Page 143 of Dating Goals
“He must’ve known we were coming,” Kevin says, looking disappointed.
I shake my head. “No. He’s here. I can feel it.”
There’s only one place he could be.
“The study,” I announce. “I know where he is.”
Everyone stops and turns toward me.
“Follow me.”
I lead the group through the mansion’s twisting corridors, past priceless art and gaudy displays of wealth. The farther we go, the more I recognize from that night. The night Wilde sent Anika down that tunnel. How things have changed since then.
“There.” I point to an ornate door at the end of a hallway. “He’s in there.”
We approach quietly, and I press my ear against the door. Paper shredding. Furious typing. Muttered curses.
I look back at my friends, all wearing identical expressions of determination, and nod. Then I throw open the door.
Malcolm Chase stands over a paper shredder, feeding documents into it like he’s Oliver Freaking North. A computer screen flickers with deletion progress bars. He freezes mid-shred, face pale as fourteen people and one bird file into his study, forming a semicircle around his desk.
“Going somewhere, Malcolm?” I ask pleasantly.
His eyes dart between us and the bookcase against the far wall.
“What is the meaning of this?” he sputters, dropping the papers and adjusting his silk robe like we’ve interrupted his morning tea rather than his crime spree. “This is a private residence!”
Only then does he recognize everyone wearing Titans jerseys. “Jablonski? O’Malley? Ellis?” Then his eyes narrow on me. “And you, McGregor. What the hell are you doing in my home?”
“What am I doing? Well, let’s see.” I tap my stick against my palm. “First, I won back the money you stole from investors. And now, I’m here to watch you get arrested.”
Malcolm inches toward the bookcase as he speaks. “This vendetta against me is absurd. I’ve only ever acted in the best interests of the Toronto Titans.”
“Is that why you created a Ponzi scheme disguised as team stock?” Owen asks.
“Or why you’ve been siphoning money into offshore accounts for years?” Hendrix adds.
“This is absurd.” Chase tries to regain his composure. “I’m a respected businessman.”
“Not for much longer,” Mikael says, expression cold.
“You underpaid the female staff for years,” Hannah says.
“Just ask Nancy Lambert,” Emily adds.
Malcolm scoffs. “Nancy Lambert is in jail, where she belongs. My lawyers will have this sorted by lunch.”
“I’d like to see them try.” Siobhan steps forward, tablet in hand. “I’ve accessed your encrypted servers. All eighteen of them, including the ones in the Caymans you thought were untraceable.”
Malcolm pales. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I sent copies to the FIS, FBI, CSA, and NHL Commissioner’s office,” she continues. “Oh, and I tweeted your offshore account numbers. They’re trending.”
Sawyer grins at his sister. “She’s wicked smart.”
Uncle Whitey laughs, adjusting his flat cap. “Listen here, ya posh eejit. I’ve been runnin’ circles around the Garda since before ye were in short pants, and even I know better than to keep incriminatin’ evidence in me own feckin’ house!”
Otto squawks from Maggie’s shoulder: “Busted, nerd!”
