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Once the line went dead, I stared at the wood grain of my desk, completely unable to move. To think. I wasn’t even sure I was breathing. A knock sounded on my door, seconds or minutes or hours later.
“Who is it?” I could barely raise my voice enough to be heard.
“Damian.” He pushed open the door, poking his head in. “Can I?”
“Why are you even asking?” I slumped back into my seat.
“I didn’t want to interrupt…whatever.” He shut the door behind him, raking his hand through his chestnut and dirty blond tresses.
“Oh, you mean my slow and inevitable decline into depression? Don’t worry. I’m already there.”
He didn’t even react to my words. Instead, he paced the far wall, deep in thought. “So, let’s think. Let’s do the thought experiment. What’s the worst that can happen here?”
“The entire business goes under,” I told him. I didn’t even have to think about the worst possible outcomes, since they lived rent-free in my head since the letter had arrived. “We have to let go almost one hundred dedicated and loyal employees. Our reputations tank and we can never do business in the wealth management world again. We get convicted of fraud and go to fucking prison.”
He stopped pacing, finally meeting my gaze. “Right. That’s the part that concerns me.”
“Yeah. Me too.” I let my forehead drop to my desk. “How confident are you and Trace in the extra-vestments?”
“Not confident at all, when it comes to the SEC.” He resumed pacing.
“Great.” I slammed my fist against the top of my desk, making the pen cup jump. “This is great.”
“Trace is on the phone with one of our lawyers who specializes in these investigations,” Damian said. “We’ll have more info soon.”
“Cannot wait.”
“Axel, if anyone goes to prison, the max sentence is twenty years but there’s a high chance it will be much less,” Damian said, his words coming out rushed. “If we prepare for the worst, then anything less will come as a huge relief.”
“Prison was not in my five-year plan, bro. Nor was losing our entire business.”
He stopped pacing again. “We can make this work. Whatever happens, we can make it work.”
“Says the man who invented the algorithm the SEC is taking a keen interest in.”
“I thought you’d be a little more positive about this,” Damian snapped. “You spend your life talking shit about anyone who dares to rain on your parade, but you get one letter from the SEC and you crumble like this? Come on.”
I glared at him over the tops of my forearms, where I’d buried my head on my desk. “Fuck off. I need a day.”
He expelled an irritated burst of air and headed for the door. “I’ll keep you updated.”
“I love you,” I called out as he opened the door.
“I love you too,” he muttered, then slammed the door behind him.
Silence consumed my office, and that’s when the nausea began to creep in. I swiveled my chair so I could line up with my trash can if need be. This was the mother of all Mondays. I wasn’t sure I’d make it through alive. Even the promise of Cora’s arrival didn’t help. In fact, it barely registered. Nothing registered, except the all-encompassing doom that covered my life like a storm cloud.
Who the fuck reported us to the SEC? And with what information?
Did it have anything to do with losing the Goodwyn account?
And what the fuck with that reporter asking about the SEC during the press conference?
I buried my head in my arms again, groaning exaggeratedly. It didn’t help. Nothing did.
A soft knock barely made me stir. “Come in, I guess,” I shouted, since I couldn’t lift my head to project toward the door.
The door opened and closed. And then a moment later, arms were around me. The soft scents of clementines and Tahitian vanilla invaded my senses. Cora.
