Chapter 29
JORDAN
I still haven’t heard back from the bank contact on Wednesday, so I try calling again and leaving a voicemail. It’s not until Friday that I finally get an email.
Mr. Atkinson,
We’re sorry for the delay in getting back to you. Unfortunately, as we have told Mitchell Hurst, those records have been lost due to a technological error. We don’t have any way to retrieve them. Mr. Hurst should have statement records to support his withdrawal of these funds.
Laurie Russel
IT Manager
Spring Valley First Bank
Definitely not what I wanted to hear. How can there be no record of this huge transaction?
After a Google search of all the possible records that could exist, besides what they’ve claimed to have lost, I send off an email asking about a couple options, like the teller log or scans of the withdrawal slip, among some other things.
Then I can’t help myself from Googling the bank and looking up the staff of the small bank outside of Houston.
I’m almost disappointed that Laurie Russel does actually work there and is the IT manager.
I call Mitchell after that, because I don’t trust that Spring Valley First Bank is going to have any of those extra records.
Mitchell isn’t surprised when I tell him the bank says they don’t have it. “Yeah, bro. I’ve been trying for months. Ever since I realized Bryce had stolen the money and there weren’t going to be any investment returns.” His voice is so condescending, I take some quiet deep breaths to keep my cool.
“I get it.” I barely refrain from adding bro in a sarcastic tone.
“But you have to understand, I can’t just write a check.
It’s illegal. I know you lost a lot of money, and I promise, I know how frustrating it all is.
I’ve been there. Is there any way you kept a statement or a withdrawal slip that’s filed away somewhere?
Once we have something like that, we have options. ”
Mitchell huffs. “I don’t think so, but I’ll look around and give you a call back.”
“Sorry about this.” I’m not sorry. The dude gave Bryce $500,000 in cash and didn’t keep a record of it?
That’s pretty stupid if you ask me. But the truth is, we had to work to find documentation in several cases, most of them involving some of Bryce’s older victims. He made some dumb choices—we all did.
“I’ll get back to you if I find something,” Mitchell says, then hangs up.
“Bro,” I mutter to myself as I pocket my phone. “You are not making this easy.”
“Giving yourself a pep talk in here?” Libby asks, and I look to see her at the door of my office. She comes in and perches on one of the utilitarian chairs across from my desk. She’s offered to redecorate this spartan office, but she’s the only one who comes in here besides me. It’s a waste.
“Still no documentation on Mitchell Hurst’s claim. The guy gave Bryce half a million in cash and acts like it’s my fault I don’t just hand over the money.” I shake my head.
Libby grimaces. “He sounds … special.”
I bark a laugh. “I haven’t talked to him since high school, but my intuition says he hasn’t changed much.”
“Want me to check in with Caleb and see how it’s going getting those files from the FBI?” She leans forward, expression eager. She hates when she can’t fix something, and the fact that I won’t let her pay Mitchell $500,000 to wrap this up is killing her.
“No. He’d get in touch if he had news to report.
” I cast her a grateful smile. “If Mitchell wants the money, he’ll find the documentation somehow.
” I shrug like it doesn’t bother me that this claim has turned out to be so difficult, and the truth is, it doesn’t.
I’m only putting in this much extra effort because Baylee wants to pay the claim somehow.
“Okay, fine.” Libby pouts, and I clench my fists, letting my nails bite into my palms to keep my brain on the conversation at hand and not hopping over the desk to take her in my arms. “I have lunch with some of the top donors in the Captain’s Club. Want to come?”
I lean back, trying to appear unaffected by her. Probably an impossible task. “Do you want me there?”
“I always want you there,” she says, grinning slowly at me.
“Boss,” I growl, scooting my chair back and away from her. “Are you flirting with me?”
“Sorry.” She doesn’t look very contrite. In fact, she bites her bottom lip.
I close my eyes, pray for patience, and hear her giggle. “Oh, you are trouble,” I say, trying not to laugh.
“Of course I want you to come to lunch with me,” she says, her grin wide. “You make me look good with the hockey people.”
I flip my laptop closed, then pick it up and stuff it in my backpack. “If by that you mean standing next to my questionable face highlights your exceptional beauty, I concur with that.”
She scoffs. “I’m fairly certain you must have been voted hockey’s sexiest player at least once, if not for all eight years you played.”
I snort with laughter. “Not that I’m aware of. Is that a thing?”
She hooks her arm through my elbow as we walk into the hallway. “It should be.”
I look down at her, unable to stop myself from taking in her bright smile. She beams up at me. “Trouble,” I repeat under my breath. I’m completely done for. This woman has me wrapped around her finger, and I’m not even concerned about it one bit.