“Well, Greta didn’t come back to work after you were sweet enough to drop her off the night of Sebastian’s birthday party a few weeks back. Quite unlike her — she’d never been late a day in her life. And then suddenly she simply doesn’t return?” He made a disapprovingtsksound. “Very unlike her. Strange enough to make you think someone else might’ve convinced her to stay away.”
My palms began to sweat — I wiped clammy hands against my jean skirt, focusing on the feeling of denim scraping against my skin to regain a sense of calm. “Where are you taking me, senator?” I bit out in as polite a tone as I could muster.
“Home, of course, darling girl.” He laughed boyishly. “After we’ve finished our chat.”
Great.
“Anyway, like I said, it’s been a terrible time at the house without Greta.” He paused for a beat. “We all miss her, but Greta and I had a… special bond… you might say.”
I flinched.
“But anyway, I didn’t pick you up to talk about Greta.”
“Then whydidyou pick me up?” I muttered.
“Don’t get testy, darling.” He laughed again. “We’ve still got a lot of ground to cover.”
“Why don’t you just skip to the point?” I asked, tired of all the false pretense littering this conversation.
“Fine, have it your way.” He pulled the car to the side of the road and shifted into park. My heart leapt into my throat when he leaned across the center console into my space and my hand groped blindly for the door handle, but it wouldn’t open — the child locks must’ve been enabled. I stilled when the glove compartment fell open and Andrew removed a thick white envelope. Still hovering over me, he turned his head over his shoulder and grinned, no doubt emboldened by our proximity and my clear discomfort. For a small infinity of time, with his arm pressed against my torso, I ceased even to breathe. One hand worked its way into my purse, as I searched desperately for my ring of house keys. When I grazed them, I clutched them between my fingers like tiny knives — prepared, if need be, to defend myself.
I felt a surge of relief when Andrew shifted back into his own space.
“Here,” he said, tossing the envelope onto my lap. “Open it.”
“What is it?”
He stared at me with that unflinching grin. “You’ll see.”
I felt a chill whisper up my spine as I ripped the package open. Inside, a single sheet of paper — embossed, in a curling archaic font was a phrase that stopped my heart.
Deed In Lieu ofForeclosure
Beneath the scrawlingscript were two signatures I recognized easily — they belonged to my parents. I knew, instantly, that this was the document they’d agreed to sign several weeks ago, which granted complete ownership of our property to the bank. We were now existing as renters on what had once been our own property, and still so far indebted to the bank it was hard to imagine ever being free and clear again.
“Why do you have this?” I whispered, not looking at him.
“It’s a matter of public record, my dear! Any housing liens or foreclosures can be accessed with a simple trip to the Registry of Deeds.” He chuckled. “I must say, I had no idea your family was in such dire straights when I met you on Sebastian’s birthday. I suppose it does explain why he was so touchy when I brought them up. But after that night, I was inspired! I looked into your situation, my dear, and I must say, everything I discovered was a pleasant surprise.”
I stared at the words on the paper until they began to swim before my eyes, wishing I coulderase them with sheer force of will. When I began to feel nauseous, I closed my eyes against his words, trying desperately to shut him out.
“Shame about your brother, though.” His voice was full of false remorse. “James, is it?”
My eyes flew open and my head snapped in his direction. “Donotspeak to me about my brother.”
“I do believe I’ve touched a nerve.” He grinned again. “But James is such an important piece in all of this.”
“What are you talking about?” I ground out the words through a tightly-locked jaw.
“Your house is in foreclosure. Your brother is ill — perhaps dying. His osteosarcoma has a precarious prognosis. And you have no resources to pay for his care.”
I stared at him, horrified realization beginning to dawn.
“It’s simple, really. You need money.” He stared at me, a gleam in his eyes. “I have plenty of it.”
My mouth went dry and I tried to convince myself that this was some kind of terrible nightmare, from which I would awake at any moment. This couldn’t be happening — could it?
“No.” I shook my head in denial. “I don’t want anything from you.”