freeze the assets.”
“Something is off about this.” Chance stands and paces behind the oversized leather couch. “My father may have been a first-class bastard, but he wasn’t stupid. If he had a fail-safe in place, he would have made arrangements for an untimely demise.”
“Yeah, he had enough time to create his ironclad will that’s got me sitting here instead of getting bagels at a shop on Fifty-Eighth Street,” Miles says.
“Would he have though?” I ask. “He died suddenly, right? Of an aneurysm?”
Shankle nods. “Yeah, and it was unexpected. Chance can tell you that Jonathan was lean and mean. The chance of an aneurysm, even at his age of fifty-eight, was slim to none, especially with no family history.”
“So where is this investigation coming from?” I demand. “Some whistleblower he paid to keep quiet?”
“Give the boy a silver dollar.” Shankle smiles.
If he calls me boy one more time…
But I’ve got worse shit to deal with.
