arrangements can be made with a financial planner,” Mark finally said. “We value your family’s business, Ms. Gresham. It would be our pleasure to help you manage your financial future.”
“Thanks, but I really just want all of that money in cash,” she said.
His frown deepened. “It’s a lot of cash. More than we usually hold in one bank location at any given time.”
“We warned you guys that we wanted to withdraw it last week,” Summer said. “You’ve got to have it by now.”
He kept going as if she hadn’t spoken. “From a financial standpoint, you’re losing a lot of money by closing this account. Once you take inflation into consideration, you’ll be losing a sizable sum of money every year. As your assigned personal financial services advisor, I would consider it irresponsible to let you to make an ill-informed decision.”
Rylie held her hand out. She was so done with this conversation. “Just give me a pen and tell me where to sign.”
He didn’t offer a pen to her.
“I have daughters your age,” Mark said. “If one of them tried to cash out on her trust fund—if I made the mistake of giving her the ability to cash out on her trust fund so young—I would hope that wiser minds would step in to give her sound advice. Just like I’m doing now.”
The look on his face wasn’t fatherly concern or anything else that benevolent. It was condescension. Maybe greed, too.
Rylie’s eyes flicked to the sign on his desk. Mark Melville, Financial Services . Pretty vague title there. Rylie was willing to bet he worked on commission. She would also bet that the intimidating suit, executive office, and stern frowns would be effective on most young women.
But Rylie and Summer weren’t “most young women.”
Summer planted her hands on the desk and leaned forward until her nose almost touched Mark’s. She was tall for a woman, well over six feet, but too cute to look threatening—until she let the cold glare of the wolf fill her eyes.
“We know exactly what we’re doing,” she said. “But thanks for the unsolicited advice.” Considering that her eyes had bled to chilly silver, she looked every inch a wild beast that didn’t belong in the cities of man. More like a wild animal that had somehow gotten into the bank and was prepared to maul every single employee on the floor.
Mark shriveled under her gaze. He dropped a pen into Rylie’s hand.
It took several minutes to get through all of the pages. She had to initial about a hundred different lines on every form, as well as signing her entire name in cursive at the bottom. Rylie Tara Gresham , over and over. She hadn’t used cursive since elementary school. It made her hand cramp.
A monetary figure had been printed across the top of the final form. It was the total sum of Rylie’s trust fund that they were withdrawing.
It was a lot bigger than her mom had told her—like, a couple extra zeroes bigger.
Rylie’s mouth dropped open. No wonder The First Bank of Woodbridge was freaking out about giving them that much money.
“It’s not too late to reconsider,” Mark said.
Every nerve in Rylie’s body told her to leave that money in the bank, where it would be safe. She didn’t like the idea of walking out of the bank holding that much cash in hand. It was like begging for someone to rob her—not that it would be easy to mug Rylie and Summer. But what if she lost it in the truck or something? Oh God, or what if she took it home and the townhouse burned down?
But she needed that money, and she didn’t want The First Bank of We-Report-Preternaturals to keep a cent of it.
Rylie signed.
Summer placed the envelope under the passenger seat in the truck in order to hide it. It was a big envelope. Actually, several big envelopes. Rylie was kind of in denial about being in possession of that much money. She had to be, for the sake of her sanity.
“Ready to go?” Summer asked.
Rylie tossed the keys to her through the window.
“Thanks, but I really just want all of that money in cash,” she said.
His frown deepened. “It’s a lot of cash. More than we usually hold in one bank location at any given time.”
“We warned you guys that we wanted to withdraw it last week,” Summer said. “You’ve got to have it by now.”
He kept going as if she hadn’t spoken. “From a financial standpoint, you’re losing a lot of money by closing this account. Once you take inflation into consideration, you’ll be losing a sizable sum of money every year. As your assigned personal financial services advisor, I would consider it irresponsible to let you to make an ill-informed decision.”
Rylie held her hand out. She was so done with this conversation. “Just give me a pen and tell me where to sign.”
He didn’t offer a pen to her.
“I have daughters your age,” Mark said. “If one of them tried to cash out on her trust fund—if I made the mistake of giving her the ability to cash out on her trust fund so young—I would hope that wiser minds would step in to give her sound advice. Just like I’m doing now.”
The look on his face wasn’t fatherly concern or anything else that benevolent. It was condescension. Maybe greed, too.
Rylie’s eyes flicked to the sign on his desk. Mark Melville, Financial Services . Pretty vague title there. Rylie was willing to bet he worked on commission. She would also bet that the intimidating suit, executive office, and stern frowns would be effective on most young women.
But Rylie and Summer weren’t “most young women.”
Summer planted her hands on the desk and leaned forward until her nose almost touched Mark’s. She was tall for a woman, well over six feet, but too cute to look threatening—until she let the cold glare of the wolf fill her eyes.
“We know exactly what we’re doing,” she said. “But thanks for the unsolicited advice.” Considering that her eyes had bled to chilly silver, she looked every inch a wild beast that didn’t belong in the cities of man. More like a wild animal that had somehow gotten into the bank and was prepared to maul every single employee on the floor.
Mark shriveled under her gaze. He dropped a pen into Rylie’s hand.
It took several minutes to get through all of the pages. She had to initial about a hundred different lines on every form, as well as signing her entire name in cursive at the bottom. Rylie Tara Gresham , over and over. She hadn’t used cursive since elementary school. It made her hand cramp.
A monetary figure had been printed across the top of the final form. It was the total sum of Rylie’s trust fund that they were withdrawing.
It was a lot bigger than her mom had told her—like, a couple extra zeroes bigger.
Rylie’s mouth dropped open. No wonder The First Bank of Woodbridge was freaking out about giving them that much money.
“It’s not too late to reconsider,” Mark said.
Every nerve in Rylie’s body told her to leave that money in the bank, where it would be safe. She didn’t like the idea of walking out of the bank holding that much cash in hand. It was like begging for someone to rob her—not that it would be easy to mug Rylie and Summer. But what if she lost it in the truck or something? Oh God, or what if she took it home and the townhouse burned down?
But she needed that money, and she didn’t want The First Bank of We-Report-Preternaturals to keep a cent of it.
Rylie signed.
Summer placed the envelope under the passenger seat in the truck in order to hide it. It was a big envelope. Actually, several big envelopes. Rylie was kind of in denial about being in possession of that much money. She had to be, for the sake of her sanity.
“Ready to go?” Summer asked.
Rylie tossed the keys to her through the window.
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