I shook my head, tears pooling. “No. What the hell is going on?”
Grabbing my card out of the machine, I stormed out of the bookstore, leaving the books behind, and charged down the street. I rushed home as a thousand knots tightened in my stomach.
One card not working? Fine. None of my cards working and my bank account empty? My mind was racing.
Was the jewelry shop in trouble? Had our accountant not paid our taxes and our accounts were now frozen? Had we been in debt?
As far as I knew everything had always been fine. Mr. Crist had handled the business and properties, and whenever I talked to the accountant, our finances were in great shape.
I dug my phone out again and dialed our family’s accountant, who also handled the Crists’ accounts, but all I got was a message that he was gone for the weekend.
I continued down the street, sweat breaking out across my back as I tried dialing my mother, Mrs. Crist, and even Trevor. I needed to know how to get in touch with someone that could help.
But no one was answering. What the fuck is going on? Why can’t I get a hold of anyone?
Richard, the doorman, saw me approach and immediately held open the front door of Delcour. I whisked through, ignoring his hello and making straight for the elevator.
Once I got upstairs and in my apartment, I dumped my bag and started up my laptop to log into my accounts. I couldn’t wait until everyone was back in the office on Monday. I needed to find out what the hell was going on now.
As I brought the Internet up, I dialed Mr. Crist’s office, knowing he worked late and that his assistant would most likely still be there as well. It was only just after six.
“Hello?” I rushed out, cutting off the woman as she answered the phone. “Stella, this is Rika. Is Mr. Crist in? It’s urgent.”
“No, I’m sorry, Rika,” she replied. “He left for Europe a few days ago to join Mrs. Crist. Can I leave a message for him?”
I dropped my head in my hand, gripping my hair in frustration. “No, I…” Tears started to spill. “I need to know what’s going on. Something’s happened with my accounts. I don’t have any money. None of my credit cards work!”
“Oh, dear,” she burst out, sounding a little more concerned now. “Well, have you talked to Michael?”
“Why would I talk to Michael?”
“Because Mr. Crist transferred power of attorney over to him late last week,” she pointed out as if I should’ve known. “Michael is currently in charge of everything until you graduate.”
I stilled, my eyes widening.
Michael? He controlled everything now?
I shook my head. No.
“Rika?” Stella asked when I didn’t say anything.
But I dropped the phone away from my ear and ended the call.
Tightening my fingers around the cell, I hardened my eyes and clenched my fucking jaw so hard my teeth ached.
All the money my father left us. All the money we earned from our property and the shop. He had the deeds to everything!
I darted my hands out, swiping the laptop off the island and pushing it to the floor where it tumbled and crashed.
“No!” I screamed.
My stomach rolled, and I felt sick. What the hell was he doing? I knew it was him, but why?
I wiped away my tears, anger charging through my veins now. I didn’t care. Whatever he was up to and why he did it, God, I didn’t care.
I hopped off the stool, slipped my phone in my pocket, and grabbed my keys from where I’d dropped them on the floor, racing out of the apartment. I didn’t even bother grabbing my purse before I locked the door and took the elevator down to the first floor.
As soon as the doors opened up again, I charged out and headed straight for the front desk. “Has Mr. Crist come home yet?”
Mr. Patterson popped his head up from his computer and looked at me. “I’m sorry, Miss Fane. I can’t tell you that,” he said. “Would you like to leave him a message?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I need to know where he is right now.”
But he just frowned, looking regretful. “I am sorry. I’m not allowed to give out that information.”
I heaved a breath and pulled out my phone, bringing up my pictures. Clicking on one of Trevor, Mr. Crist, and me in May, I flashed him the screen.
“Recognize the man in the middle with his arm around me?” I asked. “Evans Crist. Michael’s father.” My voice turned sharp. “Your boss. My godfather.”
His face fell, and I saw his Adam’s apple bob up and down. I’d never played the “I’m-Going-To-Get-You-Fired” card before, but it was all I had. Now he knew I knew the Crists, so why shouldn’t I know where Michael is?
“Where is he?” I demanded, sliding my phone into my pocket again.
He straightened, dipping his head down and not looking at me. “He left about any hour ago,” he admitted. “He and his friends took a cab to Hunter-Bailey for dinner.”
I shoved away from the counter, rushing out the front doors.
Turning left, I ran down the city sidewalk, veering around other pedestrians and racing through crosswalks as I made my way down to the gentlemen’s club several blocks from Delcour.
I breathed hard, a light layer of sweat covering my stomach and back as I finally jogged up the stairs of the old stone building, my legs burning from the rush I’d made to get here.
I was done thinking. Done wondering and pondering. He’d stolen from me and my family, and my blood was burning.