Emma didn't get much schoolwork done over the weekend, and I'm mostly to blame. I couldn't keep my hands, or mouth, off of her. I enjoyed seeing her a needy little mess, begging for release. Begging for my cock. But I wouldn't let her have it, at least not where she was craving it the most. I need her to show me what a good little girl she can be before she can fully have me again.

When Monday rolls around, I know I have to leave the house and give her a chance to focus on her studies. She has class three days this week and is supposed to talk to someone about her internship. She's excited, but nervous, and I can tell. She wants to make a good impression, and I understand why. But she practically already has this internship in her pocket. She is only one of two students they are interviewing for this.

And although I don't doubt her ability to get this internship on her own, I think of ways to find out the company details. A sizeable donation on behalf of her wouldn't hurt her chances. But I know that Emma wouldn't agree to that, so I decide to keep that option to myself.

With her in class, I'm able to get some work done. I'm able to track the funds further, getting a name and akst of associated names. But it doesn't give me the answers I'm looking for. Whoever is doing this is good. They're covering their tracks well. But not well enough.

My phone rings, Charles, one of my business partners, name flashing on the screen.

"This is Bradshaw," I answer, leaning back in the chair.

"Mr. Bradshaw," he greets, his voice professional. "How are you?"

"I'm well," I reply, wondering what he wants. "What can I do for you, Charles?"

He clears his throat. "I was wanting to check on your progress. See if you have found anything yet."

I don't like being checked in on, like a child. I am a forty-six-year-old man. I own this company. I'm so tired of partners acting more important than their holding percentage.

"I've found a name," I tell him, my tone short. "But that's it. Whoever is doing this is good. I'm doing checks to find an address. Shouldn't be too much longer."

"Good, good," he says, sounding pleased. "We'll get to the bottom of this, I'm sure."

I end the call without another word, irritated by the conversation.

I shake my head, refocusing on the task at hand. I have to find this asshole.

As I wait for the background checks on the name to come back, I continue digging, uncovering a list of shell companies. It's a lot to comb through, but I'm determined.

After hours of searching, I find something. An email account linked to one of the companies. I hack into the account, finding a string of messages between the owner and an unknown recipient. The emails are vague, using coded language, but the intent is clear. This person is laundering money.

I print the messages, hoping the information is enough to start piecing things together.

I lean back in my chair, taking a break. My stomach rumbles, reminding me that I haven't eaten since breakfast.

I get up and make a sandwich, then head out to the deck. The weather is perfect, a slight breeze in the air. This is such a nice house. I wonder what Julie does for work. Maybe it's alimony from her previous marriages.

It makes me think about how little I know about Julie, or even Emma, for that matter. I know what I can see. I know what I unintentionally learn, like Emma's internship, but do I really know Emma? What is her favorite food? Does she prefer sweet or savory? What is her ideal date? What are her hopes and dreams for the future?

I think about how easily we have fallen into a routine these last few days. We've eaten all our meals together, watched movies, and even gone for a swim. I know what she looks like when she's sleeping and when she's coming undone on my fingers or tongue, but that's about it. I've been selfish. So wrapped up in my own desires and needs. And that's not who I am. At least not anymore.

I used to be that guy. I was wild in my youth. Fucking and fighting, living life without a care. But now, now I am different. Now, I am a man. A man who is interested in a beautiful young woman. Not only interested in her body, but her mind and her heart. I want to know everything about her. I want to learn her fears and her desires.

I think back to the years I spent with a different woman in my bed every night. None of them meant anything. They were just a way to satisfy my carnal needs. And the more women I had, the more they all blurred together.

I remember the first woman I fell in love with. Her name was Sydney, and she was everything I thought I wanted. She was gorgeous, successful, and independent. She didn't need me for anything, and that made me feel like a king.

But as time went on, I realized that was a lie. She didn't need me for anything, but she did need someone. And that someone wasn't me. That someone was one of my roommates at the time.

I thought I could be the person she needed, she wanted, but I couldn't. Not really. I tried, but it wasn't enough.

After her, I became guarded. I didn't let myself get too close to anyone. I kept my relationships casual and short-lived. It was easier that way.

But now, with Emma, I find myself wanting more.

I think about all the things I have done in my life. How many times have I let people down? How many times have I disappointed myself? But with Emma, I want to be better. To be the man she deserves.

Her hesitance could be the only thing that could be standing in our way. She's hesitant because of her mother, and partially because of Archer. She is afraid of what her mother will say, what she will do if she finds out about us.

But what we have is special. It's different. It's not just a fling or a passing interest. It's real. It's intense and consuming and so damn addicting. And I don't want to let it go.

I want to protect Emma. I want to be there for her. To support her and encourage her. To be the man she needs.

My phone buzzes, and I'm pulled from my thoughts. I look at the screen, seeing an alert from the background check. I open the file, scanning the information. There's a list of several addresses associated with the name, all within a fifty-mile radius. I save the file, then print it out.

As the pages print, I make a plan. I'll start with the closest addresses, then work my way out. If I can find the person behind this, I can stop them.

But that poses another problem, doesn't it? I'm only on the East Coast to figure out where my company's money is going. Once I find the person responsible and take care of it, I will have to go home. Home to the West Coast. Which means I'll have to leave Emma.

I know we have a connection, but I can't ask her to move across the country for me. That's not fair. She has her life here, her friends and her school.

I rub my hand over my face, sighing. It's too early to be thinking about any of this.

I close my laptop and push the thoughts away, trying to focus on the task at hand.

The first address on the list is a thirty-minute drive from the house. I grab the paper and my keys and head out.

It's a beautiful day, the sun shining overhead. The streets are busy with cars and pedestrians. I enjoy the drive, the scenery passing by in a blur.

When I get to the address, it's a small apartment complex. There are several cars parked outside, and I can hear kids playing nearby.

I get out and walk to the maintenance office, knocking. A middle-aged woman answers, eyeing me suspiciously.

"Can I help you?" she asks, her voice guarded.

"Hi, sorry to bother you. I'm looking for someone who lives in the complex," I say, showing her the paper.

She squints at the page, then shakes her head. "I'm sorry, but I don't know any of these people."

"Are you sure? Maybe they don't live here anymore. Previous tenants. Could you look again?" I ask, pressing her.

She sighs, but nods. She takes the paper and scans the names again.

"No, I'm sorry. I don't recognize any of these names." She hands the paper back to me.

I sigh, defeated. "Okay, thank you for your help."

She gives me a sympathetic smile, then closes the door.

I get back in the car and drive to the next address on the list.

This time, it's a duplex. I knock on the door, but no one answers. I check the mailbox, but it's empty.

Frustrated, I drive to the next address. This one is a townhouse. Again, no one is home.

I keep going, hitting dead end after dead end. It's like a ghost town, each address abandoned or vacant.

The frustration and disappointment grow with each failure. It's like a punch in the gut, knowing that the trail is going cold.

By the time I reach the last address, the sun is setting. The street is quiet, the houses dark.

I park the car and get out, walking to the door. I knock, but there's no answer. I try the handle, and the door opens. I step inside, my senses on high alert.

The house is eerily silent. I walk through the rooms, but they're empty.

I find a stack of mail on the kitchen counter, and I quickly scan it. It's all addressed to a man named Robert Williams. I recognize the name from my list. A different name than the one I had ran to find this address. Perhaps an alternate identity? An alias?

I dig through the mail, finding a letter from a bank. I rip it open, scanning its contents. The balance is $98,468.47.

I pull out my phone and snap a photo of the letter. I'll have someone run a background check on this guy and try to find his current address.

I walk around the house, trying to find any clues that might lead me to this Robert Williams. I search through the bedroom and bathroom, but there's nothing. No furniture, no personal items, no clothing, no signs of life. The place is completely empty.

As I make my way downstairs, I notice a door that's been left ajar. I open it, revealing a dark staircase. I switch on the flashlight on my phone, and slowly make my way down the steps.

At the bottom of the stairs is a concrete basement. The walls are bare, except for a few water stains. There's a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling, illuminating the room.

I walk through the room, finding a metal cabinet tucked in the corner. I open it, finding several rows of files. I sift through the papers, finding various documents and financial statements. They're all from my company.

I continue searching through the files, and I finally find what I'm looking for. A ledger. A record of the missing money. The dates go back further than I thought. Much further. This person has been stealing from me for years.

I pull out my phone, taking photos of the ledger and the other documents. I can't believe it. All this time, someone has been stealing from me right under my nose. I've trusted the wrong people, clearly.

I need to find this person and make them pay. My trust has been broken.

I put the files back and lock the cabinet, then make my way upstairs. I exit the house, closing the door behind me.

It's dark now, the street quiet. I get in my car and head back to the house, my mind racing. I'm determined to find this person and make them pay for their deception. I won't stop until I have answers.