Page 29 of Ruse
Once again, he laughs, this time louder than before. “You mean the money you’re going to owe me after you drain the bastard of everything he has,” he says, reminding me I haven’t formally given him any form of payment, you know locked trust fund and all.
I don't bother giving him a response, not that he’s expecting one from me. Instead, I sit back on the plush chair, cross my leg over my knee, and silently await his news, my glare letting him know I’m not in the mood for another one of his little metaphors.
Brent stands from his chair and walks over to the portrait of himself hanging on the wall behind him. It’s huge and gaudy, and only someone as pretentious as Brent would have one hanging in his own house. I wonder if Austin has one somewhere in his study. After all, I haven’t been inside, and he seems just as arrogant as Brent, so I’m sure he does. Maybe in his bedroom, but the thought makes me shudder in disgust.
Brent runs his fingers through his silver dyed hair. “There are few things in life us men pride ourselves on,” he says, removing the large frame, and revealing a hidden safe. “Our money, power, cars, women. Some of those hold more importance than others.” He continues speaking as he unlocks the safe, punching in a four-digit code followed by a retinal scan, and retrieves a large yellow envelope from inside. “Evolution prevails, yet men fail to learn to prioritize, putting money and power above all else, including family. Some hide it well enough, while others…”
I interrupt his theatrics before he can continue, “Cut the bullshit Brent, spill it.”
Brent throws the envelope on the desk before me, and I immediately reach for it, though I don’t open it right away. “It’s a goldmine Maverick,” he says, a wide smirk tugging at the edge of his lips. The look in his eyes tells me why he does what he does. Brent uncovers the deepest darkest secrets of the wealthiest people in all of Malibu Cove and its neighboring affluent neighborhoods. He unleashes career ending scandals, and reputation tarnishing affairs with the potential to take down entire dynasties. The worst part, he enjoys every second of it. Like a drug he’s become addicted to, the failures of others are his greatest successes.
“What is this?” I ask, undoing the small metal clasp and flipping open the flap.
“Austin Bancroft did the one thing men in his position do everything in their power to prevent. Worse than any affair, worse than his divorce, worse than even the threat of bankruptcy.” He pauses but I know it’s just for effect. “Austin Bancroft had a love child.”
My eyes fly to his and then back down to the contents of the envelope. “A child?” I ask, reaching into the envelope and retrieving a packet of photographs and a birth certificate among other things.
Brent nods, coming around the desk, and leaning back against it right in front of me. Deep indigo eyes watch me meticulously. “Younger than the twins he had with his ex-wife, but not by much. A year, maybe two. A short-lived affair that was almost impossible to track down, but I’m that good.”
Flipping through the photos, I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. Brent was right, this is gold. A man like Austin Bancroft would die if this secret came out, but worse now that my mother is in the picture, she’d threaten to leave him, that I’m almost certain of. I can’t believe she’d think a man like him who wasn’t ever faithful to his wife, could be faithful to her. If he has a child with another woman, who’s saying this bastard child is the only one out there.
“Does he know?”
Brent tugs on the birth certificate in my hand. “His name is signed on the dotted line under the name of the father, but the child doesn’t bear his last name. Better than that however, he takes care of all their monetary needs. Never kept a relationship with the mother, but either through blackmail or by law, all under wraps of course, Austin pays for both their livelihood.”
“And no one else knows?” I stare at the photo in my hand and suddenly realize the resemblance to Phoenix and Brooklyn is uncanny.
Brent shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t even think the child knows. There is no trace of an actual relationship, just a money trail.”
The smirk that spreads along my face proves how pleased and impressed he’s left me. “Thank you, Brent, you’ve outdone yourself.”
“And I’m glad you never once doubted me,” he mocks sarcastically. I roll my eyes, ignoring his jab.
“We’ll be in touch.” I stand ready to walk away when Brent moves to interrupt me. “Don’t worry the money will be in your account the moment he signs the check.”
* * *
The entire driveback to the Bancroft's mansion, of course I took the scenic route down the Pacific Coast Highway needing to clear my head and gather my thoughts, I couldn’t stop thinking about the bomb Brent had just dropped on me. A ticking time bomb capable of annihilating everything Austin Bancroft had built with his dirty hands and deceitful schemes. I knew he was a despicable human being, that much was obvious in the fact he’d had a lengthy affair with an equally married woman, and then convinced his mistress to ship her son off to boarding school across the country to cover up his infidelity.
My mom was a fucking idiot if she thought Austin cared even an ounce about her, given I’m sure he fucked his wife and countless others the entirety of their relationship. But now I had even more proof he was a disgusting son of a bitch.
An illegitimate child, a bastard not only while he was married to another woman, but something he kept hidden from my mother and the rest of the world. The best part of all of this, I knew exactly how to get to this kid.
Brent went above and beyond this time, not only getting me the child’s birth certificate, signed by Austin himself, along with a money trail of child support he paid since day one, but also gathered photos, addresses, and everything else I needed to find this person and enact part one of my plan.
In the back of my mind, way back past all logic and reasoning, there is a part of me that feels a small amount of guilt for not only outing this child in front of everyone but imagining how this revelation will affect the Bancroft children, how it will affect Phoenix. Although she hates her father probably as much as I do, this will be yet another blow to her pristine reputation, and I’m not entirely sure she can handle it. Not to mention I may feel partially responsible for her downfall, since in recent days, she’s been all I can think about.
However, that may be the exact reason I need to see this through. I can’t let any girl, no matter how beautiful, sexy, and enticing she may be, ruin everything I’ve worked so hard to accomplish.
It was already past dawn when I arrived back at the house - the sun rising to its peak in the clear blue sky, not a single cloud visible, and the ocean's waves sat silent in a blanket of calming peace. A single drop of sweat trickled down my forehead as I walked in through the foyer, not because it was already eighty degrees out, but because I couldn’t help being a tad bit nervous about what I was about to do.
I couldn't sit on this a minute longer, I needed to let Austin know I had something on him I wouldn’t be keeping to myself unless he complied with my every demand.
When I pulled into the driveway, I noticed Brooklyn pulling out, surely on his way to football practice, but both Austin and Phoenix’s cars remained where they were last night. He was home, as was she, but given how early it still was, she was most likely asleep.
Trying not to be obvious and instead lurking around in hopes Austin himself would be the one to summon me, I head over toward the living room only used to entertain his guest and pour myself a glass of his prized bottle of scotch from behind the bar. I’m not opposed to drinking so early in the morning, some days call for it, but what I intend is for Austin to see me, given the French doors of his study face the bar at the end of the room. I throw back the two fingers of single malt scotch in one swift gulp, proceeding to pour myself one more right when the doors to his office open.
“A little early for scotch isn’t it, son?” he mutters, as he struts over to where I stand, grabbing the bottle out of my hand before I can pour myself a second serving.
