Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
He nods, coughs roughly, and then starts patting around for the oxygen tube that’s hanging around his neck. Once he pulls it around his head, situating it to rest at his nostrils, he fusses with the tank and then takes in a few better breaths.
“Keep your head,” he says, pausing to cough again. “You’ll become president one day, Hugo.”
I barely refrain from rolling my eyes. Instead, I give him another smile and a clipped nod before stalking away from him. I don’t have the patience for him right now. Normally, I take pity on the old man, but not today. I take the stairs two at a time to put distance between us before I get pulled into another conversation.
Jude’s office is empty when I make my way into it. It’s unusual not to find him in here, so I plop down in his desk chair, taking in the scene before me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was some computer hacker or worked in cyber security. Despite the obscene amount of monitors with everything from financials to stocks to video camera footage, it’s a wonder how he knows what the fuck is going on.
The only thing on his desk, though, is a lined notebook with meticulous notes. Like a never-ending to-do list for stalker weirdos like my uncle. Each task carefully written out and checked off as he accomplishes prying into people’s lives like it’s a part of his job.
I suppose, for our family, it sort of is.
I’m pleased to see the most recent item crossed off on his list: Find more info out on Ben for Spencer.
“You shouldn’t snoop,” Jude growls in lieu of a greeting as he storms into the room like a charging bull. “Out of my chair, little shit.”
I spin lazily in his chair a couple of times before getting up. He shoulders past me, nearly knocking me over, and then heaves himself into his seat with a creaking sound so loud it’s a wonder it doesn’t collapse beneath him. Jude is massive. Like NFL-tackle-anyone-and-everyone kind of massive. But he’s a big scaredy cat, too afraid to see his own reflection in the mirror, instead hiding behind latex masks and walls of computer monitors.
“Don’t you ever get hot wearing that thing?” I ask, unable to stop the words from tumbling out of my mouth. Not the wisest decision to piss off the guy who is helping me.
He cracks his neck and gives a sharp nod. “Yup.”
I wait for him to elaborate, but of course he doesn’t. Jude isn’t exactly one for small talk. Shrugging it off, I lean against the edge of his desk and gesture for his notebook. “What’d you find?”
Jude mashes a few keys on the keyboard and a screen pops up. A man, around Dad’s age, with his arm around a woman who must be his wife, grins back at us.
“Owns an online party warehouse store. Twelve employees, including Aubrey’s dad, Tony, who manages those employees.” He pulls up a document and points a thick finger at it. “The wife just filed for divorce.”
Jude pulls up another picture of the guy. He’s decent-looking in the traditional sense—full head of hair, straight teeth, strong jawline. It’s his eyes, though, that give him away as a smarmy fucker. I’m actually disgusted that Aubrey would let this douchebag put his dick inside her.
“That’s not all,” Jude says, pulling up another screen. “He recently bought a giant order of burner phones from China.”
I lift a brow. “Burner phones? And how do you know this?”
Jude grunts, and it could almost be confused with a chuckle. But since he’s not exactly the chuckling type, it can’t be that. “I have his passwords to his bank accounts.”
“Of course you do.” I do chuckle, because I am that type, especially when we’re discussing prying into douchebags’ lives. “What do you think he’s using them for?”
“I can’t see where he’s calling out to, but I had a hunch, so I worked backward.”
Aubrey’s text transcripts pull up on the screen from today. All similar in nature. Since she keeps receiving them, but from different numbers, it’s obvious he’s using the endless pile of burner phones he ordered to contact her. She blocks him and he’s back with another.
“What a fucking stalker,” I grumble. “What about her ex, Wes? Anything on him yet?”
My phone chirps a reminder at me. Irritation burns in my gut. I don’t want to leave just when I’m getting good information, but duty calls.
“Still working on him. From what I can tell so far, he’s a couch-surfing guitarist for a band trying to make it big, but aside from that, he’s inconsistent on social media, never has money in his account, and doesn’t have a job.”
Aubrey really knows how to pick them.
“Thanks, man,” I say with a sigh. “I appreciate the digging you’re doing. Anything I can do to repay the favor?”