I woke up Friday morning wrapped in Christian's arms. After dinner the night before, Christian had disappeared with Carrick, no doubt to discuss what may happen with Elena. I'd expected him to be anxious when he came to bed. Instead, he was playful. He mentioned the apartment and ideas he had of making some adjustments, so it was more our space. We also considered becoming more public about our relationship once I started at Grey Publishing. And as we crawled into bed, we'd talked about my request to see his playroom.
That had led to a frank and honest discussion about what I liked sexually, so far, Christian making a range of suggestions that intrigued me. I'd never be a true submissive, but that didn't mean I was unwilling to play. As I'd explained, I had a man with an entire room dedicated to sex—it seemed wasteful not to at least try things out!
Now, watching Christian sleep, I asked the universe to bring good news his way today. After everything that bitch did to him, he deserved it.
On the dot of 8:00 am, his phone rang. Reaching over him, I grabbed it from his bedside, disconnecting the charging cable, and answered it. The screen announced it as Taylor calling, so I didn't think Christian would mind.
"Hello?"
"Good morning, Ms. Steele, is Mr. Grey available?" Taylor sounded relaxed enough, so hopefully not bad news.
"Just a minute," I said, watching as Christian's eyes opened. Giving him a moment to sit upright in bed, pulling the duvet up to cover himself, I passed him his phone, mouthing 'Taylor.'
"How did it go?" Christian asked, referring to the searches of the salons the night before. As he leaned back against the bedhead and flicked his cell onto speaker, placing it onto the duvet, he held his arm up for me to cuddle into his side, which I did.
"Well, sir. Better than well, actually. While there were no lifestyle materials at the salons, when we inspected her desk at the Pike Market salon, we found details of three untraceable offshore bank accounts. Stupid bitch had the account numbers and passwords written on a post-it note stuck to the underside of the desk in her top drawer."
"What's the balance?" Christian asked, playing with my hair.
"Two of them were transfer accounts. She was using them to shift funds from America. Looking at the dates, she'd then wire the money to the third account. That one had just over two million in it."
"You don't say?" Christian said, a lazy smile spreading across his lips. "It would be unfortunate if..."
"Like I said. Had. And numbers and passwords have disappeared."
"Completely untraceable?"
"No. It was actioned via Mrs. Lincoln's laptop. Turns out her Wi-Fi works from halfway down the block. The laptop's been deep cleaned and 'returned' to her outside deck. When it's found, there's nothing relating to you on there."
Christian chuckled. "Genius! And the FBI?"
"Will be at her home in an hour."
"Please make sure you record it for me. In fact, call back with live video. This, I am going to want to see!"
"Shall do, sir," Taylor said, disconnecting the call with nothing further.
As soon as the call ended, Christian was all over me, kissing and laughing. Returning his kisses, I waited for his amusement to subside.
"I only understood about half of that," I admitted, grateful it seemed like good news. Pulling me to sit on his lap, incidentally one of my favorite places in the world, Christian explained.
"So, you've heard of offshore accounts, right?" I nodded, following that part. "The reason some people have them is to avoid paying tax. But you need more than one. What you do is transfer money from an American bank to the first offshore account. If they want, the IRS can see those outbound transfers as they can call on the records of any bank with a branch in America. Once the money hits the first offshore account, you wire it to another offshore account, often in a second country. Once the money hits that second account, it's essentially untraceable."
"Ok. Elena has two offshore accounts she's used to transfer money to a third?" I checked.
"Exactly. The IRS will already know about accounts one and two. Her American banks will verify the outgoing transfers to two offshore accounts. It's highly unlikely they know about account three. I mean, they'll know there is at least one because that's how these things work, but they won't know the details. Even if they get that information, the two million from that third account has now been transferred across to another account."
"So how does that work? Is it one of yours? Can't they trace it?"
"Yes, and no, they can't. The worst-case scenario is Elena can remember her third account's details and gives the IRS access. All they'll see is a transfer to a fourth untraceable offshore account. A series of numbers with no name attached to it. A transfer made from her laptop—something easily confirmed by her internet data logs. It will look like she's still trying to hide the money."
"Won't that piss the IRS off?" I asked.
"That's the point. When the IRS goes after tax evaders, they're more lenient if they can recover the money. This makes it look like Elena has intentionally hidden the cash from them. Twice. And even if she wanted to help the IRS recover it, she can't. It's gone."
"Do people do that? Hide it?"
"Many do," he confirmed. "White-collar sentences are usually served in the less scary prisons. A five-year prison stay, then disappearing to a non-extradition country, potentially with millions to live off? Some people think it's worth it."
"I can see how that would appeal," I admitted.
"That's why, in situations where they can't recover the money, the IRS is more punitive. Plus, with Elena's local assets seized, her jewelry and other high-cost items lost in the break-in, and her offshore stash of money gone, she won't be able to fund a decent defense. That's if she can find an attorney able to take her on."
"Why would she have trouble finding an attorney?" I was like a babe in the woods with this sort of thing.
"Law firms can't take on clients on opposing sides or part of a case. It wouldn't be ethical. While GEH mostly uses our own legal team, from time to time we outsource for various reasons. Over the last week, my legal team has contacted every firm in Washington, and neighboring states, with experience in tax evasion cases. They're now all under retainer. As a party defrauded by Elena, they can't represent me and her. Without the resources to hire experienced talent from the east coast, she'll have to rely on a second, or third-rate attorney."
I shivered. Christian was playing dirty. "I almost feel sorry for her," I muttered.
"Don't," he replied with a sigh. "She'll get away without prosecution for molesting me and at least two other young men. Increasing the sentence she receives for the tax fraud kind of balances things out."
Hearing that confirmed my resolve. Christian was right. If she would not serve time for seducing and abusing children, the IRS might as well get double their pound of flesh.
"Don't the law firms know you're not actually going to use them?" I asked.
"Of course they do. But with a retainer check and the GEH name, it's not worth potentially pissing me off. They're being paid to stay away from a case they're bound to lose, with the possibility I might use them for something else in the future. For them, it's money for jam."
We showered with kisses and cuddles but no hanky panky. Twenty minutes later, we were downstairs. Mrs. Bridge, and the family, nowhere in sight, I offered to make my man breakfast.
"You don't have to. I can find Mrs. Bridge," Christian stated.
"Or you could let your girlfriend cook for you. I enjoy looking after you. Let me?"
"If you insist," Christian replied with a grin. If I liked looking after him, he appeared to enjoy being looked after.
"What do you fancy?" I checked.
"Anything you put in front of me will be fine."
After a quick reconnaissance of the fridge, I decided on poached eggs, smoked salmon, and arugula on toasted English muffins topped with homemade hollandaise. Fancy sounding, it took no time at all to make. Making my man a coffee, and myself a tea, ten minutes later our breakfast was ready. Christian was mopping up the last of the egg yolk from the plate with his English muffin when Elliot appeared.
"That looks good," he groaned, watching me finish my serve. "Any chance...?" He used his best puppy dog eyes, hoping I'd cook for him.
"None," Christian said to Elliot on my behalf, taking my now empty plate and putting it in the sink alongside his own. "Come on, baby. Let's go back upstairs."
Grasping my hand, Christian led me back up to our room. He was expecting Taylor to call any minute.
"I told Ros about my BDSM past last night," he mentioned as we cuddled together in bed. "Not everything. Just enough in case Elena lets the cat out of the bag and it becomes an issue for GEH."
"What did she say?"
"She wasn't too surprised. I am pretty dominant at work. She asked me if I had a dungeon, then demanded she and Gwen get a tour." I giggled, unable to picture Christian opening his sex room to show his COO and her wife. "Like that's ever going to happen."
At a few minutes to nine, Montana time, Christian's phone lit up with an incoming video call. As expected, it was Taylor.
"I can't be seen to know about the arrest in advance," he explained as he positioned his phone into a dash caddy, the camera trained on a nondescript townhouse in a well-to neighborhood. "I've got an operative scheduled to walk their dog past at the right time, so we'll get a close-up recording, but if you want to see it go down live, this will have to do."
Christian commented that was fine. Taylor had only just finished setting up the camera when a car pulled up, followed by a SPD cruiser. At 8:00 am, Seattle time, it was still early.
"Why are the Seattle Police there?" I asked.
"The FBI can seek the help of local law enforcement to take suspects into custody," Taylor explained. "Looks like it's a go!"
The FBI agents got out of the car. I recognized them as Tjhai and Armstrong. Two SPD officers joined them, knocking on the front door. It was quite a few minutes later when the door opened. Not made up, and wearing a flimsy bathrobe, Mrs. Lincoln was far from looking her best. After a moment of conversation, the four followed Elena inside, to re-emerge soon after. Elena now dressed in black yoga pants and a sweater, she'd scraped her sparse hair up into a ponytail, and changed her slippers over for joggers. With her hands cuffed in front of her, they led her to the waiting SPD patrol car.
Taylor was parked too far away for us to hear what was being said, although we could see his dog walker and presumably several neighbors closer by, witnessing Mrs. Lincoln's fall from grace. What was clear is Elena wasn't invoking her right to silence. She was going off like a frog in a sock, having plenty to say. More than one of her neighbors was filming the debacle, so it would no doubt become front-page news on the society pages. And then, less than ten minutes after it began, the cars pulled away and Mrs. Lincoln had been arrested.
"Do you think she said anything?" I asked Christian.
"We'll know in a second," Taylor said, as the neighbors dissipated and the dogwalker approached the car, opening the back door. "Make sure it stays on the blanket. I don't want a mess," Taylor grumbled, no doubt referring to the German Shepard the guy had been walking. "What did she say?" he asked the guy who got into the passenger seat.
"I've got it all recorded, but nothing of note. She claimed it was all a big misunderstanding, that she would never evade her taxes yada yada. She tried to threaten them by mentioning she had friends in high places who would make them pay for what they were trying to do."
"So far, so good," Christian said to Taylor. "Send me a copy of both videos, and keep me in the loop about anything else I need to know."
By the time the rest of the family emerged for the day, it was closer to brunch time. Mia immediately set about making a pitcher of mimosas, Carrick giving Grace a pointed look. Christian told me about his conversation with Grace about Mia's drinking. I'm certain it would cause a family discussion over the weekend.
"I wouldn't usually condone drinking this early on a Friday morning," Christian said once we all had a glass, "however my former business partner was picked up on tax evasion charges by the FBI and IRS," he announced jubilantly. "Thanks to an audit of the salons, it's clear I am not involved, and in fact, she has also defrauded me. I think that deserves a toast!"
"And that's how it's done. BOOM!" Elliot said, grinning like an idiot as he tossed back his loaded orange juice.
"I never understood why you worked with her in the first place," Mia commented. Unaware of the complex history Christian and Elena shared, she wasn't in a place to appreciate the many layers of control and manipulation 'Aunty Elena' had wielded over the years.
Christian shrugged off Mia's remark, while his eyes met his father's.
"It all went smoothly?" Carrick asked, his eyes asking a different question.
"As well as I could hope. She still needs to be questioned and charged, but she's facing jail time, and quite a bit of it."
"I never liked that woman," Grandma Adele said, speaking to Grace. "I can't put my finger on it, but there's always been something shifty about her. It's a good thing the family is shot of her! I do hope you'll get your money back," she said to Christian, patting him on the arm.
"Actually, I'll do rather well out of the whole business," my man grinned. "Our contract has both morality and felony clauses. If she's convicted, ownership of the salons, in their entirety, revert to me."
I wondered about the two-million Christian had siphoned off from her offshore account. Even though the money was untraceable, keeping it didn't sit well with me. I'd have to ask Christian later what he planned to do with it.
"Well, that sounds like a reason for another mimosa," Mia said, her laugh tinkling as she refreshed the glasses.
"Grace, Carrick? If you will not say something, then I will," Adele said, not touching her second mimosa. "When is someone going to address the fact that my granddaughter lives an indolent existence and has become a lush to boot?!"
What had started as a pleasant family chat over brunch turned south pretty quickly. Mia, affronted by her grandmother's words, took off to her bedroom, closely followed by Grace. After quickly filling Elliot in about Mia's overindulgences with alcohol, Carrick, Elliot, and Christian also left to speak with Mia.
Grandpa Theo was telling Adele off about "knowing her place," the two departing to their suite to discuss the matter in private, leaving Mrs. Bridge and me standing at the kitchen counter in embarrassed silence.
"I'd better get started on those salads if we're going to be ready to entertain tonight," she mumbled. Mia and Adele were meant to assist Mrs. Bridge, however, given the current climate of the house, I suspected it would be quite some time before we saw either.
"Please, let me help. I don't know how to make anything fancy, but I can follow directions."
"That would be a Godsend, thank you," Mrs. Bridge replied, passing me an apron and putting me to work.
"You know, I enjoy seeing you in the kitchen." Christian wrapped his arms around me from behind, kissing my neck and pressing himself up hard against me as his parents and brother also arrived in the kitchen.
"Oh, do you now?" I asked with a giggle. Mrs. Bridge and I had been preparing food for the last four hours, stopping only for a light lunch. An hour ago, Adele had emerged to assist, and now Carrick, Grace, Elliot, and Christian were back downstairs. Grace's eyes were red-rimmed, and she looked far from happy.
"Grace? Can you get your father? He needs to hear this," Carrick said, not unkindly to his wife. Nodding, Grace walked toward her parent's suite. When she returned, her father in tow, Carrick spoke.
"Adele, while you didn't raise the issue when and as we might have liked your comments about Mia were correct. We've spoken to her, and she admits she has no direction in life, and additionally, she has a drinking problem. After much discussion, she's decided that as of Monday, she will go to an inpatient rehabilitation program an hour outside Seattle. It's a live-in facility, and she will be there for at least a month."
While the Grey's had money, I knew Christian would pay for Mia's rehab. He felt responsible for Mia ending up this way, no matter how many times I'd told him otherwise.
"At the conclusion of her program, if she can't find a job or a reputable course that interests her, Mia will work for one of her brothers or myself. She will live at home where Grace and I will continue to support her, and her security detail will remain, however, Christian is taking away her credit card. As a young, working woman with no expenses, she should easily be able to live off her income."
"I think that is wise," Theo said. "These aren't the old days where a woman killed time waiting to find a husband to support her. That girl needs to find something to occupy her time and an income."
"I've spoken to the facility where she'll be staying," Grace said, obviously struggling. "With the amount Mia has been drinking, they want to do a supervised detox. When Mia joins us tonight, she is allowed to drink, although at minimal levels. Carrick and I will fly home Sunday night to take her to the residence on Monday."
"I thought we'd return home then too, baby," Christian said to me as well as the rest of his family. "With Elena in custody, it would be good to be close by in case I'm needed."
"Then we might as well all go," Theo said before Elliot made his excuses. "Although don't think this excuses you all from a full week in summer."
Adele nodded, her eyes fixed on Christian. "Especially you, boy. You've missed too many summers to mention. Put it in your diary, now—your grandfather and I expect you and Ana here for an entire week, and I won't accept any excuses!"
Christian nodded as I smirked. Seeing Christian put in place by his diminutive grandmother was amusing.
"I actually had a good night," Christian said as he slid into bed beside me, fresh from his shower and blissfully naked. Adele and Theo's friends were witty and erudite, and Theo was in his element, showing off his two successful grandsons. Most of them had met Elliot before over the years, so Christian was receiving most of the attention. I might have worried Elliot would be offended had he not disappeared mid-way through the night to give one young lady a 'tour of the property.' Given it was pitch-black outside the outdoor entertaining area, I imagined their tour was relatively circumscribed.
Mia kept to herself, mostly setting out the food Mrs. Bridge and I had prepared earlier. While Gramps was parading Christian around, I spent some time chatting and keeping Mia company. She didn't raise the information about her rehab, so I didn't mention it—instead keeping the conversation general.
"Is Mia ok about the whole rehab thing?" I asked, now Christian and I were finally alone.
"I think she's relieved. She knew she had a problem and was embarrassed to ask. There were a lot of tears, but she's committed to giving it a go."
I cuddled tight against my man, enjoying the feel of his skin against mine.
"It's been a pretty full-on day," I murmured, yawning and closing my eyes.
"It has," Christian agreed, turning off the bedside light before pulling the duvet tight across us both.