Page 23 of The Bitter Truth

“Really?” She narrows her eyes. “Do you not remember what your father said in the will about illegal or suspicious activities with his money? All of this is being funneled into these accounts because you sold some of your shares from True Oil Co.”

I slide the papers back to her. “Well, that’s impossible because I don’t have any offshore accounts and I haven’t sold any shares to anyone. Why would I do that?”

Mom studies my face a moment, searching for the truth. I suppose she’s been good at that when it comes to me. She can tell when I’m lying, but for some odd reason can’t tell when she’s being scammed by some twenty-year-old guy she’s sleeping with.

“I spoke with Anita. Our stockbroker, remember?”

“I know who Anita is,” I mutter.

“Well, she informed me that the money you got from selling one of your shares is now being invested into two accounts. One of them is in Italy. Another is in Mexico.”

My heart thumps a bit as I pick up the papers again, reading the numbers. The amounts range from $10,000 to $15,000. All sent in increments every three or so months.

“Well, it must be a mistake. I don’t have any offshore accounts.”

“Are you doing something illegal with this money, Jolene? Because if you are, what you received will come to me. I’ll have control of your finances since you’ll be deemed unfit to handle it.”

My heart races a smidge faster as I study the numbers again, then I look at her and she folds her arms across her chest, a smug grin twisting at her mouth. This can’t be happening. Of course, my dad left a clause like that in his will. Always the man to make me face the real world, reminding me even from his grave that he’s in control of my money and that one fuck-up will leave me broke.

“That is . . . unless someone else is doing this,” Mom says, and her voice has a lilt to it, like she knows something I don’t.

I shift my gaze to hers, hands shaking as I hold her eyes. Her grin transforms into a deep frown. “What’s that husband of yours been up to lately?”

“H-he wouldn’t do this,” I whisper. But of course, it’d crossed my mind. The only person who has access to my accounts and my shares is Dominic. In fact, we have a joint-brokerage account that we decided to set up when I received the inheritance from my dad, but how didn’t I catch this? And why the hell didn’t Anita tell me? Unless Dominic went to her personally and approved the money transfers . . .

One thing about my mom is she will double check everything when it comes to me. Never have I met a person so determined to see my fail. In no way should she be allowed to even look at my accounts, but she and Anita go way back, so I’m not surprised Anita gave her this. For all I know, my mother bribed her for it.

“How can you be so sure he wouldn’t do this?” she demands. “I told you from the beginning there was no way a man like him could be that interested in you. He clearly only hung around for the money, now look at him. Governor of an entire state, living in an overpriced house. Prancing around and doing whatever he wants with your money.” Her eyes narrow, and I’m shocked to see crow’s feet form around her eyes with how much Botox she receives. “You opened a brokerage account with him, didn’t you?”

“He’s my husband,” I inform her. “It was a mutual decision, and I want it to be that way in case anything ever happens to me.”

“And that is my point. Say something does happen to you, daughter.” She says the latter word with so much ice it causes goosebumps to break out on my skin. “Where will all that money go? You have no children, no siblings—it’s just him. And I’m starting to think it’s that way for a reason.” A smirk claims her lips as she leans back in her chair, taking a long sip of black coffee. She’s delighted to see the panic swirling in my eyes, the uncertainty, the sheer despair.

She finishes her coffee, then collects her purse and rises to her feet. “I won’t need the guestroom. I booked a hotel in the city for the night. You should speak to your husband, though. Clear all of this up and figure out why he brokered that share. Otherwise, I will have to step in, take this to the family lawyer, and I’m certain you don’t want that.”

Through my peripheral, I see her pick up her big hat. Her heels click on the floor again as she trots away, and as if her visit isn’t bad enough, she says, “Oh, and lay off the milk and sugar, Joey dear. Your face is getting pudgy again.”

TWENTY-ONE

BRYNN

I felt sick during the drive to Dominic’s place. He mentioned it was some place he was renting not too far from the Ritz. He sat behind the wheel of a beautiful Audi, chin up, cloaked in confidence. Golden streetlights flashed across his face, accentuating his firm jaw and sharp nose. Jazz music spilled from the speakers, and I was momentarily soothed by the saxophones and bass guitars swelling inside the car.

My belly was full of liquid, and my head was starting to hurt from one too many drinks, plus I’d hardly eaten a damn thing but truffle fries in the lounge, but riding with Dominic was nice. For a moment, I pretended I was his wife and that we were on a getaway trip to pour love and attention back into our marriage.

I needed to sober up a bit, so the throbbing in my head would pass. I suppose it is true that once you hit your thirties, your body can’t handle all that crazy stuff or partying like before. I used to be able to down a whole bottle of vodka in one night. Now? Vodka was completely out of the question. I was lucky if I didn’t wake with a hangover from a bottle of wine.

The car slowed to a creep as Dominic stopped in front of iron gates belonging to a neighborhood. The letters MV were built into the gates. He typed in a code on the box, the gates split apart, and he drove until he’d approached a smaller gate.

Withdrawing a black device from the cupholder, he pressed a button on it and the gates swung open with ease. He took the driveway up until a two-story European cottage appeared. I tried not to gawk like a loser as I drank it in. The exterior was cream with an even addition of gray stone. Brown shutters lined most of the windows on the first floor, and a two-car garage was attached to the left. Gold lights rose from the ground, highlighting the house and making it appear like a luxurious castle. This was definitely a place only the upper-class could afford to rent. I couldn’t even imagine how much Dominic was paying a night to stay here.

I climbed out of the car, staggering on my heels as I took in my surroundings. The house was on a single-laned street. Other houses were nearby, gated just like this one. Gates inside of an already gated neighborhood. Interesting.

“You’ve rented this place?” I asked as Dominic locked the car and headed for the front door.

“Oh, yeah. One of my good friends let me rent it for the weekend. Gave me a discount.” He winked at me over his shoulder. “Pretty nice, right?”

“Nice? Please, it’s stunning.” I could never afford a place like this, whether it was bought or a rental.

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