Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
“Blythe, you will always be the only woman for me. When the time comes for you to know everything, I hope you can still see me as the man you once loved.”
Once? You stupid fool. I still love you.
11
“Mrs. Cooper, Mr. Burton is ready to see you.”
I stand, giving a small smile to the receptionist, and walk down the corridor to what could be the biggest showdown of my life. With my heels clicking on the marble floor, I straighten my shoulders and clear my throat, reminding myself not to leave before I’m given some plausible answers.
The door opens before I reach it. A gentleman fifty-plus years of age greets me, with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, a gold canine tooth catching the light. His features aren’t attractive, but his face is tight and plump, revealing his obsession with looking young. It seems incongruous to the rest of him. First impression is that he’s a glorified, and slightly wealthier, used car salesman ready to lie through his teeth ensuring he comes out unscathed. This isn’t a great start.
“Mrs. Cooper, please come in,” he says flatly, gesturing for me to pass. I get the feeling I’m interrupting something totally unimportant, but he’d still rather be doing that than seeing me. Shrugging it off, I take a seat opposite him.
It’s not you, it’s him.
His dark, beady eyes dart around the room, reluctant to settle on mine, a tell-tale sign he’s uncomfortable in my presence. His ringed fingers drum on the mahogany desk as he leans back in his leather chair. “So, what brings you here today?”
Someone in your bank is a fucking criminal.
“Well…” I start meeting his indifferent gaze. “Mr. Burton, I’ve banked with East State since my mother set up a super saver for me when I was just a little girl. As an adult, my husband and I share joint accounts and our hefty mortgage is here also. A mortgage that was only one-year shy of completion. A mortgage I contributed substantially to. A mortgage that has my name on it.”
“And we thank you for that, but I’m uncertain with where this is going.”
“I don’t need your thanks, Mr. Burton. What I want is an explanation as to why my house has been re-mortgaged without my consent? And I want an explanation as to how this could ever have been allowed to happen?”
Mr. Burton shrugs his wiry brows. “Well, Mrs. Cooper, such a thing would only have happened if you co-signed.”
“But I didn’t.”
“You must have.”
I lean forward, struggling to tame my annoyance. “Mr. Burton, I can assure you, I would never have done any such thing, and I would appreciate it if you took this matter seriously.”
“I understand your frustration—”
“Do you?”
“Yes… but perhaps signing the papers simply slipped your mind. You’re both very busy people.”
“I’m a million percent certain I would have remembered such a thing.”
“Well, here at East State, we follow procedures—”
“Then your procedure is either broken or someone within this building has been helping my husband commit fraud. I don’t think I need to remind you that such a thing is a criminal act, and I will get to the bottom of this. In fact, I would like to see the papers I’ve supposedly signed.”
Burton’s eyes narrow in challenge as my threats of legal action sink in. For someone who has a corrupt member of staff, he sure is defensive. He leans forward and presses a button on his phone.
“Mr. Burton?” the receptionist asks.
“Bring in the files for Mr. and Mrs. Cooper.”
For a full minute, we sit in stony silence, the wall clock a reminder of each passing second. This is certainly not how I saw the meeting going. The office door opens, and the receptionist hands over a manila folder. Burton rifles through some paperwork before finding the adjusted mortgage papers. He holds them in his meaty hand. If eyes could smirk, his are doing it right now.
“Hopefully this answers your question and puts your accusations to rest.” He hands me the paperwork, opened to the signing page.
What the actual fuck?
Indeed, my signature is right there next to Shawn’s, accepting the terms and conditions of re-mortgaging our beautiful home. A home we’ve worked so hard to pay off.
My heart pounds painfully against my rib cage and I grow lightheaded. The bastard’s actually done it. I study the curls and swishes of my signature and how they perfectly align as if it were done by my very hand.
Except, it wasn’t.
Irritated Shawn has gone to these lengths, I drop the paperwork back on the desk. “Which member of staff authorized this?”
Burton slowly sits forward, lacing his jeweled fingers. “Mrs. Cooper, that would be me.”
* * *
“We have an ETA on the velvet textured wallpaper for Mr. Alexander’s project. Apparently, it’s being made in Amsterdam so there will be some delay. The chandeliers, however, should be arriving…” I zone out for a minute or two, when I hear, “Blythe? Did you hear a word I said?” Amanda drops her fork in the salad bowl. Her gaze moves around the lunchtime crowd at Effie’s Café before settling back on me. “Blythe!”