Page 70 of Every Promise Broken

“Anytime, friend. Even if you’re kind of an asshole and just called me a moron to my dog.”

I laugh. “Well, she deserves to know what she’s getting into.”

After we finish the well check appointment, Shooter leaves with Sophie, and I head back into my office to finish up some paperwork before it’s time to leave for the evening. As I’m finishing up, an email comes through that catches my eye and has me stopping what I was doing.

It’s from the mortgage company, but I don’t know what they’d be emailing me for. Clicking on the email, I read through, my heart pounding more viciously the more I read.

Dear Whittaker Bowman Jr.,

This letter for your records is confirmation that your loan was recently paid in full…

What the hell…

This can’t be right. There must be some sort of a mistake.

Finding the lender’s website, I locate their phone number, and with shaky hands, I dial their number, bringing the phone up to my ear. Of course, because it’s so close to the end of business day, I sit on hold forever, my nerves getting more and more shot by the second.

I re-read the email several more times, like I’ll find the answer to all my questions in there if I look hard enough.

What is happening?

Finally, the line connects, and my mind is so jumbled I can hardly talk as the lady asks for my information to pull up my account.

“How can I help you, Mr. Bowman?”

“H-hi, yes, I’m calling about an email I just got from your office. Although, I think it may be a mistake. Or a scam.”

The chipper voice on the other end of the phone says, “Sure thing. Can you tell me what the email said?”

I read her the email, word for word, my stomach in knots. This has to be a mistake.

“Oh, okay,” she replies, sounding confused.See, mistake.“We did send that email, sir. It’s not a mistake or a scam.”

“Okay, well, it has to be a mistake, because I certainly didn’t pay off that loan.”

“Give me just a moment as I look through the file.” There’s a brief pause where I can hear the clicking of her fingers hitting the keyboard. My office is entirely too hot, sweat dripping down my neck into my scrub top. “It looks like the account was paid off today via a wire transfer from a Strauss Family Holdings. Does that sound familiar?”

I’m going to be sick.

“Sir?”

“Yes, sorry. It does sound familiar. I’m sorry. Thank you for your time.”

The woman on the other end of the call says something else to me before the line disconnects, but I don’t hear any of it.

Conrad did this.

Conrad paid off my mortgage.

Without telling me.

My vision blurs at the corners as I move on autopilot, shutting my computer down and gathering all my stuff so I can leave. My hands are shaky, and as I storm out to my truck, my knees are wobbly. This feels like a sign. Like the universe showing me what an idiot I am for thinking we could ever be together again. Bile churns in my gut as I start my vehicle and peel out of the driveway.

“Who the fuck does he think he is?” I hiss to myself, slapping a hand down on my steering wheel. “Why would he fucking do this?”

Why did he do this behind my back?

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