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Lincoln
“I’m sorry,Mr. Hollingsworth. Your assets at First National Bank and Trust are frozen.”
I slammed the phone down.
That was the fifth call that had gone the exact same way in the past half hour.
Someone had cut me off.
It wasn’t just my credit cards, but every visible financial account I had. If it weren’t for the stash of cash in my vault and a few offshore accounts, I’d be hitting the panic button. I hoped I had enough to last until I could get things unfrozen.
I banged my fist on the desk.
“That outburst is no way for a Hollingsworth to behave.”
Slowly, I lifted my gaze to find the last person I wanted to see.
My father.
He made himself comfortable in a chair opposite me as though he had an open invitation into my office. “Problem?”
“No.”
Every nuance of the word said the exact opposite.
“Lincoln, I raised you to handle your own situations but—” he paused for emphasis. “If you stopped being so stubborn, you’d realize I can help you.”
By staying out of my way.
Instead of speaking my mind, I said nothing. I didn’t have the time or energy for this mental dance with him.
“I have a closing,” I said through my teeth as I got to my feet.
He crossed his leg as if he were just getting settled in. “About that.”
I froze with my fingers around the handle of my briefcase. This was a personal property purchase. He should know nothing about it.
“The title company called me concerned about your wellbeing. They received notice the funds didn’t process from your account.”
My nostrils flared. In all the chaos, I hadn’t considered the transaction wouldn’t go through.
“I offered to cover the expenditure, but they said you’d been flagged as unable to purchase tangible property in the United States.” No. Not my livelihood. He spoke innocently, as if he didn’t understand why this would be happening to his son.
It was an act.
A punch.
And it made me see stars, but I had to hold it together until I could get away from him.
“I’ll see to it.”
“You know how I feel about our family name. If you’ve done something to tarnish that, now is the time to confess to me.”
He wasn’t my priest. And I hadn’t done a damn thing wrong except be born his son. Anyone who cared would’ve been on the battle lines with their children, using every resource they had to straighten out this mess.
Instead, he seemed to take some sort of perverse pleasure in seeing me in distress. Like throwing me into a shark tank to see if I could make it out alive as a test to prove I was worthy to be a Hollingsworth.
Whether he liked it or not, I already was one. And my name was the least of my concerns at the moment.
