Julia
JULIA
T his office sucks. Even as a writer, there isn’t a better word to describe it that comes to mind.
For starters, it’s always dark. Crossing my ankles and shifting in the chair, I don’t understand why Mr. Allen Walker never opens the curtains.
I used to joke with Kat that he’s really a vampire.
The plain white shades aren’t thick but they’re very good at blocking out what little sunlight would shine through the windows to my right.
The office practically brushes against the neighboring building.
Through the small gap where the fabric panels meet, I can see the old brick from Parks Towers next door.
I’d rather look at that and have some sunlight than stare at closed curtains.
I scoot back on the chair with my purse in my lap, feeling more and more uncomfortable.
“Miss Summers.” Allen addresses me as he always has since I was a little girl and even after I was married, but it feels different now.
He shuts the door behind him, a smile on his face as he shoves his wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose.
Fine lines and wrinkles crease around his eyes as he holds out a hand for me.
I stand up, the lightweight chair scooting back on the thin carpet as I shake his hand.
“It’s been too long,” he says warmly. I nod my head and smile politely although I disagree.
The last time I was here was a few days after Jace passed away.
That day, Allen made sure to call me by my legal name and not the name I grew up with.
The memory makes the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on edge as I clear my throat and retake my seat.
Uncomfortable as it may be, it’s the only one I’ve got.
It seems he’s forgotten that Summers still isn’t my legal name. I look down at my barren hand and think that’s my fault. I took my ring off months ago. That was easy, all things considered, but changing my name is something else entirely. It would be like erasing Jace, and I won’t do that.
“It has,” I say lightheartedly, pulling down my light gray pencil skirt and readjusting in my seat as he takes his on the other side of the desk.
My chair is small and uncomfortable, while his is large and practically molds to his body.
I shake off the anxiety running through me as I straighten my back and ask, “What is it that you needed me to sign?”
A rough laugh fills the room as he shakes his head then says, “Not just yet. I need decisions, Miss Summers.”
My body tenses at hearing my name but I bite my tongue. “Of course. What kind of decisions?”
“As acting advisor to your estate and investments, I need you to look these over,” he says as he pulls out several folders and sets them in front of me.
My brow furrows as I open the first and then the second.
I don’t know a thing about any of these.
I’ve never been involved with investments and stocks.
“I—” I start to say and then let out an uneasy breath as I continue, “Is there a way that I could take your advisement, Mr. Walker?”
He turns his head to the side and raises his brow as if to say I should have done that a long time ago. “I advised your husband when he made these transactions. Unfortunately, the choices now are to stay and keep your money in a losing bet or to withdraw and lose a substantial amount.”
My body goes cold as I take in his words. “I don’t understand.”
“Mr. Anderson was adamant about buying these properties and he assured me that it would be worth the risk, but I’ve waited over nine months now and there’s still no growth since the drop.”
“The drop?” I ask him, feeling the blood drain from my face. Jace never mentioned buying any properties. “This was with our personal assets? Not the business?”
He nods at my question, taking in a deep inhale. “They were on the decline when he purchased them. He was a bit surprised that they continued to drop, yes.” Mr. Walker leans back, waiting for my reaction.
“How much of a decline?”
“Fourteen million.”
I close my eyes, gripping the edge of the seat for a moment. Fourteen million. That’s … I can barely think straight. When we married, I know my assets were around twenty million. How could he take such a large chunk and not disclose any of this to me?
“There’s still nearly six million invested so you can withdraw if you’d like. I like to say you’ve never lost money until you sell, but the fact is that I still believe you’re not going to see the return your deceased husband was banking on.”
My entire body is tense and on edge. Fourteen fucking million dollars. Fourteen million! I want to scream and curse, I want to throw up. It takes me a moment to gather myself to be able to respond.
“Why am I just learning about this now?” I ask him in a voice that’s more filled with anger than full of shock and grief. I flip through a few pages with shaking hands, reading through them, but not actually reading a word.
Fourteen million and now I can only sell for six? I’m going to be sick.
“Well, it was stable but it’s recently gone up just a touch, and I’m of the opinion that you should take advantage of the current climate.”
My mouth hangs open just a bit as I look back at Mr. Walker, eyeing his blue suit and thin red tie. I blink a few times, then fall back into my chair and shut the folder.
“Is this all of the investments?” I ask, realizing how little I knew of Jace’s dealings.
For the first time in my life, I’m worried.
I’ve never had to concern myself with income.
I’ve been blessed and grateful, but I wasn’t careless.
This right here, this feels like careless to a maximum degree and I’m embarrassed. I’m sick to my stomach and mortified.
I swallow thickly and cross my legs, not able to stop my foot from rocking back and forth in the air. It’s only as I sit here, my mouth feeling dry and my body like ice, that I realize I know nothing about my current financial situation. I trusted Jace to handle all this.
“Allen,” I say as I pick at the clutch in my lap and look up at the man I grew up with. He’s an old friend of my father and I do trust him, but right now I feel unsettled.
“Yes, Julia?” he asks.
“Financially speaking,” I say then pause, taking in a steadying breath before I continue, “is everything all right?”
He takes a moment to answer me and the time ticks by slowly while I wait for his reply.
He opens his mouth, looking down at the desk but doesn’t say a word and dread hits me. “You’re going to be fine, Miss Summers. You will be.” He puts strength behind his words and looks straight into my eyes as he speaks.
I should be relieved, but he didn’t exactly answer my question.
“It’s going to be difficult getting this money back, especially considering the amount of debt you went into when remodeling your home.”
“What?” I feel struck by his last statement.
“We didn’t go into debt.” I got everything I wanted on that remodel because it was funded by the money I’d made with my first publishing contract.
It was my personal reward to myself. “I know how every penny was spent and I know it was paid for with the money I brought in.”
I can’t help that my voice is full of panic and my tone is accusatory. I sit there on the edge of my seat, waiting for a response from Allen. I swallow the lump in my throat as he clicks on his mouse and takes off his glasses, scrolling through a row of spreadsheets.
“The remodel put you in quite a bit of debt, I’m sorry to say.” I shake my head in disbelief as he adds, “If you were to sell the apartment, it could potentially make its money back.”
Chills travel down every inch of my body as I take one breath, then two. “What apartment?” I ask him, my voice deathly low.
“The one downtown on Pacific Street. The one that was remodeled this past year.”
My world spins on its axis and I grip the arms of the chair. “Mr. Walker? I don’t own an apartment on Pacific.” I lick my dry lips, my body coiled, my muscles feeling tense and tight.
There’s a pause, filled with more ticks of the clock. “Well, your husband did and that was left to you. As was everything else in his will. So you do own an apartment on Pacific.”
“Why wasn’t I told about this sooner?” I ask, focusing my attention on something other than the fact that my husband bought and remodeled an apartment without me knowing.
Betrayal consumes me but oddly, I feel numb to it.
As if I’d known all along. As if I’d turned a blind eye.
It’s not naivety or trustworthiness. It’s me being stupid.
All the late nights at the office, all the weekend trips …
My skin pricks and a numbing tingle goes through me.
He told me it was just once when I found him in bed with another woman.
I try to breathe in easier, but my throat is closing.
Disbelief is outrageous. He didn’t. He wasn’t cheating on me. There’s no way.
“You were given the paperwork, Julia. You signed everything after the funeral.”
I look up at Allen, feeling betrayed by him just as much as my husband. I want to question him, scream at him. But at the same time, I don’t care. I had this coming to me.
I didn’t know about this debt. I didn’t know about the apartment. I didn’t know about a damn thing because I trusted them.
“I was mourning,” I say and I can barely get out the words. They’re cold and stagnant. Just a lame excuse for my ignorance.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Anderson.” He starts to say something else but I rise from my chair, a bitter taste in my mouth as I bite out, “Don’t call me that.”
He cocks a brow at me as I start to leave. “You need to sign these, Julia,” he says matter-of-factly, speaking to me like my father does. Ignoring my emotions and simply telling me what I need to do.
My shoulders shudder as I open the door with my back to him and grip the cold brass knob for dear life.
“Email them to me,” I tell him. “Email everything to me.”
“I suggest you read them quickly,” he says to my back as I walk through the door.
I nod my head but I don’t verbally respond; I don’t trust myself to speak.
I don’t look back at him and I don’t even breathe until I’m in the elevator.
I can’t relax though, even in the empty, closed-off space.
I want to sag against the wall, gripping the steel handles.
I want to hit the emergency button and give in to the pathetic emotions of sadness and betrayal.
More than any of that, I want to see this apartment and I want to see how the hell my money was spent. I need to get myself together and figure out how deep of a hole I’m in and more importantly, how to get out.