The Man I Made, The Debt He Owes

The corner of Ryker's mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but something sharper and more promising. That tiny movement made me sit straighter in my chair, every nerve suddenly alert.

"I don't help you get into his office," Ryker said, pushing my contract back across the coffee table. His finger lingered on the principal amount line for exactly three seconds. "I make it so you don't need to get in—because before your plan executes, that USB drive will be placed directly in your hands."

Something tightened in my chest. Hope, maybe. Or fear. With Ryker, it was always hard to tell the difference.

He stood up, and I'd forgotten how tall he was. His shoulders nearly blocked the entire window behind him, casting me in shadow. "But this isn't a favor. This is a partnership."

He refolded the corporate ownership charts with surgical precision, sliding them into his suit jacket like he was filing away ordinary paperwork. "Your contract gives me three days to verify its authenticity. My terms are simple: when you get that USB drive, you make me a copy. After that, you can do whatever you want with Marcus."

I stood too, my three-inch Louboutins clicking against the marble. Even with the heels, he was still half a head taller. "Verify? You don't trust me?"

"I don't trust anyone," Ryker said, no apology in his voice. "Including my own family."

The word 'family' came out cold, like ice cubes hitting crystal. It struck something unguarded in me—a nerve I'd thought I'd learned to protect. Because when he said 'family' like that, I heard the years between us. I heard the funeral where we'd stood on opposite sides of the grave. I heard all the things we'd never said about why he'd left.

Before I could respond, David's office door opened.

"Sloane? Ryker?" David Chen appeared in the doorway, silver hair perfectly styled despite the early hour. His expression shifted between professional courtesy and careful concern as he looked from me to Ryker and back again. "I wasn't expecting... both of you."

"We're here separately," I said quickly.

Ryker's silence felt deliberate.

David nodded slowly, but something in his eyes suggested he didn't quite believe me. "Well, since you're both here, perhaps we should all sit down. There's something I need to discuss with you, Sloane. Something about Marcus Chen that... well, it might interest you as well, Ryker."

The way he said Ryker's name—like they'd spoken recently, like this wasn't Ryker's first visit to this office—made my stomach drop.

We followed David into his corner office, all mahogany and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking downtown Austin. I took the chair closest to David's desk. Ryker chose the one beside me, close enough that I caught another hint of his cologne—Tom Ford Oud Wood mixed with something sharper, something that felt like barely controlled tension.

David settled behind his desk and opened a file that looked significantly thicker than anything related to a simple loan dispute should be.

"Sloane, when you called about your loan agreement with Marcus, I ran a standard background check on his business entities." David's fingers drummed once against the leather desk pad. "I found something concerning."

He slid a document across the desk. Corporate registration papers for Chen & Associates LLC. I scanned the names listed under 'Managing Members,' and my pulse stuttered.

Marcus Chen. And below it, in smaller print: James Liu.

I knew that name. Everyone in our family knew that name.

James Liu had been Ryker's business partner two years ago, before the internal audit that had forced Ryker out of the family's main board. Before James had disappeared with three million dollars in development funds and left Ryker holding the blame.

I felt Ryker go very still beside me. His hand gripped the chair's armrest, knuckles white against the dark leather. I could smell that sharp undertone in his cologne more clearly now—it was anger, controlled and compressed into something dangerous.

"When was this LLC registered?" Ryker's voice was carefully neutral.

"Eighteen months ago," David replied. "Three months after James Liu's previous business ventures were... dissolved."

The timeline hit me like cold water. Eighteen months ago was when Marcus had first asked me for money. When he'd claimed his law firm was expanding, taking on bigger clients, needed capital for growth.

I'd been funding James Liu's comeback.

"There's more," David continued, pulling out another set of documents. "The LLC has been receiving regular wire transfers from an offshore account registered in the Cayman Islands. The same account that received the missing development funds from Voss Industries."

Ryker's breathing changed—slower, deeper, like he was manually controlling each inhale. "You're saying Marcus has been laundering the money James stole from our family."

"I'm saying the evidence suggests a pattern of financial cooperation between Marcus Chen and James Liu that predates your loan agreement with Mr. Chen, Sloane."

My hands felt numb. Three years of believing I was supporting Marcus's career. Three years of thinking I was investing in our future together. I'd been an unwitting accomplice in my own family's destruction.

David pulled out a partnership agreement draft from his desk drawer. "Given the circumstances, I'd recommend a more... comprehensive approach to recovering your assets, Sloane. And Ryker, if you're interested in pursuing the James Liu connection, perhaps a coordinated effort would be beneficial for both parties."

I stared at the papers in front of me. Coordination. Partnership. Working with Ryker to destroy the man who'd been using me to fund the very person who'd destroyed him.

The pen felt heavy in my hand as I signed the draft agreement. The moment the ink touched paper, Ryker's phone buzzed against the desk.

He glanced at the screen, then flipped the phone face-down. But I was sitting at just the right angle to catch the notification preview before it disappeared.

A text message. From Marcus.

My name was in the first line.

I didn't ask. I kept my expression neutral, professional, like I hadn't seen anything. But after I finished signing, Ryker picked up his phone and deliberately turned the screen toward me.

The full message was visible now:

*Sloane Voss just had her lawyer contact me. I need you to help me handle the electronic backup of that contract. You know where it is.*

The sender: Marcus Chen.

The recipient: Ryker Voss.

I stared at the screen, my signature still wet on the partnership agreement, and felt the world tilt sideways. Because Marcus wasn't just cheating on me with some random woman in the Hamptons.

He was working with my stepbrother.