I hate being here in this office. It’s always so dark. I don’t understand why Mr. Allen Walker doesn’t open a damn curtain. The plain white shades aren’t thick, but they’re very good at blocking out what little sunlight would shine through the windows to my right. The office practically butts up against the building next door. Through the small gap where the fabric should meet, I can see the old brick from Parks Towers next door. I’d rather look at that and have some damn sunlight than the curtains.

I scoot back on the chair, my purse in my lap feeling more and more uncomfortable.

“Miss Summers,” Allen addresses me as he always has, since I was a little girl and after I was married, but it feels different now. He shuts the door behind him, a smile on his face as he shoves the thin-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. Fine lines and wrinkles crease around his eyes as he holds out a hand for me. I stand up, the lightweight chair sliding back on the thin carpet as I shake his hand.

“It’s been too long,” he says warmly. I nod my head and smile politely, although I disagree.

The last time I was here was a few days after Jace passed away. That day, Allen made sure to call me by my legal name and not the name I grew up with. The memory makes the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on edge as I clear the lump in my throat and retake my seat. Uncomfortable as it may be, it’s the only one I’ve got.

It seems he’s forgotten that Summers still isn’t my legal name. I look down at my barren hand and think that’s my fault. I took my wedding ring off months ago. That was easy, all things considered, but changing my name is something else entirely. It’s like erasing Jace, and I won’t do that.

“It has,” I say lightheartedly, pulling my light grey pencil skirt down and retaking my seat as he takes his on the other side of the desk.

My chair is small and uncomfortable, while his is large and practically molds to his body.

I shake out the anxiety running through me as I straighten my back and ask, “What is it that you needed me to sign?”

A rough laugh fills the room as he shakes his head. “No, nothing to sign. I need decisions, Miss Summers.”

My body tenses at my name, but I bite my tongue. “Of course, and what decisions?”

“As acting advisor to your estate and investments, I need you to look these over,” he says as he pulls out several folders and sets them in front of me. My brow pinches as I open the first and then the second. It’s shit I don’t know a thing about. I’ve never been involved with these things, these investments and stocks.

“I,” I start to say and let out an uneasy breath. “Is there a way that I could take your advisement, Mr. Walker?”

He turns his head to the side and raises his brow as if to say I should have done that a long time ago. “I advised your husband when he made these and unfortunately the choices now are to stay and keep your money in a losing bet, or to withdraw and lose a substantial amount.”

My body goes cold as I take in his words. “I don’t understand.”

“Mr. Anderson was adamant about buying these properties and he assured me that it would be worth the risk, but I’ve waited over nine months now and still there's been no growth since the drop.”

“The drop?” I ask him, feeling the blood drain from my face.

“It was on the decline when he purchased. He was a bit surprised that it continued to drop, yes.” Mr. Walker leans back, waiting for my reaction.

“How much of a decline?”

“Fourteen million.”

Holy fuck. I close my eyes, gripping onto the edge of the seat.

“There’s still nearly six million invested, so you can withdraw if you'd like. I do like to say you’ve never lost money until you sell, but the fact is that I still believe you’re not going to see the return your former husband was banking on.”

My entire body is tense and on edge. Fourteen fucking million dollars. Fourteen million! I want to scream and curse, I want to throw the fuck up. It takes me a moment to gather myself to be able to respond.

“Why am I just learning about this now?” I ask him in a voice that’s more filled with anger than with shock and grief. I flip over a few pages, leafing through them, but not actually reading a word.

Fourteen million. I’m going to be sick.

“Well it was stable, but it’s recently gone up just a touch and I feel like you should take advantage of the current climate.”

My mouth hangs open just a bit as I look back at Mr. Walker, eyeing his blue suit and thin red tie. I blink a few times, then fall back into my chair and shut the folder.

“Is this all of the investments?” I ask him. For the first time in my life, I’m worried. I’ve never had to concern myself with income. I’ve been blessed and grateful, but I sure as fuck wasn’t careless. This right here, this feels like careless to the maximum degree and I’m embarrassed. I’m sick to my stomach and mortified.

I swallow thickly and cross my legs, not able to stop my foot from rocking back and forth in the air.

Fourteen million is quite a sum. It’s not the most in the world or everything I have, and I know I’ll always have my house, but it’s enough that I know it’s got to hurt.

It’s only as I sit here, my mouth feeling dry and my body like ice, that I realize I know nothing about my current financial situation. I trusted Jace to handle all that.

“Allen,” I say and pick at the clutch in my lap and look up at the man I grew up with. He’s an old friend of my father's and I do trust him, but right now I feel unsettled.

“Yes, Julia?” he asks.

“Financially speaking,” I pause, taking in a steadying breath, “is everything alright?”

He takes a moment to answer me and the time ticks by slowly, making my heart beat faster and my blood heat.

He opens his mouth, looking down at the desk but doesn’t say a word and dread hits me. “You’re going to be fine, Miss Summers. You will be,” he puts strength behind his words and looks straight into my eyes as he replies.

Thank fuck, I’m almost bowled over by the intense relief.

“It’s going to be difficult getting this money back, especially considering the amount of debt you went into remodeling your home.”

“What?” I feel struck by his last statement. “We didn’t go into debt.” I got everything I wanted on that remodel because it was the money I’d made with my first publishing contract. It was my personal reward to myself. “I accounted for every penny, and I know it was paid for with the money I brought in.”

I can’t help that my voice is full of panic and my tone is accusatory. I sit there on the edge of my seat, waiting for a response from Allen. I swallow the lump in my throat as he clicks on his mouse and takes off his glasses, scrolling through a row of spreadsheets.

“The remodel put you in quite a bit of debt, I’m sorry to say.”

I shake my head in disbelief as he adds, “If you were to sell the apartment, it could potentially make its money back.” A chill travels down every inch of my body as I take one breath, then two. “What apartment?” I ask him, my voice deathly low.

“The one downtown on Pacific Street. The one that was remodeled.”

My world spins on its axis, and I grip the arms of the chair. “Mr. Walker. I don’t own an apartment.” I lick my dry lips, my body coiled, my muscles feeling tense and tight.

“Well your husband did, and that was left to you as was everything else in his will.”

“Why wasn’t I told about this sooner?” I ask, focusing my attention on something other than the fact that my husband bought and remodeled an apartment without me knowing. Betrayal consumes me, but oddly I feel numb to it. As if I’d known all along. As if I’d turned a blind eye. 'Cause I’m fucking stupid. It’s not naiveté or my trusting nature. It’s me being fucking stupid and gullible. All the late nights at the office, all the weekend trips… My skin prickles, and a tingle goes through me. He told me it was just once when I found him in bed with another woman; I try to breathe in deeper, but my throat is closing.

“You were given the paperwork, Julia. You signed everything.”

I look up at Allen feeling betrayed by him, just as much as my husband. I want to question him, scream at him. But at the same time, I don’t care. I had this coming to me.

I didn’t know about this debt. I didn’t know about the fucking apartment. I didn’t know about a damn thing because I trusted them!

“I was mourning,” I barely get the words out. They’re cold and stagnant. Just a lame excuse for my ignorance.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Anderson,” he starts to say something else but I rise from my chair, a bitter taste in my mouth as I bite out, "Don’t call me that.”

He cocks a brow at me as I start to leave. “You need to sign these, Julia,” he speaks to me exactly like my father does. Accepting my tantrum and simply telling me what I need to do.

My shoulders shudder as I open the door with my back to him and grip the cold brass knob for dear life.

“Email them to me,” I tell him. “Email everything to me.”

“I suggest you read them quickly,” he tells me as I walk through the door.

I nod my head but I don’t verbally respond; I don’t trust myself to speak. I don’t look back at him and I don’t even breathe until I’m in the elevator. I can’t relax though, even in the empty closed-off space. I want to sag against the wall, gripping onto the steel handles. I want to hit the emergency button and give in to the pathetic emotions threatening to overwhelm me. The sadness and betrayal.

But more than any of that, I want to see this fucking apartment. I want to look at where the hell my money went. I need to get my shit together and figure out how deep of a hole I’m in.