Seven million two hundred ninety-three thousand eight hundred fifty-nine dollars and seventeen cents. I hesitated. If I was honest with her, she’d have to know everything. “Enough,” I evaded again.
“How much is enough, Spence?” she insisted.
“Enough to get us to Montana and to feed ourselves, pay for baby shit, all that. We wouldn’t have to worry.”
“Okay,” she said, satisfied enough with that dodgy response. “When will you hear from August?”
“Tonight most likely.” Bridge got really quiet. “What’s up?”
“Will we ever see Mom again?”
“I’m sure of it.”
“When?”
“As soon as we can, Bridge. We can call her as soon as you turn eighteen, if you want.”
This seemed to ease her mind a bit.
“What do we do now?” she asked.
“We wait.”
Christmas morning went by in a blur. My dad wasn’t there, and my mom was picking up on our strange vibes. She didn’t dwell on them too much. I think she figured it was residual emotion from Bridget’s ordeal and didn’t ask too many questions. That, or she didn’t want to face what she thought our dad made Bridge do. Yeah, I was disappointed, but either way it worked out in our favor.
The night before, August called and filled me in on the plan. His grandparents lived in Bitterroot, Montana, and would be expecting us within the week, if we could get away. They had a trailer prepared for us and knew our predicament. They were willing to host us for however long we needed. I felt grateful.
I’d searched the distance between Los Angeles and Bitterroot and come up with a freaking nineteen-hour drive. It was going to be a bitch to drive a nauseous Bridge for that long, not to mention that once we arrived there wasn’t going to be much for us to do. I shit you not, Bitterroot consisted of a fire station, post office, school, and a single Exxon. I am not screwing with you. Bridge better believe how much I love her since I’m doing this crap for her.
My mom and dad would be leaving the day after Christmas for some party my dad’s lawyer’s firm was having in New York City. It was also supposed to be riddled with some sort of business deal that I had no interest in hearing about, but I did know they were leaving early the twenty-sixth, three-in-the-morning kind of early, and on his private jet to make it in time to check into their room and attend whatever bullshit meeting my dad had scheduled. They would attend the party that night and return the twenty-seventh around five in the evening our mom told us. We had thirty-nine hours.
Thirty-nine hours.
I stayed up until two in the morning waiting for them to leave, and then I went into survival mode. I’d already packed two bags and hidden them under my bed, and Bridge had done the same. Since we’d graduated junior high, my mom stopped employing live-in help to reduce the temptation my dad had with “messing” with our nannies and occasional maids. (Like I said before, douche.) So, Bridge left a note on their entrance door letting them know they could have the next two days off and wished them a Merry Christmas, which allowed us thirty-nine clear hours to erase our existences as we knew them...at least until Bridge’s baby was born.
“Bridge,” I said quietly at her door around four in the morning.
“Yeah,” her sleepy voice rang out.
“You ready?”
“As ready as I’m ever going to be.”
She opened her door for me and was dressed, though her hair was wet.
“Where are your bags?” I asked, checking the room.
“In my closet.”
I made my way through her room to the closet and took in just how many clothes she was leaving behind. She only had a single bag of clothing.
“What in the hell, Bridge? This isn’t going to last you.”
She met me inside.
“None of my shit fits me anymore. None of my jeans will even button. It’s infuriating. It’s, like, I’m not showing really but the buttons refuse to close.”
“Probably because they were too small to begin with,” I said in frustration.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
I sighed. “Nothing, Bridge. We’ll find you some clothes later.”
I grabbed her small bag of t-shirts and a few jeans and another she had packed with shoes and whatever else girls need then threw it next to mine at the bottom of the stairs before making a quick sweep of my room to make sure I got everything I needed. I turned to leave but stopped at the door, examining everything. I knew there was a very good chance I was never going to see that room again.
As it turns out, though I thought my local bank opened at six in the morning, in truth that was only the drive-thru, which was frustrating as crap because they wouldn’t issue a cashier’s check without checking ID in person. The lobby didn’t open until seven-thirty, so Bridge and I went for breakfast at a twenty-four-hour place to pass the time. We were losing valuable hours, and that made me exceedingly nervous.
“Can you just, like, I can’t stand the silence,” she said, shivering opposite me in our fiberglass booth.
“Cold?” I asked.
“No, nervous.”
“Okay, well, Bitterroot, the town they live near, is in the northwest portion of Montana. Today’s high’s supposed to be thirty-one degrees and the low should be around twelve.”
“God,” she said, wrapping her ski jacket tighter around herself. I stopped. “Keep going,” she added when the waitress brought orange juice.
I pulled up a map of Montana on my phone. “August’s grandparents’ ranch is called Hunt Ranch.” My finger searched the map. “Right there,” I said, pointing to an area outside of Bitterroot, Montana. “He says there’s approximately five thousand acres to hide ourselves in and that it butts against the northwest tip of Lake Gossamer then spreads west, it lies west of the city of Bitterroot. I did a little research and figured we’d have to drive south,” I said, my finger following the highway on the phone, “into Kalispell for anything important though.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause Bitterroot is smaller than any small town you’ve ever been to.”
“Oh, Christ. That’s depressing.”
“From what I can tell, though, the scenery is probably some of the most beautiful we’ll ever see,” I offered.
She considered this. “Beautiful, huh?”
“Yeah, colder than a witch’s titty, though.”
She shook her head at me but smirked. “Classy.”
“I know. The ranch is owned by August’s grandparents, Emmett and Ellie. He’s got a cousin there named Cricket. I think he might be a little older than you. He graduated from high school a few months ago, apparently. Anyway, Cricket and August are pretty close.”
“Well, at least there might be someone to talk to there.”
“There’ll be more than just someone. It’s a working ranch, Bridge, which means there will be at least twenty people there on a daily basis.”
Our food arrived but neither of us ate much for a myriad of reasons. I slapped two twenties down and we left right as the bank’s lobby was opening.
The bank was where I kept any liquid funds I needed. It only had about two hundred thousand in it. My remaining fortune was kept in a Swiss account for obvious reasons. My stomach flipped when I thought on the two million I’d lost in Vegas. I knew my dad well enough when I opened the account to understand that if he could manipulate my funds, he would. He’s transparent like that. I needed an account he had zero access to and the Swiss provided that for me. So that meant that any local funds needed to be removed immediately and the accounts closed.
“Hello, welcome to Wells Fargo. I’m Kelli, how can I help you?” a young blonde banker asked as soon as we walked in.
“Yes, uh, I need to close my accounts.”
“Oh, well, that’s a shame. Take a seat,” she said, gesturing to two chairs in front of her desk. “Do you have your account number?”
I handed her all my information, including
my license and debit card. She clicked a few keys on her keyboard and studied a monitor in front of her. Her eyes widened a bit before she checked her expression.
“It’s unusual to see someone so young with a balance like this.”
Bridge looked at me, no doubt wondering how much I had. Little did she know. You see, it wasn’t that I didn’t really want her to know. I just didn’t want her to know how I got it.
“Uh, yeah, I’m a good saver,” I evaded.
She smiled. “Oh, well, is there anything we can do to keep your business?”
“Unfortunately, no. The bank’s been great. I just-we’re moving.”
“Oh, I see. That’s nice. Where are you moving to?” she asked. Nosy fool.
“Virginia,” I lied quickly.
“Oh, going to school there?” she fished.
“I am,” I lied again.
“All right,” she said, turning back toward her computer. “This is your balance.” She discreetly wrote the figure on a piece of paper and slid it over to me. I glanced over at it to make sure it fit the number I remembered. The number was correct, but underneath she’d added another message of her own, including her phone number.
I slid the piece of paper into my back pocket and smiled. “Thanks,” I said. The last thing I needed if my father waltzed in here asking if anyone had seen us was this ridiculous girl squealing.
Kelli handed me a withdrawal slip and I began to fill it out, shielding the amount from Bridge nonchalantly with my forearm. I’d done some math and research before we left and knew exactly how much cash I needed to purchase a modest truck with, as well as the essentials, like gas and food for the trip there.
“The remaining in a cashier’s check?” she asked, smiling at me like she’d won something.
“Yes, please,” I smiled back.
She stood and walked to the teller’s station.
“What are you going to do with a cashier’s check?” Bridge asked.
“I can’t very well walk around with thousands of dollars in my pocket, can I?”
She eyed me, one brow raised precariously over her eye. “I don’t know. It depends on how many thousands you have.”
I sighed. “You think you’re so clever.”
She laughed. “I know I am.”
I grinned at her. “It’s a lot of thousands.”
Her gaze narrowed on me, her arms locked around herself. “What the hell did you do?” she whispered.
“Nothing,” I said, leaning back into my chair but turning my own stare out the window to my left.
“Bull. Complete bull,” she said, calling me out. “No more lies, dude. Spill. What is going on?”
“I may have been a sort of a lackey for Dad.”
She sat up a little. “No, Spence,” she said, sounding more than a little disappointed.
“I’m sorry,” I bit back. “Did you just cast the first stone, preggo?”
She balked aloud and punched my shoulder. “Please. This is not even in the same ballpark, buddy.”
I sighed. “I don’t want to talk about this right now, Bridge.”
She sat up even straighter. “Too bad, Spence,” she began, but the banker returned, saving me from any immediate beatdown.
“Here you go,” Kelli said, sitting down. “You’re all set,” she continued, handing me an envelope. Her hand lingered on mine and I tried not to pull away too abruptly.
“Thank you,” I said, smiling.
“If you visit the teller station on the far right, she’ll be able to count your cash out for you.”
“Thanks again,” I said.
I got up and Bridge followed me to the station. The teller greeted us and began to count out the cash. I nodded when she laid down the last hundred. She tucked it into another envelope and handed it over. I placed both envelopes in the inside pocket of my coat. We left and got into our vehicles. Bridge followed me to one of the upscale dealerships off the highway and I’d never been more grateful for the silence. I was starting to feel I was in over my head.
“Welcome to—” the girl at the front desk began, but I cut her off, frustrated, overwhelmed and feeling like we’d wasted too much time already.
“Is your manager in?” I asked.
If she was taken aback by my abruptness, her expression didn’t show it. “Of course, just a moment,” she said, removing herself from her chair and click-clacking over to the manager’s office.
“Can I help you?” an overweight gentleman with a buzz cut asked.
“Spencer Blackwell,” I said, offering my hand.
My name registered with him. “Ah, Mister Blackwell, you can call me Jeff. How are you this morning?”
“I’m well, Jeff. I need to unload these two vehicles,” I said, pointing to my Aston and Bridge’s SLS.
“What are you looking for them?” he asked.
“No less than one-point-two.” His eyes lit up. They were worth half a million more resale.
“I can’t do that,” he said, already chiming in with a cliché.
“How about this, have your men check them out. See if they meet your standards, then we’ll talk.”
I didn’t really have time for this. I was already getting antsy. We’d wasted hours.
“Fine. Martin!” he shouted toward the girl at the desk. She nodded and pressed a button.
A man in blue coveralls came out.
“Martin, can you check out these vehicles for me.”
“Yes, sir,” Martin answered.
Twenty minutes later and Martin returned with a thumbs up, saving Bridge and me from ridiculous small talk with the car salesman. “SLS needs some realigning, but other than that they’re perfection.”
“My office?” Jeff asked.
I nodded and followed him back before sitting before him.
“And you have the titles?” he asked.
“In my pocket.”
“Why do you want to sell?” he asked.
“Unnecessary,” I answered. “Are you interested or not?”
“I’ll take them for one.”
“Not in a million years,” I challenged, sliding deeper into my chair, my right hand casually resting on the side of my face. “I’ve offered one-point-two. It’s more than fair. They’re in almost perfect condition, and their commercial resale is close to one-point-seven. You know it. I know it. But if you feel like you need to win here, how about we meet in the middle?”
“I’m listening,” he said.
Fifteen minutes later, Bridge and I walked out the sliding front door and stood, another check next to the one I already had, and our bags at our feet.
“Where to?” she asked.
“We walk,” I said pointing to a dealership half a mile south, “to that truck dealership.”
“I can’t walk that far carrying these bags. I’ll stay here and you can come get me when you’re done,” she said.
“I’ll carry the bags,” I said.
“You can’t carry all these bags, Spence. I’ll stay.”
“You don’t understand. When Dad finds out we sold the cars, he’s going to ask around and these guys won’t forget buying two luxury sports cars in one day, especially when they see what the guy who sold them to them picked you up in. You have to come.”
“Fine,” she pouted.
I gathered as many bags as possible and pushed on toward the dealership.
“I can’t believe you can carry all that shit. You’re not even breaking a sweat,” Bridge commented halfway there. “I can’t even keep up.”
“Yeah, well, I have to do this kind of training for rowing at school. Upper body strength is number one for that team.”
“Damn, that must suck.”
“Tell me about it,” I laughed, spearing her with a look.
She laughed. “Sorry.”
I took a deep breath. “Although, it doesn’t suck when we race at parties.”
“I’m afraid to even ask.”
“We toss a girl on each shoulder and race
down the street with them.”
She rolled her eyes.
“The girls love it.”
“Anyone in particular?” she asked.
“Does it matter now?” I quipped.
“I suppose not, asshole.”
“Sorry,” I said, realizing I was taking my frustrations out on her. “I’m still getting over Soph,” I said, referring to my old prep school friend.
Sophie Price was the most beautiful girl you’d ever met. Seriously. Take it from someone who’s met Bar Refaeli in person. Soph was even more stunning. Especially since she’d had a personality makeover. I’d never regret anything as much as not making her fall in love with me.
“You can’t make anyone fall, Spence. Either they do or they don’t.”
“I said that out loud?”
“Duh, and it’s been two years, Spencer. You seriously need to get over her. She’s with that Ian guy anyway, right?”
“Right.”
“That hot South African guy named Ian,” she concluded.
“Thanks.”
“That hot Saffy named Ian who gives his life to mutilated Ugandan orphans and worships the ground Sophie walks on.”
I stopped and glared at her. “That’ll do, Bridge.”
She pretended to zip her mouth closed and we kept walking.
I’d researched the truck dealership beforehand and knew exactly which vehicle I wanted. A black Ford F150 crew cab.
“You’re kidding me,” Bridge deadpanned when she saw it.
“I’m not,” I said. “We’re moving to a ranch. In Montana. I’m not kidding.”
I started to fill the bed with our bags as a salesman came barreling toward us.
“How you doing, folks?”
“I’m going to make your life easy,” I told him, settling in the last bag. “This is the truck we want. I’m willing to pay fifteen hundred below asking price and in cash.”
He grinned from ear to ear. “Let me talk to my manager,” he told us before running back toward the main building.
“Stay with the bags?” I asked.
“Sure,” she said, pulling the tailgate down and settling in for the wait.
“I’d take this opportunity to say goodbye to your phone.”
“You’re crapping me.”
GREED (The Seven Deadly Series) Page 6