The drive home was a fog. A blur. Forgettable, and thankfully—quick. When I got to the apartment, I pulled into my usual parking spot and shuffled to the mailbox. My mind, though, was still in Palm Beach, at the mansion where I’d spent my childhood as the housekeeper’s daughter. So much about life had changed in the span of a few weeks, and yet, nothing had really changed at all.
I opened the mailbox located in long row a few hundred feet from our apartment. This was the first in a series of chores I needed to complete before heading to the hospital to check on my mom. Mail needed to be sorted. Laundry folded. Dishes washed. The bathroom cleaned.
I took the stack of mail from the box and sorted through it as I walked toward the apartment. We never got much of anything except coupon mailers, catalogs for clothing and home goods we couldn’t afford, bank statements, and bills.
My heart pounded faster as I realized the latest bill for my mother’s care had arrived that morning. We got them every month, and it had a familiar return address stamped across the envelope. The dreadful thickness of it also told me it probably contained an itemized list of her latest medical needs, along with a notice about how few of them insurance would pay.
I waited until I was inside the apartment and seated on the couch before I opened the thick white envelope.
The insurance company had processed her medical needs from the previous month, but this time, the provider had denied all the costs and demanded immediate payment, along with a few lines saying they no longer covered certain expenses as outlined in the updated term and conditions. Lines of mumbo jumbo I had overlooked when we renewed our insurance a few months earlier. Our estimated immediate costs were at the bottom of the letter in a small box circled in red.
$24,345.63.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
This was all my fault. I tossed the notice on the coffee table and dropped my head into my hands. The estimation was much more than I had calculated, and things would only get worse once Mom finished fighting pneumonia. I didn’t want to guess how much that would add to these costs. It was my responsibility to handle this issue, to make sure that we had decent insurance, and I’d failed.
We are so screwed. We will never get out of this.
I raised my head. Except, maybe we could. Hadn’t Davis offered me a major bailout? Hadn’t he tried to give me a sum of money that would have paid for most of Mom’s medical needs, and then some? A gift he said came with no strings, from the goodness of his heart?
But who does that anymore? Surely, I’m imagining this.
I got up from the couch and rushed over to the kitchen counter where I kept most of our important documents. I’d placed his folder there, certain it wouldn’t do more than collect dust.
I’d never open it if this wasn’t so devastating. But what am I supposed to do? Let Mom die?
Oh God. I couldn’t believe they denied the payments…I opened the packet and scanned the documents, looking for any kind of major red flags. Yes, Davis was right, the account didn’t come with any hidden agenda. If I claimed it, the balance would be mine to do with as I pleased. I could make withdrawals or deposits at any Chase Bank location. As for any taxable liabilities from the transfer, Davis had included a written note saying he’d pay for those.
It was as gift. Simply a gift.
I studied the paperwork for a few more minutes. I might have refused the money on the first offer, but I didn’t see any way I could refuse it now. Not when I had no other way to pay the tsunami of other bills I knew would soon swamp my doorstep.
The answer was clear.
I located my cell phone in the bottom of my purse and was about to dial Davis’s number. He’s with his grandfather, so he wouldn’t probably take my call now. God, I had to do this. Had to take a leap of faith. I dialed the number circled on the last page of the documents.
“My name is Samantha Green,” I said when a woman identifying herself as a Chase Private Client employee answered the phone. “And I’m calling about account number two three four six seven.”
“Of course,” the woman replied. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
There were moments in life I would always remember. Standing in my grandfather’s office, I knew this would be one of them. And that fact broke my heart.
“Say that again,” I said, struggling to keep my voice even and my tone controlled. “I don’t think I’d heard you correctly.”
“I’m sure you heard me just fine, Davis. I know when you’re stalling, but I’m happy to repeat myself.”
“I think you should. You need to make yourself very clear.”
We’d moved from the garden path into his main office to have more privacy, but that had hardly done us any good. Any staffer who ventured past the closed door would have heard the tenseness in our voices.
“I know about the account,” he repeated. “Gregory called this morning while I was in Miami. He wasn’t very happy, and he said it was urgent.” Grandad sat in the chair behind his large desk. “Naturally, I was annoyed to find my trip interrupted by affairs I later discovered could have been avoided all along.”
I considered if I should reply then decided to keep my mouth shut.
“And of course, he alerted me to the large discrepancy in funds. The sudden transfer of money out of an account I set up for your purposes, Davis—an account that is not yours to share.”
“It’s not like this money will be missed,” I scoffed. “And I don’t understand what you are being such a hard-ass. I’m already doing what you wanted. I said I’d take over the business in Pittsburgh.”
“But all of that is contingent on whether or not I deem you worthy of such a role.” He pointed at the chair in front of his desk. “Sit down, son. Now.”
“The account is in my name. I have a legal right to the money.” I followed his orders but let out a long sigh as I did. “It’s several hundred thousand dollars, Grandfather. We have millions. Billions, even, at our disposal.”
“Comments like that are precisely why I’m still concerned you’re not ready to take on an important role with our company—the empire I’ve built.” He pursed his lips. “And that’s a shame, but it’s clear. Handing over such a large amount of money to a woman you don’t know is the absolute definition of reckless.”
I scoffed. “We know her. Her mother worked for us for God’s sake.”
“And that was a long time ago.”
“Not that long.”
Grandad slapped his hand on the thick oak of the table. “You don’t get it. You don’t. This woman’s family is dangerous to us. Dangerous.”
“What? Why? I wouldn’t use that word to describe them at all.”
“You should.”
I racked my brain trying think of reasons why that might be true. “Because of what? Because her mother took a large payout? Because my father was stupid? Because they’re not—”
Grandad held up his hand. “What did she tell you about that night? About the payout?”
I shrugged. “Just that the money came with stipulations. She and her mother needed to leave our lives forever, and they did.”
He nodded a few times then folded his fingers together and braced them on the arms of his chair. “I see. She left out a few key details.”
My stomach twisted. “She did?”
“Let’s just say the story has gone though some selective editing. That’s probably a kind word for it. It certainly sounds like she didn’t tell you the crux of the matter.”
“Please, tell me more,” I managed after a long, stunned pause.
Grandad swiveled in his chair and grabbed two glasses off the bar near his desk. “I think this conversation calls for a drink.” He took the decanter of bourbon from the tray.
“I don’t need—”
“You’re having one, son.” He poured two small drinks and passed me one. “Cheers.”
We both knocked back swift shots of bourbon. The strong liquor burned my throat and warmed my blood.
“So, out with it.” I place my now empty glass on the edge of his desk.
“This will be hard for you to hear.” He drank the last of his bourbon. “It might even affect how you view your father, and I’ve taken that into deep consideration.” My grandfather paused. “What happened to Samantha’s mother was criminal, Davis. Plain and simple. She had a criminal case, and we silenced it.”