Justin Finch Fletchley Novels & Stories

With just one phone call, Fletcher came in person. Fletcher came with an orthopedic expert from Styre University. "Miss Swann, let me introduce him to you. This is my friend Julius Ghett. We usually play chess together. He is also a professor at Styre University. He sucks at chess, but he is quite an expert in orthopedics. I heard your sister was injured, so I asked him to come with me," said Fletcher. Catherine knew Julius must be extraordinary in his field. That's why Fletcher would invite him. She was very grateful for Fletcher's kindness.

“Simple and believable.” Chase shakes his head. “Too boring. He needs something that sounds like it belongs.” “Knox Carrington,” Finley says. “Third son of the Carrington estate. Tragic past. High cheekbones. Impeccable taste in toast.” Theo snorts. “Okay, settle down, Downton Abbey.” “I was trying to add depth,” Finley teases. “I’m writing down Taylor for now,” Deacon interrupts. “Unless someone gives me a better, realistic option.”

The kind of thing that happened when text had been copied from one document into another and the paragraph spacing hadn’t transferred cleanly. Meaning this wasn’t an original draft. Meaning there was another version somewhere with all the identifying information intact. I set the phone face down on the floor and pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes. Garrett Finch. Hartford. Prior claims to Victor Whitmore’s estate. A settlement executed three months before Lillian came home.

“Ah yeah, the mister snobbish and arrogant guy. Why?” “He’s Darren Flinch. The CEO of the Flame Corporation!” “Oh, shit! You didn’t read the company profile?” “I didn’t! Even my fiancé’s file that Mommy Rose gave me.” “You idiot!”

Hector was so impressed by Danny that he immediately gave him a thumbs up. Chester was rendered speechless. He had been careless. As a result, he decided to keep his mouth shut moving forward. Danny then asked, "I didn't mean anything else by that, Chester. I'm just asking out of curiosity. I guess it's time Finley officially gave up." Finley was another headstrong person. She had pursued Chester for seven to eight years. If her target had been anyone else, she would have already succeeded. It was unfortunate that Chester was no ordinary person. It was even more unfortunate that he was not someone Finley could make hers.

"That sounds highly improbable, Mr. Finch. The market fluctuations have been noticeable, yes, but not to such an extreme degree. Furthermore, if the investments were diverse enough, the impact should have been mitigated." Eloise tries to intervene, placing a hand on Stanley's arm. "Stanley, please, let's hear him out." Stanley, however, is undeterred. "Eloise, I understand your concern, but this doesn't add up. Mr. Finch, can you show us the specific transactions and the exact nature of the investments?" Arthur Finch shifts in his seat, his already thin lips pressing together into a single line. "Mr. Bradshaw, I assure you, all transactions were handled with the utmost care and professionali

"I'd say it's time for me to pay a visit to my old acquaintance, Mr Finchby." "What's he like, this Finchby?" Klempner sniffs. "He's a weasel." "A clever weasel?" "He's not stupid. He's a good businessman." He ponders, eyeing James. "If he was bidding for Jenny you can be sure he had something lined up for her that would line the pockets for him." And she could be in his hands now... My gorge rises... "Not many scruples then?" says Richard. Klempner huffs. "He'd sell his own grandmother for pet food if he thought it would turn a profit."

'There was a sudden deem lights, Phelan remembers someone, who was Don Carlton telling her to go lay down and rest. She tried to refuse, but he was too strong, and she was unable to stop him. It was so sudden that Don stood, watching Phelan in a distant approached her in a smile that shed some lights in the deem lights that came from the window. A meter from Phelan, Don put his hands on her shoulders, and then made an excuse and left.

Whose eyes flickered with a nervousness that couldn’t be explained by stock options? His gaze settled on Alistair Finch, the Chief Operations Officer. A man in his late fifties, with a patrician bearing and a smile that never quite warmed his pale blue eyes. He had been Evelyn Voss’s counterpart, the yin to her yang—she handled the money, he handled the global machinery that made it. Since Evelyn’s very public fall, Finch had been the model of subdued competence, stepping smoothly into the vacuum. Too smoothly.

“Whitfield… no longer exists. Nor does Fletcher. Nor does anyone else who was present with him and working for him first thing this morning. Walther Sutcliffe and Ewing already know. Jade was Whitfield’s Childe.” “...and Taylor was Whitfield’s Sire, of course.” Cavendish is nodding and standing with an air of urgency about him. “Let me make some arrangements, and we can talk. I shall have refreshments brought in. Do please make yourselves comfortable. Your deal is... delightfully acceptable.”