Fake Empire (Kensingtons Book 1)
Fake Empire: Chapter 22

I’m running on the treadmill when Asher calls. I debate answering. I slept poorly in the guest room I used to inhabit. Scarlett is still sleeping. I didn’t want to disturb her last night.

When he calls for a second time, I answer. Before I can say a word, he asks. “What the fuck is going on? Is it true?”

I falter. “Is what true?”

“Is Kensington Consolidated getting investigated for insider trading?”

Shock freezes up my limbs. I almost fall on my face. “What? Where did you hear that?”

Asher swears. “Where didn’t I? It’s all over the place, Crew. Papers, television, online. Lead story. Front page. I had to go into the back entrance of the office to avoid the fifty reporters outside.”

We need to talk more tomorrow, Crew.

Realization hits me like a sack of bricks when I recall my father’s parting words the last time we spoke. He wasn’t talking about Scarlett or Candace. Dread trickles down my spine.

I turn the treadmill off and collapse on the floor, breathing heavily. Talk about a shitstorm of a week. My brother potentially knocking up our stepmother, Hanson Ellsworth’s heart attack, and now this.

“I don’t know,” I admit.

“Aren’t you with your dad?”

“No. Scarlett’s father had a heart attack yesterday. We’re back in New York.”

Asher inhales. “Shit. Is Hanson going to pull through?”

“He should be fine.”

There’s a beat of silence. “This is a five-alarm fire, Crew. People are panicking. Phones are ringing off the hook. Stock is off the cliff.”

I scrub at my face. “Who broke the story first?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“I need you to replace out.”

“Crew, we’re way past the point of containment. This shit is everywhere. Discrediting one source isn’t going to—”

“True or not, someone leaked this,” I interrupt. “I want to know who.”

Asher sighs. “Okay. I’ll do some digging.”

I hang up and call my father. Voicemail. Call Oliver. Same.

My feeling of foreboding grows. They knew about this. Both of them.

My next call is to Brent Parsons, the head of Kensington Consolidated’s legal team. Luckily for him—assuming he wants to keep his job—he answers on the first ring. “Parsons.”

“It’s Crew. You’ve seen the news?”

“Reading it now.”

“What’s your gut?”

“There was definitely an investigation. Too many details to be totally fabricated. But if the feds had anything solid, we would have found about this very differently. Whoever leaked this probably did us a favor.”

“A favor? Stock has dropped ten points in an hour, Brent.”

“This came out sooner than they wanted. We can hit back while they still have nothing. Defamation. Document requests. I’m already coordinating with public relations on putting out a statement. Assuming there’s no smoking gun, we’ll be fine.” He hesitates. “Unless there’s anything you need to tell me?”

“If there is, I don’t know it.”

Brent sighs. “That’s probably for the best. I’ll keep you in the loop on everything. Do you want me to copy Arthur as well?”

“No. Everything goes through me.”

“You got it.”

I hang up and stalk down the hallway to take a shower. The door to our bedroom is still shut, so I head to the guest room’s bathroom. The hot water washes away the sweat, but none of the worries.

I should have taken Royce Raymond’s offer. If I had, I wouldn’t be in the middle of this shitstorm, all alone. With a pregnant wife. A kid on the way who’s supposed to inherit this burning legacy.

When I enter the kitchen, Phillipe is standing at the stove, cooking. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Kensington,” he greets.

And…of course it’s fucking Christmas. ’Tis the season for corporate espionage.

“Merry Christmas, Phillipe,” I reply. I rub my forehead, feeling the few hours of sleep I’m running on. “You didn’t need to come in today. I didn’t even realize…”

He smiles. “It’s no trouble. The usual this morning?”

“Yes, please.”

I take a seat at the table and scroll through the news as Phillipe cooks my omelet. Asher wasn’t exaggerating. It is everywhere. I scroll a few articles and get the gist of the story. There aren’t any concrete details, and that gives me some reassurance.

After eating breakfast, I end up on the living room couch, working on my laptop. I need to go into the office, but I don’t want Scarlett to wake up all alone.

It’s past eleven when she comes downstairs with wet hair, wearing a silk pajama set.

“Hey.” She stops a few feet away, running a hand through her hair self-consciously.

“Hi.” I close my laptop and lean forward. “It’s, uh, Christmas.”

Her eyes widen. “Shit, really?”

“Really.”

“Wow. I’ll…I can get dressed. I feel like I should stop by the hospital, but we can go do something after, if you want?”

I do want. Badly. I want nothing more than to drink hot chocolate and go skating and look at elaborate decorations and whatever other touristy shit people do here during the holidays that I’d normally look down upon. As long as I do it with her. But I can’t. And I have to tell her why. “I can’t. I have to go into the office.”

“On Christmas? You were supposed to have this whole week off.”

“That was before.”

“Before what?”

I nod toward the muted television. The banner at the bottom says the words I can’t seem to. Kensington Consolidated Investigated for Insider Trading, it reads.

“Fuck,” Scarlett breathes.

“Yep.”

“Is it…true?”

“I have no idea. But I’ve got to handle it, either way.”

“Can this take down the company?”

“I don’t know.” I rest my elbows on my knees and scrub my hands over my face. “The legal team is working on it. My dad and Oliver aren’t taking my calls.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means they knew about this and kept me out of the loop.”

“Maybe they were trying to protect you,” Scarlett suggests softly.

“Fuck that. This is my family’s company. My legacy. I’m supposed to be the next CEO.”

“You didn’t know anything about this. You didn’t do anything wrong. If you have to, you can start over. Start your own company.”

“If this goes that far, the Kensington name won’t be worth much.”

“Money talks.”

“Most of mine is tied up in this sinking ship.”

“I have money, Sport.”

“And you married me for mine.” I stand and grab my laptop. “So I’d better go bail out this ship, huh?”

“Crew…”

“I’m sorry I can’t go to the hospital with you. I’m going to drive myself to the office. If you want Roman to take you, just give him a call.”

“Okay,” she says.

“Okay,” I repeat.

I walk over and kiss her. It’s brief and sweet.

She grabs the inside of my elbow, holding me in place for a minute.

“Merry Christmas, Red.”

“Merry Christmas, Sport.”

The meetings last for hours. I’m drained and irritated by the time I head back toward my office.

Asher is waiting. His feet aren’t up on my desk. If I’d ever told him why this hunk of wood holds sentimental value, I know he never would have put them up in the first place. Probably why I never did. Not many people challenge me.

“Nathaniel Stewart.”

“What about him?” I ask.

“You wanted the name. He was the leak.”

I sink down into my chair. “How reliable is your source?”

“Kiera Ellis. Her father is—”

“I know who her father is.” The biggest media mogul in the country.

“There’s more to come, apparently. Nathaniel claims he has some of our internal documents. Damning ones.” Asher raises a brow. “Do those exist?”

“No idea.”

Asher shakes his head. “I’ll admit the guy made a few good investments. But he’s a bottom feeder at best. Coming after Kensington Consolidated makes no sense.”

I know exactly why he’s doing it, but I keep that to myself. Good leadership is knowing when to share—and when to shut up.

“I’ll take care of him.”

Asher shakes his head. “Plotting revenge on Christmas? That’s the Crew Kensington I know. For a while, I thought you’d gone soft.”

“Scarlett is pregnant.”

Asher whistles and leans back in his chair. “Already?”

“All it takes is one time.”

“Right. I’m sure you’ve had sex with your hot wife just the once.” He pauses. “Are you freaking out?”

“No.” I don’t correct his assumption that this is a recent development.

“Are you experiencing any emotions?” His tone is exasperated.

“Some.”

“Like…”

“I can’t picture my life without her.”

“I meant about the spawn you sired, Crew.”

“I know what you meant. But the baby isn’t here. It’s the size of a peach or something. She is.”

“Then go home and be with her.”

I want to. But I know what I’ll have to ask when I do. And it’s not a conversation I’m looking forward to.

Scarlett is curled up on the couch with Teddy when I get home, eating popcorn. I shrug off my suit jacket and loosen my tie as I walk into the living room, wishing I was in sweatpants like she is.

“Hey.” Her voice is soft. Hesitant. Unsure.

“Hi.” I take a seat near her feet. Teddy crawls over to lick my hand.

“How did it go?”

“Too soon to tell. I’ve got to wait a few things out.”

She nods.

“How is your dad?”

“He was sleeping. The doctors said that’s normal. There don’t seem to be any complications so far.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

I inhale. Exhale. Chew the inside of my cheek. “I found out who leaked the investigation to the press.”

“Really?”

“It was Nathaniel Stewart.”

I watch her reaction closely. See her eyes widen. Her lips part. “Seriously?”

“I trust my source.”

“Why would he do that?”

I hold her gaze. “I think you know why.”

Her hazel eyes widen. “I told you. Nothing happened between us.”

“I know. I believe you. He and my father were working on a deal. I put an end to it.”

“Because of me?”

“Because of you,” I confirm.

“Why?”

“Because you’re mine.”

She scoffs. “Real mature, Crew.”

“It was also a risky deal. But I wouldn’t have bothered if it were with anyone else.”

“Is there a point to this conversation?” Her tone has turned sharp. Icy.

I seethe, silently. “Nathaniel claims he has documents. Internal documents. Documents like…the ones you requested.”

She sucks in a sharp breath. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I’m not accusing you of anything. I trust you, Scarlett. I just need to know…did you tell him anything about the company? Is there anything he could use or twist or bluff—”

She stands, toppling half the pillows off the couch. “I can’t believe you. Are you seriously asking me this?”

I stand too. “I’m in the dark here, Scarlett. This…tornado just landed right on top of the company I’m first in line to inherit. People are relying on me. To lead, to keep their jobs, to save this company. If there’s anything you know, I just…”

My voice trails when I realize a horrifying fact.

She’s crying. Clear liquid streaks down her cheeks in shimmering trails. “I’m the reason you’re first in line.”

I step forward. “Red…”

She steps back, swiping angrily at her cheeks. “Fuck. You. Why don’t you just make me wear a wire if you think I’m going around spilling company secrets to any guy that so much as smiles at me?”

I rub my jaw, trying to figure out where this conversation veered so far off course. I didn’t want to bring Nathaniel up. I knew it would be a sore spot. But I had no idea it would become this. “That’s not what I’m saying. I trust you. I just—”

“There’s no just, Crew. You’re doubting me, and I’ve never doubted you. I can’t believe I—” She shakes her head. “Anything Nathaniel knows about Kensington Consolidated, he didn’t learn it from me. Happy?”

I’m about the furthest from happy a person can get right now. “No.”

“Yeah. Me neither. Merry fucking Christmas.”

I watch her stomp up the stairs.

Merry fucking Christmas, indeed.

I end up back at the office. When in doubt, work, as the Kensington family motto goes. I’m used to spending late nights and long hours inside these four walls.

I envy the employees who feel like they earned their position here. I still don’t. Maybe I never will. Some second-guessing is healthy. I don’t think never feeling like you’re working hard enough is.

Except, today, maybe for the first time, I saw it.

Respect.

Today was the most tumultuous day Kensington Consolidated has experienced since my great-grandfather took a small loan and turned it into an empire. Yet no one asked where my father was. Where Oliver was. They did exactly what I asked without question. Listened to me without questioning or whispering behind my back. And the one person I’m endlessly trying to impress—my father—wasn’t even here to see it.

And this same shitstorm made a mess between me and the one person whose feelings I care about.

I spend a couple of hours going through emails and reports. Today was spent doing damage control. Everything else was shoved to the back burner, but still needs to be dealt with.

When I finish, I pour myself a generous splash of bourbon and sprawl out on the leather couch in the corner of my office, debating whether I should go home or just sleep here. I sip and stare at the ceiling.

The knock on the door startles me. I was certain I was the only one here at this hour. I’m not entirely shocked to see Isabel is the one opening the door. She was here all day, by my side, doing anything she could to help. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I reply. “I didn’t realize anyone was still here.”

“Same. I saw the light on under the door on my way back from the restroom.”

I sit up and run a hand through my hair. “What are you still doing here?”

She walks over and takes a seat on the couch next to me. “Working.”

“At…” I glance at the clock. “Ten thirty? On Christmas?”

Isabel shrugs. “I’m not a big holiday person.”

That doesn’t surprise me at all. Although it occurs to me, I know hardly anything about Isabel outside of her professional aspirations. “Me neither.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

I sigh. Down more bourbon. “No. I fucked things up with Scarlett.”

“Oh?”

“We had a fight. It was my fault. I just—I didn’t expect it to be like this, you know? She—we—weren’t supposed to feel so real.” I drain the rest of my glass before standing and walking over to the bar cart, refilling my glass before I sink down beside her, slouching back against the couch. “Quite the damn day, huh?”

Isabel leans back, mirroring my posture. “Yeah.” She pauses. “The board’s vote will be unanimous, you know.”

“Vote about what?”

“Making you CEO.”

“I’ve got the right last name.”

“You’ve got a lot more than that, Crew.” Her left hand migrates to my knee. Before I’ve had time to process the touch, she’s sliding up my thigh with a clear destination in mind.

I’m frozen. Shocked. For some reason, this wasn’t an outcome I imagined when she entered this office. And it would be easy to let this unfold. Emotionless and empty, exactly what I used to expect from sex. Scarlett would never need to know. Maybe she wouldn’t even care after our argument earlier.

But I would know. I would care. My brain is processing what my body already knows: I only want Scarlett. My dick isn’t even reacting. And I haven’t had that much to drink.

I stand abruptly, leaving Isabel on the couch with a wounded expression. “Go.”

“Crew…”

“I said go, Isabel. I’m your boss. If you want to keep your job, you’ll never touch me inappropriately again.”

She stands, some defiance mixing with the hurt. “I won’t tell anyone about us. You can trust me.”

“There is no us, and I don’t trust you, Isabel. I’m married.”

Isabel scoffs. “Not happily.”

“I. Don’t. Want. You. Don’t test me, Isabel. You won’t like the consequences.”

Reality and stubbornness fight for space in her expression. “I’ve had a crush on you since I started here, you know. I should have made a move sooner. Apparently, I was the only person in this city unaware you were engaged to Scarlett Ellsworth. What I get for avoiding gossip, huh? But then everyone said she was cold and detached and only in it for the money. So I thought I still had a shot.”

I sigh, suddenly exhausted. “I am happily married, Isabel.”

She gives me a small, sad smile. “Yeah, I figured that out when you jumped away like I’d set the couch on fire.”

“I didn’t know you felt that way. If you want to transfer to another team, I can—”

“No. No, it won’t be an issue. I promise.”

I study her for a minute, weighing her sincerity. “I don’t give second chances.”

She swallows and bobs a nod. “I know.”

“Good.”

I watch her leave, then sink down behind my desk. If Asher ever caught wind of what just happened, I wouldn’t hear the end of it for a while. He’s the one who insisted Isabel had feelings for me. After her questions about Scarlett, I thought we’d moved past it. Thought she knew it would never happen. Even if Isabel had expressed interest sooner. I kept sex uncomplicated—and sleeping with a member of the board wasn’t that. And now… I’ve never explicitly promised Scarlett fidelity. But up until the opportunity to cheat was dropped in my lap—literally—doing so didn’t occur to me.

My phone vibrates with a text from my brother.

Oliver: I know you’ve seen the news. We’re back in NY. Meet you at the office at 8.

I stumble as I stand, either from the whiskey or the exhaustion catching up to me. But my steps are steady as I leave my exit and head toward the elevators. There’s no sign of Isabel, nor anyone else.

I know driving is a bad idea, so I flag a cab once I reach the street and give the driver the address for my family’s estate just outside of the city. The trip takes twenty minutes. I start to feel the buzz of alcohol about ten minutes in. But it doesn’t deter me.

After paying the driver and punching in the code, I walk through the front door. Automatically, my feet veer to the right, toward my father’s study. There’s already a light on, but I’m more focused on collapsing onto the couch than squinting at my surroundings.

“I hope you didn’t drive here,” my father comments, rising from behind his mahogany desk and walking over to the fireplace. He pours himself a glass of scotch and takes a seat in one of the chairs that flank the stone façade.

“Is it true?” I ask the ceiling.

My father sighs. Ice clinks as he swirls his glass. “It’s not quite as bad as the press is saying. But yes, there were some questions being asked. It was being handled.”

“Dammit, Dad. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“So you could say exactly what you’ve been telling everyone all day: you had no idea.”

“You should have told me. I’m supposed the future CEO!”

“Nothing future about it. I’m stepping down. It will be official by the end of the week.”

“I—are you fucking kidding me? You’re handing me the keys to the castle…while it’s under attack?”

“Don’t be so dramatic. The company will be fine.”

“And if it’s not?” I snap. “What the fuck then?

“They can’t touch our personal fortune, Crew.”

I exhale and sit up, relieved the walls stay where they should. “Did you do it?”

“No.” My father’s answer is swift and sure. “But…it happened.”

“What do you mean, it happened?”

“Beckett Stanley was leaking information. I found out what he was doing, and I took care of it.”

“Not by telling the authorities, I gather.”

“You know the issues that would have caused. I got rid of him and appointed Isabel to the board in his place.”

I scoff. “Issues. Sort of like the issues we’re dealing with now?”

“There’s no evidence. They won’t be able to do anything.”

I press my palms to my eyes and groan. “Jesus, Dad.”

My father studies me like I’m a science experiment. “What’s the real issue?”

“There needs to be another issue than being investigated and having stock in free fall and—”

“Crew.”

“She married me for my money,” I bite out. “She married the future CEO of a billion-dollar company. Not…this. She’ll get questions. It might even affect Haute and rouge.”

My father blinks, appearing genuinely off-guard. “This is about Scarlett?”

“Do I have another wife?” I snap. I look at my hands, clenching them into fists. “I love her, Dad. I love her so fucking much. I’m pissed at you and I’m worried about the company, but I’m fucking terrified this will change everything between us.”

A slight raise of his eyebrow is my father’s only response to the whiskey-fueled declaration. Normally, I’d rather chew on razor blades than discuss this with my father. “You have more to offer her than money, Crew.”

One of the nicer things my father has ever said to me. But… “She married me for my money,” I repeat.

“She’s the sole heir to billions and is making tens of millions off that magazine and clothing line. You really think she married you for money? She didn’t need to get married, and she didn’t need the money. Scarlett picked you. She chose to marry you.”

“Her father told her to,” I mumble.

“Because they’re so close? Because she’s easily manipulated?”

I scoff.

My father knows how to employ sarcasm. Who knew? “You must have wondered why the engagement was between you and her, not Oliver and her?”

“Oliver needed to travel and manage the international holdings, while I would make New York my home base and strengthen the family business brand.” I parrot the line he told the two of us for years.

“I decided that later. When Hanson and I first spoke about a potential arrangement, the agreement was that Oliver and Scarlett would get married. He’s oldest and stands to inherit just as much as you do. It was the logical choice, on the face of things.”

I look up. “What?”

My father strokes his chin, looking at the fire, not me. “Hanson came back to me a year later, when you were sixteen and Oliver was almost an adult. Said he would honor the agreement, but only if it changed to you and Scarlett. He was adamant about it. Something—someone—changed his mind. The only reason I ever figured he changed the terms was…he told her.”

I’m the reason you’re first in line.

I thought she meant our marriage when she said that.

“Don’t assume she didn’t choose you, Crew.”

With those parting words, my father leaves me in his dark study with a head spinning from a lot more than just alcohol.