Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 149209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 746(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 497(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 746(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 497(@300wpm)
As I toss the little metal disc in the nearby trash can, my father’s voice booms. I hear the shock. It’s a tone I’ve only heard once—after my mother’s doctors told my parents her breast cancer was terminal. This blow is every bit as gut-deep and stunned.
I flip off the radio and go running, only to find my dad sheet-white and blinking as he clutches the phone. “Everything?”
“What?” I ask.
He waves me away with a scowl and begins rubbing at the spot under his shoulder even harder. “Everything. I don’t… That’s thirty-five years of work. Of savings. Oh, shit. And he was arrested yesterday?”
What the hell is he talking about? And who? “Dad?”
He shakes his head again. “Keep making phone calls. I’ll do the same and I’ll be on a plane home tomorrow. If you find out anything else… Yes. Of course. I’m going to call Bethany right now. Thank you.”
The moment he hangs up, I’m beside him. “What happened?”
“According to Brenda, Barclay Reed, the head of my investment firm, was arrested yesterday. He’s been charged with running a giant Ponzi scheme, and every penny of his clients’ investments is gone.” He blinks as if he’s in total disbelief. “I’ve got to call Bethany. He’s her dad. Barclay, I mean. I’m not supposed to know that. She’s illegitimate. It’s hush-hush, but… She’ll tell me what’s happening. She’s honest. There must be some explanation. I saw her less than four weeks ago, and everything was fine. She showed me all the reports. My money was growing. It can’t suddenly be gone…”
He rises unsteadily to his feet. I ease him back down. He looks almost gray now. Shock, I suspect. But I’m worried. He’s sweating more and seems short of breath.
“Dad, sit here. Rest. I’ll get you packed and reserve you a plane ticket back to LA. If you get there and you need my help, I’ll fly out.”
“Thanks.” He nods almost absently. “I’ll call Bethany.”
Since I want to hear this conversation, I pretend to gather our personal effects around the room. I try to stay calm, but my thoughts are racing. My father has worked his ass off and sacrificed for decades to save a few million dollars. He’s well off, but he’s earned it. I’m mad that thieves ever steal from anyone, but for scammers to swindle the life savings of a man nearing the end of his money-earning years? Yeah, I’m furious.
“No answer.” He presses the button to end the call. “I’m going to try again.”
But three attempts later, the “beautiful, smart, and sweet” financial advisor is nowhere to be found. How convenient. If Barclay is the prime suspect and Bethany is his daughter, odds are good she was involved, too. How dare that very pretty shark in a sheath look a lonely widower in the face and prey on his trust?
My father now looks waxen. He’s rubbing at his chest in earnest.
“Dad, are you all right? Are you in pain?”
“Indigestion.” He waves me off. “Happens all the time. Maybe Bethany isn’t in the office. I’ll try her cell.”
I’d tell him to wait, but in his shoes, I would want to get to the bottom of this shit, too. Still, I’m worried.
I grab my phone to dial Gary, a buddy who happens to be the local family practitioner. Maybe he can tell me what’s going on or prescribe something for Dad’s anxiety.
“Her phone went straight to voice mail. Oh, god.” He presses a hand to his chest as if he’s trying to keep it from falling apart. “She’s never not answered me. Ever.”
His expression tells me that he’s crushed. Shattered.
“I’ve got to… I have to get…” My dad stumbles to his feet.
I pocket my phone and rush back to his side. “What?”
Now, he looks disoriented and pasty. I’m no longer concerned; I’m downright alarmed.
As I wrap my arm around my father to steady him, he grabs his chest again, eyes flaring wide as he makes an animal sound of pain and crumples to the hardwood floor.
“Dad!”
“Hurt,” he gurgles. “Ambulance.”
Holy shit. He’s having a fucking heart attack. The signs are all there.
And it will take an ambulance at least forty minutes to reach me.
Cold fear fills my veins with ice as I fall to my knees beside my dad. My fingers feel as if they’re moving in slow motion as I fumble for my phone, trying to unlock the display so I can dial.
It seems to ring forever before a woman answers. “Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”
I quickly fill her in and ask what I can do to help. Yes, he’s lying on the floor. Yes, he’s conscious—barely. No, he’s not breathing.
Oh, shit.
After advising me an ambulance is on the way, she asks if I have any aspirin in the house. I do, thank god.
“Dad.” I grab his hand. “Can you hear me?”