“If you decide to take this further, then of course the Bank will double down and claim they were duped by perfect fakes, or even that you are running some kind of scam with Caleb, which will be hard to disprove since he’s dead.” She glances up with a sad smile. “My condolences.”
I wave her off with a smile. “It’s fine. Can they really do that?”
“Banks have a lot of expensive lawyers who will spin this a thousand ways to save their reputation. It’s not impossible but it would be a very long case. A case I think you could win, but just in case, I had some of my people do some digging. Does the name Dickson mean anything to you?”
I turn the name over in my mind for a few seconds, then shake my head. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”
“Caleb had the money transferred to an account that was emptied within the hour. I suspected it was Caleb, but the account was registered to a man called Dickson. Could he be a relative or a friend?”
“He didn’t have any family and he never mentioned anyone, but I mean, it could be?” Sipping my coffee, I mull over Caleb.
We hadn’t exchanged any kind words since the last time we slept together a few months ago, and even that was fueled by alcohol. It’s plausible that there were people I didn’t know about.
“If we can find this Dickson, we might get some answers. I haven’t had time to track him down, but if you’re so inclined…” Mrs. Rye slides a small card toward me with an address scribbled on one side in black ink. “Finding where your money went is the first step in getting it back.”
The card is smooth against my fingertips, likely more expensive than all the jewelry I’m wearing. “Thank you. I don’t know what to say…”
“Just don’t beat yourself up. Financial abuse of this degree is painfully common. I need you to gather your statements to prove that everything stolen was deposited by you. I’ll also need a copy of your ID and rental agreement, as well as any documentation that proves Caleb and you are no longer in a relationship. If we’re lucky, we can pressure the bank into admitting fault and returning your money to save their rep.” As she speaks, her phone buzzes repeatedly on the table and she winces. “I have to go, but you have my number. Let me know how you get on, but be careful.”
Then, with a bright smile, Mrs. Rye is gone, leaving behind a cloud of her sweet perfume and a pulse of hope in my chest.
Can I really get my money back?
If I can, then my trip to see my parents might not be off the table, after all.
But as I pay for my coffee and head out into the cold street, Xander lingers in my thoughts.
Leaving this place and never looking back was so attractive before, but now there’s Xander.
It’s impossible to label whatever is happening between us, never mind that he’s so much older than me and has a full life of adult responsibilities.
He can’t come with me.
But would he wait for me to come back?
Clearing my thoughts with a shake of my head, I huddle into my coat and call a taxi.
Xander can wait for now.
I need to find out who this Dickson is.
The address Mrs. Rye gave me leads me to a small apartment block in the middle of the town, tucked just off the main road leading to the highway out of town.
The temperature’s dropped a few degrees by the time I arrive and pay the taxi with a handful of crumpled bills from my pocket.
After sending a quick text to Xander thanking him for putting me in touch with Mrs. Rye, I hurry up the icy path to a peeling red front door and knock quickly.
My mind replays my conversations with Caleb, trying to put a face to the name Dickson, but nothing stands out.
The more I think about it, the more my gut curls. Knowing my luck, there’ll be a decent reason Caleb did what he did.
Part of me still clings to the hope that he turned into such an asshole for a hidden reason.
It’s easier to hope that than to believe I was lured in by his love bombing and used to put a roof over his head.
No one answers the red door.
I knock again and pain flares across my cold knuckles from the contact.
