Chapter 14 Snow
SNOW
“Mrs. Rye?” The woman I suspect to be Xander’s lawyer friend sits in the corner of the cafe with elegant silver spectacles balanced on the end of her button nose.
Blonde hair, tightly curled, is gathered at the top of her head with a few stray strands framing her face.
She’s busy with something on her phone but upon hearing my voice, she glances up and adjusts her waistcoat.
“Noelle?”
“Snow.” I offer out my hand. “Everyone calls me Snow.”
“Oh, how adorable.” Mrs. Rye smiles and shakes my hand. “Is that a family thing?”
“Sort of. Noelle is after a single my parents love by this Indie band they’ve been obsessed with for years. I could never say it as a child and things sort of just morphed into Snow.”
“My name isn’t as interesting. Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything?”
“I’ve ordered some coffee.” Sitting across from her, a nervous flutter rises through my chest. Having never dealt with lawyers before, I’ve no idea what to expect. “Thank you, though.”
“Of course. Now, we spoke on the phone a few days ago and I’ve been looking into your case just in my spare time, as a favor to Xander.”
I nod along, smiling. My debt to Xander is stacking up at this point. “I can’t pay you, I just want you to know that. I’m far too poor.”
“Don’t worry. I owe Xander a few favors so he called this in. You were saying the other day that your ex, Caleb, cleared out your joint account?”
“Yes. There was about eight grand in there.”
“And you were the primary depositor of that account?”
“Mhm. Not to start. In the beginning, it was equal, but Caleb lost his job maybe a month after we signed the lease and it was just my money going in there.”
“Were you saving for something?”
“No, it was all for rent. I’ve always been a little paranoid about stuff like that so it was an advancement just in case the worst happened.”
Mrs. Rye scribbles something down on the small notepad she pulls from her purse. “So that money was around the next six months’ worth of rent for you?”
“Mhm.”
“I spoke to the bank and they insisted that Caleb had all the correct paperwork and identification. Naturally, they wouldn’t show me anything of the sort, but you saw it, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, the ID was wrong. It was a picture of me, but it wasn’t the picture I have on my ID, and the signature wasn’t right either.”
Mrs. Rye continues to write while nodding along.
As I fall silent, my coffee is dropped off and I smile thankfully at the waiter, then wrap my hands around the mug.
The heat is scalding but it’s pleasant enough that I soak it up.
“If you decide to take this further, then of course the Bank will double down and claim they were duped by perfect fakes, or even that you are running some kind of scam with Caleb, which will be hard to disprove since he’s dead.” She glances up with a sad smile. “My condolences.”
I wave her off with a smile. “It’s fine. Can they really do that?”
“Banks have a lot of expensive lawyers who will spin this a thousand ways to save their reputation. It’s not impossible but it would be a very long case. A case I think you could win, but just in case, I had some of my people do some digging. Does the name Dickson mean anything to you?”
I turn the name over in my mind for a few seconds, then shake my head. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”
“Caleb had the money transferred to an account that was emptied within the hour. I suspected it was Caleb, but the account was registered to a man called Dickson. Could he be a relative or a friend?”
“He didn’t have any family and he never mentioned anyone, but I mean, it could be?” Sipping my coffee, I mull over Caleb.
We hadn’t exchanged any kind words since the last time we slept together a few months ago, and even that was fueled by alcohol. It’s plausible that there were people I didn’t know about.
“If we can find this Dickson, we might get some answers. I haven’t had time to track him down, but if you’re so inclined…” Mrs. Rye slides a small card toward me with an address scribbled on one side in black ink. “Finding where your money went is the first step in getting it back.”
The card is smooth against my fingertips, likely more expensive than all the jewelry I’m wearing. “Thank you. I don’t know what to say…”
“Just don’t beat yourself up. Financial abuse of this degree is painfully common.
I need you to gather your statements to prove that everything stolen was deposited by you.
I’ll also need a copy of your ID and rental agreement, as well as any documentation that proves Caleb and you are no longer in a relationship.
If we’re lucky, we can pressure the bank into admitting fault and returning your money to save their rep.
” As she speaks, her phone buzzes repeatedly on the table and she winces.
“I have to go, but you have my number. Let me know how you get on, but be careful.”
Then, with a bright smile, Mrs. Rye is gone, leaving behind a cloud of her sweet perfume and a pulse of hope in my chest.
Can I really get my money back?
If I can, then my trip to see my parents might not be off the table, after all.
But as I pay for my coffee and head out into the cold street, Xander lingers in my thoughts.
Leaving this place and never looking back was so attractive before, but now there’s Xander.
It’s impossible to label whatever is happening between us, never mind that he’s so much older than me and has a full life of adult responsibilities.
He can’t come with me.
But would he wait for me to come back?
Clearing my thoughts with a shake of my head, I huddle into my coat and call a taxi.
Xander can wait for now.
I need to find out who this Dickson is.
The address Mrs. Rye gave me leads me to a small apartment block in the middle of the town, tucked just off the main road leading to the highway out of town.
The temperature’s dropped a few degrees by the time I arrive and pay the taxi with a handful of crumpled bills from my pocket.
After sending a quick text to Xander thanking him for putting me in touch with Mrs. Rye, I hurry up the icy path to a peeling red front door and knock quickly.
My mind replays my conversations with Caleb, trying to put a face to the name Dickson, but nothing stands out.
The more I think about it, the more my gut curls. Knowing my luck, there’ll be a decent reason Caleb did what he did.
Part of me still clings to the hope that he turned into such an asshole for a hidden reason.
It’s easier to hope that than to believe I was lured in by his love bombing and used to put a roof over his head.
No one answers the red door.
I knock again and pain flares across my cold knuckles from the contact.
Still no answer.
Shoving my hands deep into the pockets of my coat, I huddle my shoulders together and groan softly.
Maybe it’s the wrong time of day to visit whoever this is. Just as I turn away, something falls over behind the door and a muffled curse rises, then footsteps hurry closer.
A lock slides out of place and the door creaks as it swings open.
“Yeah? What is it?” barks a voice through a cloud of cigarette smoke. The man hangs onto the door with one hand.
His other bony hand curls around a cigarette clinging to too much ash and bleary, narrow eyes blink furiously as if the daylight burns.
My heart punches up into my throat as we come face to face.
I know him.
I recognize his dark, curly hair and thick beard that hangs off a gaunt face.
I shouldn’t be here.
“I’m sorry,” I say hastily. “Wrong address. Sorry.”
“Wait.” His body hand leaves the door and grabs the back of my coat as I try to leave, jerking me backward. “I know you. What the—who are you?”
“Let go—”
“Wait!” With surprising strength, he hauls me backward and spins me around, grabbing my flailing arm before I can stumble away. “You’re Caleb’s chick, right? The fuck are you doing here?”
His grip on my arm is just as painful as the day he crashed into my apartment and choked me against the wall, demanding Caleb’s whereabouts while that fucker hid in my closet.
“I said I’m at the wrong address!”
“Bullshit. Why are you here?”
“Let go!”
“Fucking hell, stop yelling!” He grunts and casts his cigarette aside, then grabs my arm with both hands and hauls me into his apartment despite my panicked struggles.
A wall of smoke hits me, invading my lungs with each desperate breath.
Try as I might when pushing against him, he’s stronger than me, and I’m unable to push past him.
He kicks the door closed behind him and drags me into a bare room with a few scattered pieces of furniture, a rickety chair, and a threadbare couch covered in ruffled blankets.
“You woke me up, you come to my place, and then you tell me it’s the wrong fucking address?” He jerks me so close that I can see the individual pores along his nose and he grins a yellow-toothed smile. “Sit the fuck down.”
“I’m sorry!” Gasping, I barely manage to remain upright as he shoves me down into the chair. “I thought you were someone else.”
“Bullshit,” Dickson snarls. “What does that fucker want now?”
“Who?”
“Caleb!” Dickson flicks my forehead with his finger. “Duh!”
“He doesn’t want anything… Caleb’s dead.”
Dickson halts his pacing in front of me and stares, then he breaks into a waspish, deep laugh and pats his abdomen. “No way, for real?”
I nod, cautiously slipping my hand into my pocket and seeking out the smooth, cold screen of my phone. “A few weeks ago. Car crash.”
“Fuck.” Dickson snorts. “Just as well I got paid then, huh?”
“So you do have my money.”
Dickson’s laughter ends abruptly and he glares at me. “I have my money.”
“Stolen from me.” Internally, I kick myself, but my mouth runs away with a mind of its own as anger builds. “I’m here to get it back.”
“Get it back?”
“Yeah.” I stand while running my thumb along the edge of my phone, fighting to keep my racing heart under control. “That money was stolen and I’m here to get it back. And if this is how you treat all of your guests, then you really should be paying me back more for how you’ve treated me.”
“Treated you?” Dickson’s eyes narrow and he turns away, throwing his hands in the air. “This fucking bitch…”
I take my chance.
Dragging my phone out of my pocket, I hit redial on the last number I contacted but before the line connects, Dickson spins back around.
His hand flies out and collides with my wrist, knocking my phone out of my hand.
“Hey!”
“You’ve got some mouth on you, I’ll give you that,” Dickson sneers, advancing toward me.
I back away until my legs hit the chair and I’m forced back into it by his hands landing heavily on my shoulders. “I just want my money.”
“You want that money? All eight grand of it?” He leans closer and grins, grinding his teeth so forcefully that my stomach lurches.
“It wasn’t his to give,” I insist, grasping at that detail to keep my head straight.
“But he gave it. And now you want it back.” Dickson snorts wetly and leans up slowly.
“Fine. Let’s talk about your money. Or better yet…
” His eyes glint in the low light as they narrow.
“Let’s talk about what you can do for my business that’s worth eight grand.
Just how priceless is that thing between your legs? ”