Читать книгу His Trophy Wife - Leigh Michaels - Страница 8

HIS office was seriously out of style these days, compared to the sleek corner suites occupied by many corporate executives. It didn’t boast deep carpeting or antique furniture or original art. And its windows didn’t show off a stunning panorama of a landscape or a city skyline or even a sunset. Instead Sloan Montgomery’s very old-fashioned office lay almost at the center of the building that housed Sticks & Stones, and its windows overlooked the production line. That arrangement had been the standard in industrial design eighty years before, when the building was new, and Sloan had never seen any reason to change it. He could keep a closer eye on the furniture being built down on the factory floor when all he had to do was turn around from his desk to take a look. And he had always been able to think better with the rumble and whine of the machines in the background.

His right-hand man, the controller of Sticks & Stones, tapped on the half-open door of Sloan’s office. “Here’s that information you wanted.” He laid a folder on the corner of the desk. “The credit report is right on top. It’s not a pretty sight.”

Sloan’s fingers itched to reach for the folder, but he schooled himself to patience. This had waited a long time; it would last a minute longer, till he was alone. “Thanks, Joel.”

The controller showed no inclination to leave. Instead he moved around the end of the desk to stand with his back to the stream of warm air coming from the space heater which warmed the office on cold mornings. “I know it’s none of my business—”

Very true, Sloan thought.

“But I can’t get straight in my mind why you want all that information. As far as I can see, Burke Ashworth had nothing to do with Sticks & Stones. He wasn’t a competitor or a supplier. He wasn’t even a customer, and thank heaven for that, because it appears he owed money to everybody but us in three states by the time he drove his car off that bridge.”

“There are more ways to be in debt than by owing money, Joel.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Joel sounded doubtful. “It appears that he did it on purpose. Drove off the bridge, I mean. There was still a suicide clause on his life insurance policy.”

“So he was trying to make his death appear to be an accident?”

Joel nodded. “Not very successfully, I’d say. Look at the whole picture. He was up to his neck in debt with no way to pay it off. About the only thing he actually owned was the car he was driving, and it’s just scrap metal now.”

“He could have declared bankruptcy.”

“From what I’ve heard, Burke Ashworth would rather be tragically dead than look like a loser. Besides, filing for bankruptcy wouldn’t have done him much good—the federal government doesn’t forgive things like unpaid income tax. No, a convenient accident was his only way out. I couldn’t locate a single asset that hasn’t already been spoken for by a half-dozen creditors.”

Now there, Sloan thought, his controller—good as he was—had missed the mark. For Burke Ashworth had left behind an unencumbered asset. Just one.

He had left a daughter.

And if Sloan played his cards right, Morganna Ashworth would pay off her father’s debt. Every last fragment of it.