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We went back to it, Flynn flipping from page to computer and back to the diary as he searched down each investment against the ones Mum talked about. Pausing to watch him, I leaned my head on his shoulder and waited.
“This could be big,” I murmured, trying to fit the puzzle pieces together in my mind.
“Talk me through it,” Ryder offered congenially.
“Ignoring the personal parts of the diaries, the rest is almost a rambling investor’s report. She explained exactly why she made certain investments.”
“Is it time to call Professor Reid?” Flynn asked. “Because I’m thinking that if these diary entries match up to the investments, we’ve got detailed justification for so many of the moves your mum made.”
I hesitated. I wanted to rub the dickhead’s face in it. I wanted to shout from the rooftops that his careful research meant fucking squat. Mum knew exactly what she was doing. She had a good reason for making the investments, and maybe, just maybe, the whole company fell apart after her death because she was the lynchpin holding the whole fucking thing together. Maybe it was everyone else’s incompetence that made all those people lose their money.
But I wasn’t sure we were there yet. Flynn needed to check the transactions, matching up the dates in the diary with investment funds coming in or going out. We also needed to verify the information in her entries. Were the companies performing as well as she thought they were? We needed more eyes checking them out, or it was going to take too long to get through everything.
I bit down on my lip and made the decision. I needed to act. “Call Professor Reid. Let’s see if we can send him some company names. Maybe he can get some of the other students to check their performances over the relevant years. If we can verify that they were doing as well as Mum said they were, that’s pretty concrete evidence they were good investments.”
“Agreed.” Flynn dialled the professor’s number, and after a few short rings, he answered. I only heard half the conversation, but I gathered from Flynn’s surprised “Oh” and stuttered explanation of where the Noble Steed was docked that the hot professor had invited himself over. Flynn hung up. “Ah, he’s coming here. Is that okay? I should have asked.”
“It’s fine,” I reassured him, waving off his concern. “I don’t mind.”
“Aye aye, Cap’n,” Flynn teased, and I snorted out a laugh, rolling my eyes at him.
Less than forty minutes later, Professor Reid was standing on the dock, messaging Flynn.Am I in the right spot? The Noble Steed?
Flynn showed me his phone, and I smirked. Of course he’d underestimated me. I peeled myself off the couch, stepped over Flynn’s outstretched legs, and padded out to the deck. I met him at the gangway and opened the security gate for him to walk across.
I put on my sweetest voice. “Morning, professor. Come aboard. Watch your step as you cross.”
“This is some yacht,” he called, still gazing at its sleek lines. It was beautiful; I’d fallen for her the moment I saw her plans. The hull, platinum in colour, came to a point at the bow, high enough out of the water that when the engines were fully open and it was cruising, it looked like a bullet skimming on the surface. The floor-to-ceiling glass that ran along the sides of the boat, partially hidden from view by the walkways up the side of each deck, were tinted black. There were no straight lines along the hull. From the point at the bow, it sloped up and over, meeting the waterline at the stern in an elongated arc.
“I think you’ll be interested in what we’ve found.” I led him inside and introduced him to Ryder. “Ry was my brother’s best friend.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Yeah, me too.” Ryder had his laptop packed and the paperwork he’d been flipping through neatly clipped to a board. With a tight smile directed my way, Ry added, “I’ll make myself scarce.”
He slipped out, the professor’s gaze following him as he turned in the opposite direction to where we’d come from only moments earlier. “Is he leaving?” he asked.
“No, he’ll be down in the engine room for a bit.” It didn’t take a genius to understand what the professor was trying to get at while attempting not to sound nosy.
“Does he live aboard?”
“Yes. He looks after the yacht, my cars, plane, and—” I shrugged. “—me. He cooks, cleans, basically anything I need.”
The professor huffed out a derisive laugh. “Spoilt kitten.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and narrowed my eyes. I probably didn’t look very intimidating in thigh-length white stockings with lace embroidered around their scalloped edges, white jean shorts, and a cropped grey jumper that was hanging off one shoulder. But what the fuck? Spoilt? He didn’t know me. Underestimating me was one thing—assuming I was some trust fund baby was quite another. “Excuse me?”
“You’re spoilt. This yacht has got to be worth at least a few million.”
“Thirty, actually. What are you getting at, professor? Come right out and say it.”
“Okay.” He nodded again slowly. “You’ve got a generous sugar daddy.”
I huffed out a laugh, but it held no humour. “The Noble Steed is mine.”
His eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he buried his surprise under a wall of indifferent disbelief.
Patting the professor on his cheek like a dog, I smirked when his eyes flashed molten emerald. Leaning forward as if telling him a secret, I mock-whispered, “I stole it.”
