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Page 3 of Flare (Bearpaw Ridge Firefighters #17)

Disturbing Discoveries

What the heck is this? Emily adjusted her glasses, squinted at Andrew ’ s computer monitor, and sighed.

She ’ d been working as his executive assistant for nearly two years now, and she still hadn ’ t figured out his filing system.

There were folders within folders, names that changed monthly, and he had a habit of saving files with random alphanumeric names that he claimed were a “ security best practice.”

Her many offers to organize his files and documents had been met with vehement refusals, so she just tried to work with what he had. Even if it made zero sense to her.

Tonight, his security felt more like a test. A test she needed to pass so she could continue the tedious work of prepping the Projected Build Timeline and Phase I Permitting Approvals for Silverwood Estates investor packet for tomorrow morning ’ s big meeting.

This meeting was supposed to be the “ next step” for Andrew ’ s real estate development company.

After a week of intensive brainstorming and editing, the PowerPoint slides were nearly perfect now.

But Andrew ’ s speaker ’ s notes for the pitch deck were a disaster, and he still hadn ’ t given her copies of the permit statuses for utilities, roadwork, and environmental impact, not to mention the latest zoning approvals, contractor bids, or supplier contracts.

Just now, he ’ d slammed his hands down on his desk, shoved back his chair, and snapped, “ I ’ m fucking sick of looking at this shit. Em, you take care of wrapping things up. You ’ re great at this kind of stuff. All the files are on my PC. You know where to find them.”

She doubted that. It was going to take her forever to find the documents she needed on her own.

“ And I ’ m late for an important lunch meeting,” he added.

And with that, he ruthlessly abandoned her to finish both the investor packet and his PowerPoint presentation.

Emily took a deep breath and tried to push down her simmering resentment. He ’ s just stressed about the meeting. And that ’ s probably why he ’ s been so grumpy about our wedding arrangements lately.

She couldn ’ t help the thought that followed. Why does he get to run away and I get stuck with all the crappy tasks?

Between this presentation and being forced to revise her wedding plans to appease Grandma Katherine, Emily was feeling drained.

She couldn ’ t wait until both this investor meeting and the wedding were done, and Andrew returned to being the man she ’ d fallen in love with.

Speaking of the wedding…

“ Crap!” Emily looked at the computer ’ s clock and realized she didn ’ t have much time to finish the presentation before her 2:30 p.m. tasting appointment at The Velvet Tier Bakery.

This was going to be the second tasting… since Grandma Katherine and Andrew ’ s mother Beatrice had both vetoed Emily ’ s previous choice of lemon cake with a white chocolate buttercream and raspberry filling.

The bakery must think I ’ m a real Bridezilla!

Grimly, she scrolled down the File Explorer list on Andrew ’ s PC, looking for any folder that might contain the information she needed.

Feeling hopeful, she opened a folder named Asset Protection Strategy – Silverwood, only to find a list of subfolders with extremely unhelpful names.

Teeth gritted with frustration, she clicked a subfolder named KB_Silverwood_Q4_vFINAL.

When the password box popped up, she entered the most recent password Andrew had given her.

Knowing Andrew, a permit status spreadsheet and the zoning approval paperwork could be in any of the PDFs or spreadsheets.

Instead of the contractor bids and supplier contracts she ’ d been hoping for, she found pages of invoices. Most were from small companies in Idaho, Montana, Washington, and Oregon.

And the invoices didn ’ t seem to be related to Silverwood, or any other of Brunborn Holdings there was no reason for it to be importing exotic game. Unless…

Emily opened DisbursementMap_FisherRun+GCarea.pdf, which turned out to be another multi-page document. The first page was an invoice for “ 3,500 lbs. WGM, frozen.”

She scrolled to the bottom and read the recipient: a high-end Seattle steakhouse, flagged in the memo line with “ discretion required.” The next invoice referenced a drop-off at a “ secure location” in rural Idaho. Another referenced “ Trophy Pieces.”

A dull throb bloomed just behind her temples, tightening like a band. None of this had anything to do with the luxury real estate market.

She forced herself to keep clicking.

In BPR_Sourced.xlsx, she found a spreadsheet crowded with names, addresses, dates, and codes that looked suspiciously like route numbers. A tab labeled “ Active” listed deliveries to a handful of restaurants and private clubs in Salt Lake City, with two addresses marked as “ VIP—HANDLE WITH CARE.”

Whatever this is, it ’ s not helping me finish the investor presentation , she thought with irritation.

She was about to close the file when she noticed a second page: a notarized statement granting “ Executive Discretion” to Andrew Brunborn over all operations “ including but not limited to acquisitions, transport, and sensitive client handling in compliance with family protocols and traditions.” And it was signed by none other than Katherine Brunborn herself.

Seriously confused now, Emily scanned the remaining files for anything that might clarify the situation. But as she read on, confusion turned into sickening realization.

KB_MEMO_Silverwood_Accounting.pdf turned out to be a memo from Grandma Katherine, advising Andrew on how to launder the profits from the meat and trophy sales through the Silverwood development project.

Emily jerked back from the computer as if it might bite her. Andrew is neck-deep in some kind of organized crime ring?!

She felt sick. Oh. My. God. If the whole family ’ s in on it—even Grandma Katherine—what does that mean for me?

For the past eighteen months, she ’ d worked side by side with Andrew, scheduled his appointments, answered his calls. Slept in his bed. Made plans with him about their future together.

And I let his family walk all over me because they made me believe I wasn ’ t good enough.

Sudden rage boiled up inside her. Andrew lied to me! They all lied to me!

And I was stupid enough to fall for it.

What do I do now?

Emily got to her feet, marched over to the office supply drawer, and grabbed one of the blank USB drives they used for bringing backup copies of presentations to clients.

Her heart pounding, she plugged in the drive to Andrew ’ s PC and copied every file and folder. Not just the suspicious-looking ones, but all of them. Who knew what other dark secrets lay concealed inside seemingly innocent filenames?

The operation took minutes, but it felt like hours. Each tick of the progress bar was a countdown to…what? She didn ’ t know anymore.

All she could think about was how dumb she ’ d been to think of Andrew as her Prince Charming.

When the file transfer finally finished, she went back to her desk and pulled out her purse. She shoved the drive deep into the zipped interior pocket she used to store her tampons. It felt like a tiny ticking bomb.

Her gaze fell on the row of sticky notes along the side of her monitor. The one on top read: “ Next week: final dress fitting, RSVP headcount to caterers.” The one below it said, “ No raspberries. GB hates.”

She stared at the notes, her throat tight, a sharp brass spike of pain hammering through her skull. After the upheaval of Mom ’ s death, Emily had hoped Andrew could give her a home and a family to replace the one she ’ d lost when Mom died.

Her PC pinged, and an appointment reminder popped up on her screen.

∞∞∞

In a daze and moving like a zombie, Emily went to her bakery appointment at The Velvet Tier. She felt like a zombie as the smiling young assistant baker greeted her. What the hell am I doing here? I can ’ t marry Andrew. Not after this.

“ The wedding ’ s off. I ’ m so sorry,” she blurted.

The bakery assistant ’ s eyes widened in shock, followed immediately by a sympathetic grimace. “ I ’ m so sorry. You understand the deposit is non-refundable, right?”

“ Right.”

Emily remembered nothing about the drive home.

After she finished backing up the files on the USB stick to her cloud drive, she tried to figure out what to do next.

Should I ask Andrew to explain? Maybe it ’ s all some kind of misunderstanding.

The lump in her gut told her it wasn ’ t a misunderstanding.

Should I pack up and leave?

She hated this house, but with Mom dead, it was the only home she had now.

Emily was about to pull her suitcase out of the closet when she heard the garage door thrum as it opened.

Shit! Purse still clutched in her hands, she flew down the stairs. She dropped her purse next to the sofa, grabbed a bridal magazine, and plopped herself down just as the door leading from the garage to the foyer opened.

Andrew ’ s manner was all business as he entered the house and tossed his keys into the antique hammered silver bowl his parents had given them as an engagement gift.

Emily studied her fiancé with fresh eyes.

His golden hair was perfect as always, his jawline as sharp as a movie star, and he was breathtakingly handsome and well-built.

He ’ d taken off his tie since leaving the office, and wore his white dress shirt open at the collar under his expensive midnight blue suit.

He looked like the perfect man. An honest-to-God Prince Charming.

Too bad he was a lying criminal.

He stopped in the archway leading to the living room and frowned at her. “ You ’ re home early.”