“The figure written down is correct.”
The inside of the cabin becomes rife with muggy heat as my blood boils with excitement.
“On one condition,” he adds on.
My eyes rocket to his. I’ll do anything to cash this check into my dwindling bank account. Nothing is beneath me for this amount of money.
“You need to talk to someone about what happened in Afghanistan.”
Except that.
My brows lower quicker than my heart plummeting into my stomach. “How do you know about that? Those files are meant to be sealed.”
“With a little bit of money, even the stickiest glue comes unstuck,” he replies, staring at me, not the slightest bit concerned about what my reaction will be that he invaded my privacy.
“I didn’t do what the file says I did,” I sneer through gritted teeth.
“You don’t think I know that? I would have never offered for you to join my empire if I believed a single thing in that file.”
“Then what the fuck is wrong with you?” I interrupt breathlessly. “Only a lunatic would take the word of a stranger over an official government document!”
Isaac shakes his head. “I’m not taking anyone’s word. I’m trusting my intuition. My intuition is telling me you aren’t the man your file says you are. Until you prove me wrong, I’ll continue to trust my intuition… and you.”
After securing the middle button of his jacket, he slides out of the stationary vehicle. My eyes turn to his when he pops his head back in the car. “You start two weeks from Monday. The particulars of your employment are contained in the white envelope in the back of the seat,” he advises, gesturing his head to the front passenger seat.
I wait all of two seconds for him to leave before delving my hand into the back pocket of the seat. Although I'm excited about securing employment, I'm also anxious about the stipulations he may have included in our agreement now that he is aware he is dealing with a criminal.
Emptying the contents of the envelope into my lap, the first thing my eyes zoom in on is a set of keys. The fake gold bullion keychain has four silver house keys and one black vehicle key dangling from it.
After dumping the keys back into the envelope, I collect a folded-up piece of paper with a four digit code scribbled on it. There are no other markings or indication as to what the code belongs to, just four digits: 3156. From the neatness of the handwriting, I would say Mr. Trust Fund himself wrote the note. After storing the number in my memory, I place the piece of paper back into the envelope and gather a gold-embossed business card.
“Avery Clarke,” I read off the card.
A puff of air escapes my nostrils when I read she specializes in psychology and the interpretation of dreams in real-life settings. I scrunch the card into a ball before dumping in onto the limo floor. The fourth and final contents of the envelope is a small, typed note on an official business letterhead. It reads:
Your apartment:
Apt No. 32
River Vista Luxury Apartments
1324 Hamilton Way
Rochdale
I double-read the address, just to make sure I'm seeing it right. Once I’ve assured all the numbers are in the right order, my eyes shift between the building on my right and the address on the piece of paper.You’ve got to be kidding me. This can’t be right.
Unexpectedly, the back passenger door opens and the still unnamed gentleman with a thick silver mustache enters the frame.
My brows meet my hairline when he says, “Welcome home, Hugo,” while gesturing his hand to Ava’s apartment building.
Twelve
Ava
“Are you okay, dear? You don’t look very well,” asks Mrs. Marshall as her eyes roam over my face with concern. “You don’t have that dreaded flu going around do you?”
The corner of Jorgie’s mouth lifts when Mrs. Marshall places the back of her hand on my forehead, checking for a temperature.
