Page 18 of Downfall

Walking into the lobby of the highrise office building that houses Mitchell and Associates, I make my way to the bank of elevators. I work on the sixteenth floor of Hunter Plaza, a thirty-story building in the heart of downtown. I follow a group of middle-aged men into an elevator and am grateful when they take their heated discussion about mergers onto the fourth floor, leaving me in peace.

I’ve made a few friends at work over the last year, but no one who I see outside of the office. I haven’t met one person who I could be myself with, so I mostly keep my head down and get my work done. Working hard has its perks, and being promoted to Senior Auditor within a year is almost unheard of, and I managed to do it in ten months. I’ve done everything in my power to give the job a chance, the fair shake that I promised I would give it over the past year, but I still hate it.

Every evening, I consider not coming back, but the next morning, here I am, setting my coffee and purse down in my cubicle. I greet my co-workers, then pop in my earbuds and get to work.

My lunch hour rolls around quickly enough, and at five minutes to noon, I am walking into the elevator. I am meeting my dad at a small restaurant on the next block over for lunch, so I shouldn’t be too late if I walk fast. My mind is still whirling as I walk toward the restaurant, trying to think of what my father could want to talk to me about. The most likely thing I’ve come up with is Lydia or one of the kids did something he considers amazing, so he wants to brag in person. That’s the only reason he ever contacts me.

When I arrive at the restaurant, I give the hostess my dad’s name and I am escorted to a booth near the back where he is waiting. He stands as I approach, but doesn’t move to hug me, so we just stare at each other awkwardly for a few seconds before I just take a seat. He follows suit, and the awkward staring continues.

A server comes by to take our drink orders, a Coke for me, since I have to go back to work, and a whiskey for him, and neither of us says one word to each other until my father has his whiskey in hand.

Taking a large gulp, he says, “Lydia’s friend told her a bit of interesting news last week.” He looks at me expectantly, and I’m not sure what to do or say.

I settle on, “Oh?”

“Yes, it seems as though you have a second, um, profession, that we were unaware of. Her friend had seen a picture of you at our house and recognized you when she went to your workplace for a bachelorette party.”

He pauses to take another drink, watching me to gauge my reaction to his revelation. But I keep my face impassive. I figured he would find out eventually. I don’t broadcast it, but I also don’t hide the fact that I dance. Really, I’m surprised it took five years for his wife to sniff it out, since she’s always been quick to tell my father any and everybadthing about me.

When I don’t reply, he proceeds to tell me the reason we’re here. “As you can imagine, we were quite shocked to learn that you would stoop so low as towhoreyourself out for money.” At this, my jaw drops and rage begins to bubble up in my throat. If we weren’t in public, I might punch him, the man who raised me and promised my mom he would care for me after she was gone. But I sit in my silent fury, waiting for the moment I can storm back to my office and never see this man again.

“Now that we know, Lydia and I have decided that it would be in everyone’s best interest to cut ties. Lydia is concerned that you will be a bad influence on the children, and I don’t disagree.”

Seething. They thinkIwill be a bad influence on their precious children? I don’t have any desire to be a part of their family, anyway, but I never expected that I would be the one to get the boot. I did everything my father asked of me. I was a model student, earned the degree he wanted me to get, and have the career he approved of. But I’m a bad influence because I dance at a place his children can’t even get into?

He must see the fire in my eyes because he rushes through the rest of his speech. “You were not set to receive your trust until you turned twenty-five, and your mother didn’t want you to know about it until then, but under the circumstances, I have made the decision to change the terms. You now have full access, and I expect that this will be the last you need from me.”

He slides a folder across the table to me, and pulling a fifty from his wallet, he drops it on the table.

I’m still too stunned to speak as he stands and pats me on the shoulder. “Enjoy your life, Abby. Your mother would have wanted that for you.” And he goes. Leaving the restaurant and me behind.

The server returns a few minutes later to take my food order, but I order three shots of tequila instead. His eyebrows raise subtly before he scurries away. Once he’s gone, I pull the folder my father left toward me. I assume it holds my trust fund information, but it feels wrong. This should be a moment that changes my life for the better, but instead, it marks the day my own father disowned me.

When my shots are delivered a few minutes later, I realize that I am still staring at the folder like it’s going to bite me. I knock two of the shots back with some salt and lime, then open the file.

Five million dollars. I’m twenty three and have five million dollars.

I gape down at the statements in front of me for a few minutes, and when I finally look up, my shots are lined up in front of me, three fresh slices of lime on a saucer next to them. I down my first shot, so overwhelmed with this information that I can hardly think. All I can think is,I have five fucking million dollars, over and over.

No wonder my mom never told me. My life would have been so different if she were like Lydia. I would have grown up spoiled and extremely entitled, but as it is, I’m just stunned.

Once the other shot glasses are empty and I’m finally able to think straight, I get up, tossing some more cash on the table before gathering my bag and the folder containing my new account information.

My first stop is the bank. Before I do anything, I need to be sure this is legitimate. I wouldn’t put it past my lovely stepmom to blindside me, making me jump through legal hoops, just to be petty. But the bank manager pulls me into her office and confirms the money is in the account and that I can transfer it to whatever bank I want. She also gives me a business card for a nearby financial advisor who could help me manage my newfound wealth.

I thank her and head to my next destination—Mitchell and Associates. I’m due back from lunch by now, anyway, but I’m not going back to the office to work. This will be the last time I ever step foot in that stuffy office.

Chapter 15

Abby

It’sSunday,aweekbefore Christmas, and Downtown is lit up, top to bottom. It’s my first Christmas without family obligations, or really any family to spend it with at all, but I am determined to make it a good one.

I love the holidays. During this time, people are just nicer, more generous, more caring. And the beautiful lights and cheery music everywhere you go don’t hurt, either.

Work has been crazy this month, which means great tips. Not that I need it with my new trust fund money, but I still love working at the Fox Hole, and now that I’m not working a day job, I have plenty of time on my hands without quitting there, too.

I’m off for the week, choosing to keep my schedule of Friday and Saturday nights only, and tonight I’m going on a date. It’s the third one I've been on this year, and I’m hopeful this one will go better than the others.

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