Chapter Eighty-Seven
Georgia
“A re you okay?” the attorney asked the second I was in the car.
I should’ve anticipated it. In my limited experience, that’s what attorneys did. Like the District Attorney all those years ago asking every question under the sun about who I’d married and what I knew about his “activities.” She hadn’t cared that I was lying in a hospital bed.
I didn’t equate Mr. Barrett to her, but I didn’t want to talk to him either.
Instead, I gave him an address I never wanted to go to again. “Can you take me there?”
“Of course.” He quickly entered the location into the car’s GPS, then pulled away from the hotel.
Halfway to my house, I broached one of my other major problems. “Is there any money left in my grandfather’s retirement account?”
“Yes, some. He had monthly disbursements set up to deposit into his bank account. Unfortunately, Mr. Ashland was accessing the account while you were gone. I can’t retrieve spent funds, but moving forward, since your name is on the bank account, the money is yours. You’ll also have the option to sell the property once the deed transfer goes through.”
“How long will that take?” The irony wasn’t lost on me that seven years ago, I couldn’t bring myself to leave that house, and now I wanted nothing to do with it.
“I have a local law firm assisting, so hopefully I can get it settled today.”
Great. More legal fees I wasn’t paying for. “Then I have to figure out how to offload a dump.”
“If you’d like, I can handle it. There are companies who buy hard-to-sell properties if you’re open to a steeply discounted purchase price.”
Any money I got would be a windfall. “How long would that take?”
“With the right buyer, as little as a week.”
My decision was made the second he’d mentioned it. “If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate you handling it. Can I sell it as it is? I don’t want to keep anything except the Corvette.” I was dreading going back to the house. I didn’t want to step foot in it again, much less clean it up. But I couldn’t leave without looking for something first.
“Yes. I’ll stipulate it’s an as-is sale. Do you have a plan for the Vette?”
“Thanks, and not yet. I’ll figure something out.” I hoped. My Jeep had a tow hitch. If I could get to it and get back up here before the house sold, then I could—I don’t know what. I didn’t even know if the tires were still good on the Vette.
“I’ll have it relocated to a storage unit,” the attorney stated matter-of-factly, as if it were such a simple solution.
A fresh level of embarrassment landed on top of me. “I don’t have money for that right now.” I didn’t have money for anything. Maybe I should just sell the Vette too.
“You can reimburse me once the house sells.”
Optimistic and a Superman lookalike. I kinda hated him even though he was doing me more favors than I could count. “Thank you. And whatever you can get for the house, as soon as you can get it, is fine with me.”
“Consider it done.”
It was shocking how little it took to dismantle a lifetime. Not that I didn’t already know that. But legally, a whole house—gone in a week. It seemed absurd. And fitting. And I wondered if Blade would still be thinking about me in a week.
Shaking away the thought, I broached the other immediate problem I had. “Are you based in Detroit?”
“No. Miami. But I help AES and their clients when needed.”
With no money for a bus ticket, let alone a plane ticket, I had to ask. “Are you driving back to Miami?”
The dark-haired, blue-eyed attorney glanced at me. “I’m flying. Why?”
Shit. “My car is in Miami.” Somewhere. “A guy named Victor took it.”
“Took it?”
“He was… moving it. I think he works with Blade.”
“Understood. And you need your vehicle.”
“Yes.” Who knew what shape my grandfather’s truck was in, but it hadn’t been good four years ago. If it was still running, I didn’t trust it for more than a few miles. Attempting to drive it down to Miami would be asking for trouble. And it definitely wouldn’t be comfortable to sleep in until I figured out what I was going to do next.
“Make and model of your vehicle?” the attorney asked.
“A 1998 Jeep Grand Cherokee.”
“Hang on.” He took out his cell and made a call. “It’s Barrett. You moved a ’98 Jeep Grand Cherokee. Where is it now? Understood. What time?” He glanced at an expensive-looking watch. “That should work. Room for one more?” The car’s GPS told him to turn onto my street. “Miami. Yes. Thank you.” He hung up, then pulled into my driveway.
I stared at the house and regretted leaving Blade all over again, but what choice did I have?
The attorney scanned the front of the property. “It’s my understanding the house isn’t habitable.”
I glanced at him and was about to ask how he knew that, then gave up the charade. “Not unless you want a contact high.”
Without any change in his expression, he nodded. “I’m heading back to Miami at noon on an AES jet. I made arrangements for you to accompany me. Victor will have your vehicle waiting when we deplane. I need to run to the courthouse and handle some paperwork. If I pick you back up here at eleven a.m., does that give you enough time?”
A wave of dizziness hit, followed by relief, then a heart-crushing reality. “Will Blade be on the plane?”
Superman didn’t pull any punches. “I don’t know.”
I told myself I didn’t have a choice and that worst-case scenario, I could use an attorney as a human shield and sit next to him. Not that I was stupid enough to think anything would stop Blade if he wanted to talk to me. But he didn’t. He hadn’t said anything in the hotel, not anything important, which was what hurt the most.
Pushed into a corner and not feeling free in any way, I once again put my fate in the hands of a man. “Thank you. Eleven works.” I shouldered my purse and got out of the car.
The attorney put the passenger window down. “Do you have keys?”
“I don’t need them.” No one had ever locked the doors on this house—not my grandfather, not Henry, and by default, not me.
I’d never been safe here.
It should’ve been my sign to leave all those years ago, but I stupidly hadn’t.
Better late than never.
New fucking sunrise and all that.