Relentless(46)

“Is he expecting you?”

“I’m pretty sure he’s been expecting me for thirteen years.”

She picks up her phone and dials an extension. “Henry, you have—”

“Claire Nixon,” I say as she looks up at me questioningly.

“—Claire Nixon here to see you.” She glances at my shorts quickly as she listens to Henry speak. “Got it.” She hangs up and the smug look on her face makes me dread what she’s about to say. “He’s in the middle of something. He said you’ll have to wait a while since you don’t have an appointment.”

This time I can’t stop myself from rolling my eyes as I turn around and take a seat next to Adam on the tweed armchairs that look like they’ve been here since the eighties.

Adam grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze. “You’ve waited thirteen years. You can wait a few more minutes.”

“Take your wisdom and get outta here.”

He smiles and kisses my cheek. “Want to hear a joke while you wait?”

Honestly, I’m already nervous as hell. I don’t think a corny joke is going to calm my nerves, but I can’t resist the urge to hear him bomb. I look at him for a moment before I answer because I can’t believe how lucky I am. Some moments are made for showing us who our true friends are, and in this moment I realize Adam is my friend. My true friend. He drove 135 miles to prove that to me today. I don’t feel like I deserve him, but I’ll do my best to keep him. And someday I’ll find a way to repay him.

“Go for it,” I say.

He squints at me because he knows my mind is elsewhere. “Okay. Dirty or corny?”

I glance at the receptionist who appears to be enthralled in whatever she’s looking at on her computer screen, but she’s only eight feet away.

“Better go for corny this time,” I mutter.

“Okay. Knock, knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Olive.”

“Olive who?”

“Olive You.”

“I think I just threw up some fruit and yogurt in my mouth.” His eyes widen as he pretends to be offended and I smile. “Where are my manners? Come on in. I’ve been waiting for you all my life, Olive You.”

“You’re not just saying that ‘cause I said it, are you?”

“Nope. I mean it. Honestly and truly. Olive You with all my mushy red pimiento heart.”

“Now I just threw up in my mouth.” He grins as leans in to kiss me when I hear someone call my name. I turn and find a thin gentleman, maybe late-forties, with graying brown hair, a gray suit, and a kind face.

“Are you ready, Claire?” he asks, and I nod as I rise from the chair.

Adam stays close behind as I follow Henry down a corridor of cubicles. He turns right at the end of the corridor and heads for an open office door. We enter the office and he waves at a couple of chairs identical to the ones in the lobby. He takes a seat in his leather desk chair and rests his elbows on top of a manila folder in the center of his desk.

“First of all, Claire, I just want to say that I’m very sorry about your mother. She was a friend of mine in high school and I was devastated to hear about her death and even more saddened to know the circumstances.”

He’s probably referring to the fact that I was locked in that trailer with my dead mother for nearly two days. I should be angry that he’s brought this image into my mind, but he does look genuinely saddened.

“Thank you,” I say. “But I’m not here to talk about my mother’s death. I’m here to talk about this trust account. I want to know where the money came from.”

“Of course. Do you mind closing the door?” he asks Adam, who’s closest to the office door.

Adam doesn’t even have to stand from his chair in this tiny office to push the door softly closed.

Henry opens the manila folder and his eyes scan the contents as he flips through the pages. “I have hundreds of deposits here. They’re all electronic funds transfers from a single donor.”

“Not my mother?”

He shakes his head solemnly and I almost want to reach across the desk and strangle him to spit it out.

“Who?” I ask as I lean forward in my chair.

“I’ll need to see some identification first, as we discussed.”

I look over my shoulder at Adam and he pulls out his wallet as I slide my two expired IDs out of my back pocket. I lay them flat on the desk and Adam lays his driver’s license and a credit card next to mine. Henry examines all four IDs for a moment before he slides them back across the desk.

“Well, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, your mother is the grantor for the trust and she requested that you not be granted access until your twenty-first birthday.” He heaves a sigh as he gazes at the folder in front of him. “She wanted you to be provided for.”