Page 61 of Dr. Stone (Billionaires’ Club #9)

FORTY-NINE

Jace

Since the day I met Collin and Jake on my boat, I’d been working angles—Jim at the hospital board to shut down any dirt, Titus for leverage on Jonathan. He was foolish enough to insult Hawk and stupid enough to threaten Andie. Now it was just a waiting game until the call came.

So when Seb hit me up leaving work, I didn’t hesitate to join the guys at his place.

After cracking open a much-needed beer on Seb and Darcy’s newly remodeled patio, I leaned back and smirked at him.

“Two more weeks, and your little lover will be living here—endless nights of passion in this charming beach house you two managed to snag.”

Seb chuckled, giddy as hell to finally be staring down his wedding day.

“This wedding’s going to be grand scale, you know. Margot Aster wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“When do you leave?” I asked.

“Tomorrow. Darcy’s already there. I surprised her by having the yacht anchored offshore.” He smirked into his bottle.

I tipped mine toward him. “Bringing in the Vanguard for the vows? Nothing like sealing the deal on open seas, my friend,” I teased.

“Well, the wedding will be on land,” he said, taking a sip. “The yacht is for my lady’s bachelorette party for the time leading up to the wedding.” He arched a knowing eyebrow at me. “I still can’t believe you’re not coming.”

“My sorry ass isn’t flying across the world just to mingle with everyone our families think has to be in attendance for special occasions. You know it’s nothing against you and Darcy. I’m really happy for you two.”

“Thanks, man,” he said, clinking his bottle against mine.

“No offense taken, good friend. You and John are one and the same, except he is being forced to attend whether he likes it or not,” he added with a laugh.

Then he looked past me. “The gang’s all here, including baby brother, D.

Stone. Looks like we might actually have some good shit to bury this fucker. ”

“Let’s hope,” I said, looking over and seeing Titus and Dorian both at Jim’s side, knowing Dorian was probably involved in my personal shit because he and Hawk had been overseas together for the past couple of weeks.

“I heard a bit about what’s going on. How are you doing?” Dorian asked me.

“I’m hanging in there,” I said. I wasn’t used to my brother acting concerned for me…it didn’t happen often, so I wasn’t sure what to say.

“I just didn’t—I wasn’t aware of how serious your feelings were for your girlfriend, and I’m sorry to hear what happened,” he said, clearly as unaccustomed to feeling pity for me as I was to be receiving it.

“I just can’t believe some rabid little weasel had the nerve to try to mess around with my brother? It’s fucking bullshit.”

“Thanks, Dorian,” I nodded, letting both of us off the hook of this awkward yet genuine exchange. “Now, tell me you guys have what I need to bury this prick,” I said to Jim and Titus, taking a seat around the circular couch.

The salty, cool air blowing in from the Pacific helped keep my nerves at bay, but God, I needed some answers.

Titus leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Looks like we have enough shit on this fucker to have him pack his bags and leave the state,” he said in a low, clipped tone.

“What happens when you fuck an heiress, knock her up, and then threaten her with a scandal if she doesn’t get rid of the child?” Dorian asked, his expression cunning but dark.

“What?” I said, incredulous that this asshole had the nerve to pull that move on a woman not only once, but twice. “This mother fucker is one hell of a psychotic fuck, threatening women the way he does. How did he manage to get around anyone who associates with people in our family circles?”

“Who knows,” Dorian said. “He probably met someone who knew someone’s kid at that fucking Porsche dealership.”

“Which heiress?” I questioned.

“Gillian Ward,” Titus said. “She told me something a few nights ago when I hooked her up with a gallery contact in Paris. She was drunk and trying to hit on your brother,” he rolled his eyes.

“But she mentioned that some guy named Jonathan got her pregnant, and now she’s convinced Dorian will never date her because of it.

The name Jonathan rang a bell since that piece of shit had the audacity to insult me and Andie, too.

So, I pressed her for more info, hoping to dig up something that’d let me bury him just for the satisfaction. ”

“Pregnant and drunk, eh? Seems to be the Ward family way,” I shook my head at the disregard the Wards typically showed anyone who’d give them the time of day…

they were new money, after all. “Well, I figured you’d be shuffling through your private investigators to nail his ass, but you found dirt without even looking. I guess that says it all.”

“No shit,” Dorian said. “I guess she ended the pregnancy because he threatened to ruin her if she made it public. I suppose she drunkenly wanted me to be aware of all her innermost secrets in case I wanted to date her one day. Sloppy drunk dramatics, of course,” Dorian smirked.

“The start to every promising marriage,” I answered. “You’ve always landed the good ones, haven’t you?”

“Wait, which Ward family are we talking about here?” Seb asked as Dorian and I laughed. “From Cambridge Steel or?—”

“No. The shipping magnates,” Dorian finished. “She’s not innocent by any means, but that family’s reputation is built on legacy and control. If they knew Jonathan blackmailed their daughter?” He shook his head. “They’d erase him. Quietly and permanently.”

“Does she have proof?” I asked.

Dorian nodded. “She didn’t say, but I could tell she’s holding something. I think she’s scared, but if you needed her, I could push. She’s obviously interested in a date, so I could make it happen if need be.”

“It’s all the info I need,” I answered. “Knowing how these families work? All he needs to know is that it takes one phone call from me, and then he’ll know what it feels like to be publicly crucified.

He won’t be able to get a job at Wienerschnitzel when I’m done with him.

That predator fucked around in the wrong circles.

” I turned to Jim. “And I need to thank you for having your teams dig into whatever dirt that asshole tried to use against me. You helped protect my career and my life from his bullshit.”

Jim nodded and smirked. “It appears it’s now my job to get the backs of all you playboy doctors who waltz into my hospital with all your baggage,” he said, taking a sip of his beer.

I shrugged and sighed, “What would you do all day without our dumb asses keeping you busy?”

“I could think of plenty more important things,” Jim chuckled. “Seriously, though, your scandalous ass is all clear. That man can’t fuck with your medical license or your reputation.”

“Thank God.” I took another sip of beer, the fire of rage burning hotter inside of me, knowing this shithead thought he could fuck with my life. “So, he has nothing on me?”

“Not a thing. There’s nothing to have,” Jim said. “The board reviewed everything this morning and confirmed it. The picture Jonathan tried to use to make his bullshit stick never even made it past the ethics chair.”

I nodded. “I still can’t believe this piece of shit went to the board anyway,” I exhaled. “I guess he thought he’d make a point.”

“They also know about your patient’s daughter, but you didn’t break any codes, Jace. Not as a doctor and not as a civilian,” Jim finished. “It’s not a crime to be a player.”

Titus smirked cunningly. “So, now that you’ve gotten immunity from your past and a scandal that could ruin Jonathan, not Gillian, what’s your plan to bury this piece of shit?”

I took a sip of beer, completely relieved that all I had to focus on now was nailing this fucker to the goddamn wall. “I’m simply going to return this bastard’s favor.”

Two days later, I walked into the Porsche dealership with one goal—make Jonathan Gilbert feel the same gut-churning fear he’d forced on Andie.

I wasn’t alone. Beside me in the waiting area sat my attorney—a man so sharply dressed in a charcoal Tom Ford suit he could’ve been stepping out of a Wall Street boardroom.

He hadn’t spoken since we arrived. He didn’t need to.

Clients like his didn’t win in court—they made sure the other side never stepped foot in one.

Jonathan emerged from his office twenty minutes later, still grinning from the six-figure sale he’d just closed. His smirk faltered when he saw me, then flicked to the man at my side.

“Let me guess,” he said, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Here to buy a Porsche, Doc? Finally trading that scalpel in for something that actually gets women wet?”

I stood, buttoning my jacket. “The cars in my garage are worth more than this entire dealership, and none of them are Porsches. I don’t buy toys to impress strangers—I buy machines that perform.” I let it hang a beat, my gaze pinning him. “Unfortunately for you, I’m not here to talk cars.”

His eyes cut to my attorney. “What is this—some hospital board scare tactic? You think a lawyer’s going to rattle me over a little gossip?”

“You don’t need to worry about him,” I said, stepping in close enough to lower my voice.

“What you should worry about is feeling exactly what Andie felt the day you threatened her—that sick knot in her stomach, that panic her whole life could be ripped away. You’re about to choke on every ounce of it—unless you sign the papers in his briefcase and disappear. ”

He stiffened. “What papers?”

“Custody,” I said flatly. “Every shred of legal and physical rights to Brandon—gone. Permanently. You sign, and you walk away. For good.”

“Why the hell should I?” His gaze darted between us. “Because you have some big-shot attorney here?”

“Because of what I have on you,” I said, my voice dropping, “that could bury you with one phone call.”

“You’ve got nothing,” he shot back, but there was a flicker in his eyes.

I smiled without warmth. “Does the name Gillian Ward ring a bell?”

He inhaled sharply. “Perhaps.”

“You have no idea what that family will do when they find out what you did to their daughter with your threats.” His silence told me I had him. “The Wards don’t just ruin people—they erase them.”

His voice cracked. “What can they do to me?”

“People like them? They take your job, your name, your home, your future—and you’ll thank them for letting you breathe afterward.”

He swallowed, the first real crack in his boldness.

“How would you know anything that happened between me and Gillian?”

“I know exactly what you did with Gillian because I live in that world, dumb fuck. Drunk heiresses talk, secrets slip, and those secrets land in the wrong ears. So far, I’m the only one holding that knowledge back from her family.

The only thing that keeps it buried is you signing over full custody and leaving the state. Forever.”

He tried for a smirk, but it didn’t stick. “You’re bluffing.”

“You really want to test that?” I let the corner of my mouth lift. “Because I wish you fucking would.”

My attorney—still silent—opened his briefcase and slid the paperwork across the counter. A Montblanc pen appeared in front of Jonathan like the barrel of a gun.

“This is bullshit,” he muttered.

“This,” I said, nodding to the pages, “is mercy. Sign them, and you leave with what’s left of your life. Refuse…” I let the pause stretch until he shifted. “And I’ll have eyes on you until you’re erased from this world.”

His hand trembled as he signed, page after page. When he was done, I folded the papers neatly and slid them into my attorney’s case.

Jonathan Gilbert’s glare followed me, but I saw it—the flicker of unease behind his bravado. He’d signed, but he knew exactly what I’d just done. And what I could still do.

I paused in the doorway, looking back just long enough to lock eyes with him. “You like threatening people, Gilbert? Here’s mine—if you so much as breathe in Andie’s direction again, I’ll make sure the only thing you own is regret.”

The sun hit my face as I stepped outside, the weight of the signed custody papers heavy and satisfying in my hand. Andie had no idea what was coming—but soon, she’d have the one thing no one could ever take from her again.

I’d never been the guy who flaunted my family’s name, status, or the fortune that came with it.

I’d built my life on my own terms, far from their shadow.

But taking down Jonathan Gilbert? That was different.

This wasn’t business. This was personal.

And for once, I didn’t give a damn about playing fair.

If it meant protecting Andie, I’d weaponize every ounce of power, every connection, and every last dollar in my reach until Gilbert was nothing but a cautionary tale whispered in rooms he’d never step foot in again.

And damn, it felt good to be the ruthless son of privilege—because this time, I wasn’t doing it for me. I was doing it for her.