Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 89840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
“Hi, Angelique. Yes, that’s correct,” I say, pulling out of Daphne’s driveway.
“Okay. I will be able to help you with that. For verification purposes, can you please tell me your date of birth and account number? If you don’t know the account number, I can look it up by your social security number.”
I give Angelique Dominic’s social security number and birthday and within seconds she speaks again. “Are you the spouse of Mr. Dominic Baker?”
“I am.”
“Oh, okay. I’m afraid that I cannot give you access to this bank account, ma’am. There is an internal note stating that the account is private and only to be accessed by Mr. Baker himself and one other person, however this person can only make in-person withdrawals.”
“Who is the other person?” I ask, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “Shouldn’t it be me? I’m his wife.”
“I understand that, ma’am, however I cannot give out the account holder’s private information.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I mutter.
“If you would like access, the account holder can add you as a joint member at any time.”
“Angelique, is it possible that I can at least know the name of the person who makes withdrawals in person?”
Angelique hesitates and I push harder.
“Look, I’m not sure if my husband has told you, but the money being deposited into his account originates from one of mine and I did not approve any of these transactions going into your bank. I would hate for your bank to get into any legal trouble because of a minor mishap.”
“I understand, ma’am. Please hold while I connect you to my manager.” The line clicks to bubbly Muzak, and I continue driving, working my jaw.
“This is Hiro Marietti,” a deep voice says after a few minutes tick by. “Am I speaking to the wife of Mr. Dominic Baker?”
“Yes, you are.”
Hiro apologizes for the inconvenience, and after several holds, gathering information from me, and confirming that the money is originating from my share account with True Oil Co., he apologizes again. I ask for him to add me as an account holder, to which he tells me, “I can certainly do that, but I will have to confirm this with Mr. Baker. Is that okay?”
I hesitate, but only for a second. By the time they get to Dominic, I’ll have all the information I need and there will be no denying it. It’ll be a good thing the bank calls him—a wakeup call, so to speak. He’ll know I’m aware of his little secret. Well, one of his little secrets. Who knows what else that man is hiding. “Sure, that’s fine.”
“Very well. Is there anything else I can assist you with?” asks Hiro.
“Can I have the name of the person making physical withdrawals from the account?” I request, parking in the lot of the flower shop.
“Let me have a look.” Hiro pauses a moment, and then he’s back. When he says the name, I’m confused as hell. The name sends a burst of cold through me and for a second I’m paralyzed in my seat, staring blankly through the windshield. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Mrs. Baker?”
“N-no. It’s fine, Hiro. T-thank you for your time.”
I hang up quickly, then google the name Hiro just offered me. When I find their social media, my heart sinks to the pit of my belly.
I’ve had the urge to scream since my mother’s arrival, and this time nothing can stop it. I belt one out in the confines of my car and slam a fist on the steering wheel.
TWENTY-FIVE
DOMINIC
Dominic still can’t bring himself to go home. It’s been two days and not a word from Boaz after sending him the photo of the witch. He sinks back in his chair behind the desk at Executive Mansion, eating a sandwich Jim brought to him. He’s done with his meetings for today, fortunately, so he just sits and waits for time to pass.
It’s nearing six in the evening and he’s certain Jolene will be expecting him home soon. She doesn’t usually work on Mondays either, so he can bet she’ll have a dinner ready, along with a bottle of wine to share. Then he’ll hear her talk about her mother, and she’ll most likely complain about some rude thing Naomi has said to her. She’ll cry and he’ll console her while trying not to roll his eyes the whole time.
He picks up the waxy paper his sandwich was on and balls it up, tossing it in the trash bin before leaning back in his chair to gaze out the window. He spots joggers and dog walkers, mothers pushing strollers, and he finds delight in knowing he governs every single person walking the streets. They all pay the tax dollars that fuel his dreams. He’s in control and damn, is it amazing.