“Uh, yeah, I’m a good saver,” I evaded.
She smiled. “Oh, well, is there anything we can do to keep your business?”
“Unfortunately, no. The bank’s been great. I just-we’re moving.”
“Oh, I see. That’s nice. Where are you moving to?” she asked. Nosy fool.
“Virginia,” I lied quickly.
“Oh, going to school there?” she fished.
“I am,” I lied again.
“All right,” she said, turning back toward her computer. “This is your balance.” She discreetly wrote the figure on a piece of paper and slid it over to me. I glanced over at it to make sure it fit the number I remembered. The number was correct, but underneath she’d added another message of her own, including her phone number.
I slid the piece of paper into my back pocket and smiled. “Thanks,” I said. The last thing I needed if my father waltzed in here asking if anyone had seen us was this ridiculous girl squealing.
Kelli handed me a withdrawal slip and I began to fill it out, shielding the amount from Bridge nonchalantly with my forearm. I’d done some math and research before we left and knew exactly how much cash I needed to purchase a modest truck with, as well as the essentials, like gas and food for the trip there.
“The remaining in a cashier’s check?” she asked, smiling at me like she’d won something.
“Yes, please,” I smiled back.
She stood and walked to the teller’s station.
“What are you going to do with a cashier’s check?” Bridge asked.
“I can’t very well walk around with thousands of dollars in my pocket, can I?”
She eyed me, one brow raised precariously over her eye. “I don’t know. It depends on how many thousands you have.”
I sighed. “You think you’re so clever.”
She laughed. “I know I am.”
I grinned at her. “It’s a lot of thousands.”
Her gaze narrowed on me, her arms locked around herself. “What the hell did you do?” she whispered.
“Nothing,” I said, leaning back into my chair but turning my own stare out the window to my left.
“Bull. Complete bull,” she said, calling me out. “No more lies, dude. Spill. What is going on?”
“I may have been a sort of a lackey for Dad.”
She sat up a little. “No, Spence,” she said, sounding more than a little disappointed.
“I’m sorry,” I bit back. “Did you just cast the first stone, preggo?”
She balked aloud and punched my shoulder. “Please. This is not even in the same ballpark, buddy.”
I sighed. “I don’t want to talk about this right now, Bridge.”
She sat up even straighter. “Too bad, Spence,” she began, but the banker returned, saving me from any immediate beatdown.
“Here you go,” Kelli said, sitting down. “You’re all set,” she continued, handing me an envelope. Her hand lingered on mine and I tried not to pull away too abruptly.
“Thank you,” I said, smiling.
“If you visit the teller station on the far right, she’ll be able to count your cash out for you.”
“Thanks again,” I said.
I got up and Bridge followed me to the station. The teller greeted us and began to count out the cash. I nodded when she laid down the last hundred. She tucked it into another envelope and handed it over. I placed both envelopes in the inside pocket of my coat. We left and got into our vehicles. Bridge followed me to one of the upscale dealerships off the highway and I’d never been more grateful for the silence. I was starting to feel I was in over my head.
“Welcome to—” the girl at the front desk began, but I cut her off, frustrated, overwhelmed and feeling like we’d wasted too much time already.
“Is your manager in?” I asked.
If she was taken aback by my abruptness, her expression didn’t show it. “Of course, just a moment,” she said, removing herself from her chair and click-clacking over to the manager’s office.
“Can I help you?” an overweight gentleman with a buzz cut asked.
“Spencer Blackwell,” I said, offering my hand.
My name registered with him. “Ah, Mister Blackwell, you can call me Jeff. How are you this morning?”
“I’m well, Jeff. I need to unload these two vehicles,” I said, pointing to my Aston and Bridge’s SLS.
“What are you looking for them?” he asked.
“No less than one-point-two.” His eyes lit up. They were worth half a million more resale.
“I can’t do that,” he said, already chiming in with a cliché.
“How about this, have your men check them out. See if they meet your standards, then we’ll talk.”