Page 164

“What the fuck?”

I sat straight up against the pillows, blinking hard and focusing both eyes on the screen, certain that sleep was playing tricks on me and that I had read the number wrong.

Available balance: $90,000,012.18.

My eyebrows pulled tightly together.

“No.” I whispered, my thumb shaking as I closed the app entirely, swiped it away, reopened it, and waited through the agonizing loading circle for everything to reload.

Same damn number.

I clicked straight on my transaction history to see what kind of insane glitch had hijacked my account, and there it was, sitting at the very top of the list in bold, unmistakable text.

C. BLACK TRUST DISTRIBUTION— $90,000,000.00.

My heart immediately started beating faster, thumping hard and erratic against my ribs.

C. Black?

As in Caspian Black?

I read the amount again, much slower this time, because my brain apparently refused to process that many zeroes stacked together at once.

Ninety million dollars.

Sitting right there in my mothafuckin’ bank account.

I refreshed the screen. The number didn’t change. I refreshed it again, staring until my eyes burned, and it was still there. Slowly, my attention drifted away from the glowing screen and toward the empty side of the bed.

“What the hell is this? What’s going on? Is this a prank? Did somebody hack my account? Caspian, if you got something to do with this, I need you to give me some kind of sign because I am two seconds away from calling the bank and telling them somebody accidentally made me rich.”

Of course nobody answered me.

The room remained still, holding only the quiet ticking of the mantel clock and the distant rustle of the trees outside.

I returned to the transaction details on the screen, but there wasn’t much information beyond the name and the staggering amount. Nobody had mentioned sending me money.

I damn sure hadn’t requested any kind of trust distribution, and I knew for a fact I hadn’t gone to sleep with ninety million dollars in my account. Hell, I hadn’t even gone to sleep with fifty.

I remained in bed for another minute, desperately trying to force some kind of logical explanation together.

Maybe Henrietta had sent it. That was the only reasonable possibility I could come up with.

She had always been generous, especially when it came to Kaidence, and she knew everything we had been dealing with lately after the fire. But ninety million dollars? That wasn’t helping somebody out money; that was change your entire bloodline’s tax bracket before breakfast money.

I was just reaching for Henrietta’s contact in my phone when the rich, savory smell of bacon drifted upstairs through the vents. My stomach instantly growled in response. A second later, Willow’s loud, obnoxious laughter floated up from somewhere downstairs.

I climbed out of bed, pulled on my robe, and headed down the wide staircase toward the kitchen with my phone still clutched tightly in my hand.

The closer I got to the main level, the stronger the mouthwatering smells of crispy bacon, sizzling sausage, golden pancakes, and something sweet and spiced became.

Was that French toast?

I rounded the corner into the kitchen and stopped dead in my tracks.

Willow stood at the stove in her silk bonnet and pajama shorts, dancing to whatever song played from her phone while she expertly flipped pancakes on the griddle. Granny sat comfortably at the kitchen table drinking her morning tea, and Kaidence was seated on a stool at the island happily eating a piece of bacon.

The kitchen, however, looked like somebody had robbed a fuckin’ grocery store.