Page 117 of If I Could

“No! Don’t call him.”

Hank slips his phone in his shirt pocket. “So where’d you get the money?”

“It’s none of your damn business.”

“It’s a hundred thousand dollars. It sure as hell IS my business. The only people walking around with a hundred thousand dollars cash are criminals.”

Shit, shit, shit! What do I do? What am I going to tell him?

“Maybe I’m from a wealthy family,” I say, trying to sound cool. “You ever think of that? Maybe that hundred thousand is nothing to me.”

“So you’re a spoiled rich kid who decided to spend your summer in a run-down shack of a house in the middle of nowhere?”

“I wanted to see how the other half lives.”

He nods. “Yes. Of course you did.”

“Listen to me.” I lean forward, slamming my hand on the table. “This is none of your damn business. I’m not your client. I’m not on trial. I haven’t done anything wrong. So leave me the fuck alone!” I bolt up from my chair so fast it falls on the floor.

I’m furious. Furious at Hank for finding my money and furious at myself for not hiding it better.

“Calm down,” he says, still seated. “I don’t have the cops waiting outside. I haven’t even told anyone this. Not even my wife.”

Breathing hard, I say, “Why haven’t you told anyone? You’ve known about this for a week and you don’t say anything? Not even to me?”

“I was doing some research. Seeing if your story checked out. It doesn’t, by the way. You’re not a writer. There’s no book. I looked up every publishing deal made within the past five years. Your name wasn’t anywhere to be found.”

“It’s a small publisher.”

“If you had an agent, like you said you did, the deal would be public, even if with a small publisher. And there are no writing samples online. No record of your participation in any writing classes or workshops. I doubt Kyle is even your name.”

“Why the fuck are you doing this?” I pick up the chair and set it upright, slamming it down on the wood floor. “What are you trying to prove?”

“I’m trying to figure out who the hell you are. Why you paid Miller thousands of dollars to rent out this house for the summer. And yes, he told me how much you gave him, for both his house and his silence. He said you didn’t want anyone knowing how much you paid. Why is that, Kyle? Because it would make them suspicious? Because it would make them question your story?”

“I don’t have to answer your questions. We’re not in a damn courtroom and I’m not going to be put on trial for something I didn’t do. The money you found isn’t stolen. It’s mine. I wasn’t lying when I said I’m from a wealthy family.”

“How wealthy?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Why’d you leave?”

“I was tired of it. I was tired of the people, the lifestyle. It’s all fake. I wanted to see what it’s like to not be part of that world. I wanted something real.” I look around. “This town? This place? This is real.”

It’s true, but I didn’t know I needed to experience this until I got here and met Sage and got to live a life that wasn’t filled with money and whatever money could buy. I didn’t expect to like being here. It was just a hideout. A place I couldn’t be found. But it turned out to feel like home. Until Sage left. Since then, it’s felt like nothing at all. Sage is what made it feel like home.

“So you were a spoiled rich kid who needed a break?”

“Pretty much.”

He huffs. “Try again.”

“What the hell? I’m not lying. I’m rich.”

“I get that, and I believe it, but the part about needing a break from your pampered lifestyle? I’m not buying it.”

“Then what exactly am I doing here?”

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