Page 5
Story: Bad Little Puck Bunny
“You need to eat,” she insists, already pulling out bread and deli meat.
I don’t argue. Maria’s the kind of woman who gets her way, and honestly, the normalcy is welcomed.
“Thank you,” I say when she slides the plate in front of me.
She nods, watching me closely. “Your father’s strong. He’ll get through this.”
I don’t reply. Instead, I pick at the sandwich, my appetite nonexistent.
“I’m gonna shower,” I say after a few bites. “Let me know if anyone calls.”
Upstairs, my room feels big, empty. The walls are lined with trophies and pictures from my hockey career. In this life, hockey is all I have.
The bathroom is sleek and cold, all black tile and chrome fixtures. I crank the water hot, letting the steamfill the room before stepping in. The heat burns against my skin, but I don’t care. It’s grounding, at least.
By the time I’m out, toweling off, the knot in my stomach hasn’t loosened. I pull on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, my hair still damp, and head downstairs.
Maria’s gone, but the front door opens, and Mr. Coleman steps in, his briefcase clutched tightly. He looks harried, his tie slightly askew.
“Eli,” he says, nodding.
“About time,” I say, crossing my arms. “What’s going on?”
He sets the briefcase on the dining table, clicking it open. “It’s not good.”
“Yeah, no shit,” I snap. “Details, Coleman. Now.”
He sighs, pulling out a stack of papers. “Your father’s accounts are frozen. All of them. The board’s initiated an internal investigation, and the SEC is involved. Until the trial ends, everything remains locked down.”
“Locked down?” I sigh. “For how long?” I ask, my voice rising.
“Years, potentially,” he admits, his expression grim.
“What the fuck?” I pace the room, my hands clenched. “What about me? Do I lose everything too?”
He holds up a hand. “No. Your trust fund is safe. As of your twenty-first birthday, you’ve had access to it. It’s untouched—around twenty-five million.”
I stop pacing. “Twenty-five million?”
He nods. “And there are other investments your father set up in your name. Stocks, properties, offshore accounts. He was careful, Eli. He wanted to make sure you were secure, no matter what.”
“For a moment,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “It sounds like he was preparing for this.”
Coleman’s face tightens. “I can’t speculate on that. But your father is a meticulous man. He always plans for contingencies.”
I slump into a chair, rubbing my temples. “This is insane. My dad’s not a criminal. He’s the fucking CEO of Grayson Holdings. Why would he embezzle from his own company?”
“People do desperate things for many reasons,” Coleman says carefully.
“Not my dad,” I snap. “He doesn’t need to. We’re already rich.”
Coleman doesn’t argue. He just folds his hands on the table. “I’ll try to arrange a meeting for you to see him tomorrow. For now, stay out of the media’s way. Don’t make any statements. And if you need anything, call me.”
“Sure,” I mutter.
He stands, gathering his papers. “Eli, I know this is difficult, but we’ll get through it.”
“Yeah. Whatever.”
I don’t argue. Maria’s the kind of woman who gets her way, and honestly, the normalcy is welcomed.
“Thank you,” I say when she slides the plate in front of me.
She nods, watching me closely. “Your father’s strong. He’ll get through this.”
I don’t reply. Instead, I pick at the sandwich, my appetite nonexistent.
“I’m gonna shower,” I say after a few bites. “Let me know if anyone calls.”
Upstairs, my room feels big, empty. The walls are lined with trophies and pictures from my hockey career. In this life, hockey is all I have.
The bathroom is sleek and cold, all black tile and chrome fixtures. I crank the water hot, letting the steamfill the room before stepping in. The heat burns against my skin, but I don’t care. It’s grounding, at least.
By the time I’m out, toweling off, the knot in my stomach hasn’t loosened. I pull on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, my hair still damp, and head downstairs.
Maria’s gone, but the front door opens, and Mr. Coleman steps in, his briefcase clutched tightly. He looks harried, his tie slightly askew.
“Eli,” he says, nodding.
“About time,” I say, crossing my arms. “What’s going on?”
He sets the briefcase on the dining table, clicking it open. “It’s not good.”
“Yeah, no shit,” I snap. “Details, Coleman. Now.”
He sighs, pulling out a stack of papers. “Your father’s accounts are frozen. All of them. The board’s initiated an internal investigation, and the SEC is involved. Until the trial ends, everything remains locked down.”
“Locked down?” I sigh. “For how long?” I ask, my voice rising.
“Years, potentially,” he admits, his expression grim.
“What the fuck?” I pace the room, my hands clenched. “What about me? Do I lose everything too?”
He holds up a hand. “No. Your trust fund is safe. As of your twenty-first birthday, you’ve had access to it. It’s untouched—around twenty-five million.”
I stop pacing. “Twenty-five million?”
He nods. “And there are other investments your father set up in your name. Stocks, properties, offshore accounts. He was careful, Eli. He wanted to make sure you were secure, no matter what.”
“For a moment,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “It sounds like he was preparing for this.”
Coleman’s face tightens. “I can’t speculate on that. But your father is a meticulous man. He always plans for contingencies.”
I slump into a chair, rubbing my temples. “This is insane. My dad’s not a criminal. He’s the fucking CEO of Grayson Holdings. Why would he embezzle from his own company?”
“People do desperate things for many reasons,” Coleman says carefully.
“Not my dad,” I snap. “He doesn’t need to. We’re already rich.”
Coleman doesn’t argue. He just folds his hands on the table. “I’ll try to arrange a meeting for you to see him tomorrow. For now, stay out of the media’s way. Don’t make any statements. And if you need anything, call me.”
“Sure,” I mutter.
He stands, gathering his papers. “Eli, I know this is difficult, but we’ll get through it.”
“Yeah. Whatever.”
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