BABY INHERITANCE
by MCKENNA JAMES
COPYRIGHT© 2019 Baby Inheritance by Mckenna James
All rights reserved. Except as permitted by U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, or organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Baby Inheritance is intended for 18+ older, and for mature audiences only.
COPYRIGHT© 2019 Baby Inheritance by Mckenna James
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
Valentina
“Declined?”
“Yes, ma’am. I tried it twice. Do you have another…”
The attendant's voice trails off as I glare daggers at him. I ignore the barely audible snort escaping from my friend Penelope’s lips. She’s standing directly behind me, no doubt because she doesn’t want to miss a moment of witnessing my card being declined. She must be thinking that all her Christmases have come in one impromptu visit to the day spa. In fact, I’m surprised she’s controlling herself as well as she is.
“Sure, give me a second,” I mutter, rummaging through my purse.
I thrust a diamond card at him and wave him off, making sure he knows how put out I am by all of this. He doesn’t meet my gaze as he mumbles a thank you, before he scrambles out of my sight. Taking a deep breath, I plaster on my most I-don’t-give-a-fuck smile before turning back to my friends.
“Sorry about that,” I say with a lazy sigh.
“I’m sure it’s just a mix up with the bank,” Holly offers, flicking her long dark hair away from her eyes.
I smile as she reaches out and gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. I’m sure she’s right, because I know for a fact that there’s plenty of cash on the first card—it’s not called an infinity card for nothing.
“Sure.” Penelope smiles at me too, but unlike Holly, there’s nothing sympathetic—or genuine—about her smile. “Though I can’t say I’ve ever had anything like this happen to me,” she drawls in a strong Southern accent, her lips parting into a wide grin. “Maybe banks are a little more attentive to their more notable clients?”
I open my mouth to fire back a reply, but I’m distracted by the sight of the attendant walking over. Even before he speaks, I know it’s not good. I dig through my bag for another card in preparation of what he’s going to say—if only to avoid the embarrassment of having to look at him when he tells me that the second card was also rejected.
“I’m sorry—”
“Here,” I bark, cutting him off as I shove another card in his hand. “Try that one.”
I’m doing my best not to show it, but I’m really beginning to panic now.
Sure, one decline can be explained away as a mix up at the bank, but two different banks having problems at the exact same time? Not likely. Still, I’m clinging to hope that it’s something so innocent, because the alternative is too horrifying to even think about.
“I can pay my own if that helps?” Holly says, stepping forward. “You know how much I hate it when you try to cover me anyway.”
I look away, because the pity in her eyes is even worse than the look of excitement in Pen’s. This must be how Holly feels every time I try to pay for her. She’s the only one in our group that isn’t from a family of money. Before today, I’d never given much thought to how that might affect her.
“It’s fine. I’ll pay.” Pen releases an overexaggerated sigh, before she steps forward to come to the rescue. She pulls out her card and hands it to the attendant. The huge deal she’s making this into makes me even less happy about letting her cover me, but I don’t have any other choice. “I hope it’s not declined.” She giggles as she glances over at me. “I’d simply die of embarrassment.”
Stop being such a cow and just pay the damn bill.
I swallow back my words, because I refuse to give her the reaction I know she wants. Instead, I stand back with Holly and wait while Pen fixes up the bill. I avoid meeting Holly’s gaze by pretending to type out a text. What I’m really doing is trying to log into my banking, but it keeps giving me an unauthorized error. I jump when Holly rests her hand on my back. I glance at her and slide my phone into my pocket.
“I’m sure everything is fine, V.”
I nod and force a smile back.
“’Kay, girls, we’re all fixed up,” Penelope declares with a dramatic wave of her hand. Her darks eyes fixate on mine. “You won’t need to spend the rest of the day washing dirty, stinky towels now,” she calls over her shoulder with a giggle. “Although that would’ve been kind of funny to watch.”
I roll my eyes at her back. If she rubs it in any harder, she’s going to break a nail. It doesn’t matter that I’ve paid her way the last fifty trips here; she’ll be milking this for as much as she can. Fighting back tears, we step outside. I take a deep breath, the cool air burning my lungs. The last thing I want is for them to see me cry.
“Oh, sweetie, relax. I’m just messing with you.” Pen laughs, wrapping her arms around me. “Don’t be so sensitive. You don’t even have to pay me back.”
“Because forty-nine more trips and we’re even?” I retort with a fake smile.
“I didn’t realize you were keeping score,” she murmurs, tossing Holly a look. “Anyway, I’d love to hang around and chat, but I have a date to get ready for.”
I hug her and then Holly, then I walk over to my car—a two-seater red Fiat Spider that Daddy got me when I graduated from SCAD. Going to college was something my grandmother had insisted on. I’m not sure why. It’s not like I was ever going to need to put it to use.
Buckling myself in, I head home. I try calling Daddy along the way, but it rings out. I frown and try again, but there’s still no answer. That’s weird. Daddy always answers, even if it’s just to bark down the line that he’s busy with something more important than me. Actually, that’s always how the conversations go.
If he’s not going to answer the phone, then I’ll just have to go over there.
***
Thirty minutes later, as I pull into the long, sprawling driveway that leads up to my father’s mansion, I know something isn’t right. It’s probably the ten police cars that are giving me that impression. They're not just ordinary police cars either. These are shiny black vans, the
kind that you associate with high profile chases or big sting operations—words spoken from someone who has obviously been watching too much Criminal Minds.
I park alongside one of the vans and get out. My heart races as I walk down the path as fast as my $4000 Christian Louboutin heels will take me. Men in suits swarm around me, which I’d ordinarily be pretty happy about, but not today. Not when I know something is seriously wrong.
Pushing my way through the front door, I look around in shock. There are people everywhere. They file in and out, carrying everything from computers, to stacks of files, right down to a stack of notebooks and folders that I recognize as my own from my senior year of high school.
“Hey,” I say, stepping into his path. He stops in his tracks and looks at me impatiently. “What are you doing?”
“Following orders,” he says, frowning at me. “And you are?”
“Valentina Rossi,” I say, straightening as I announce my name, just like the years of charm school taught me to do.
“Ah.” He glances over his shoulder and calls out to someone. A woman looks up, glances at me, and nods. She walks over to us then leads me out of the room and into the formal living room.
“Miss Rossi, I presume?”
I nod, my throat dry. “Where is my father?”
“He’s been taken into custody on suspicion of fraud. We’re here collecting anything that might hold evidence,” she explains.
I look at her and laugh. She can’t be serious, can she?
“Do you know who my father is?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow.
She looks me square in the eye. “We know exactly who he is, which is why we’re taking this so seriously.”
“So, you’re taking everything?” I ask, still in disbelief. “And his accounts?” I demand. “Have they been frozen too?”
I flush, realizing how shallow I must sound. She probably thinks I’m just another spoilt little trust fund baby, living off Daddy’s money. Okay, so she’d be right, but it’s hardly my fault. I’m a product of my upbringing.
“Your accounts aren’t frozen, Miss Rossi. They’re empty.”
“What do you mean empty?” I snarl. “My accounts have never been empty in my life. I have a trust fund—”
“You had a trust fund,” she corrected. “Your father moved everything to an unknown location, and we’re doing everything we can to try to find it.”
He emptied my trust fund?
My heart thumps in my chest. He wouldn’t do that to me … would he? No, there has to be some kind of explanation. He’s probably trying to protect me from all of this by moving my money somewhere safe. I’m sure talking to him will clear everything up.
“I want to see him,” I announce. “Where is he?”
She shakes his head. “Sorry, you can’t. Not until we’ve finished collecting our evidence.” She reaches into her pocket and produces a card. I take it and stare at it, feeling numb. “Call me tomorrow. I’ll arrange for you to see him as soon as you can. In the meantime, I’m sorry, but you can’t stay here. I can help you find an alternative accommodation—”
“I have an apartment,” I cut in, shoving the card into my pocket. “I was just here because…” I trail off, giving her a tight smile. At least I now know why my cards were declined. “Thanks for your help.”
I wander to my car and get in. I sit there for a while, staring at the house, watching them file in and out like worker bees. Fraud? I shake my head. It doesn’t make any sense. My father is many things, but not this.
Or maybe I don’t know my father as well as I thought I did?
***
I walk out of the elevator of Sorrel Towers to the penthouse I’ve called home for the last year. All I want to do is curl up into a little ball on my bed, but just as I reach my front door, I hear someone cough behind me. I turn and find the building manager. He smiles awkwardly at me as he shifts on his feet.
“Valentina,” he mutters, a trickle of sweat rolling down his forehead. “I’m sorry, but the accounting manager called and asked that I speak with you. It seems that your last rent check bounced…”
“Oh?” I say and frown at him, like I have no idea why that might have happened. “Okay. I’ll go to the bank and get it sorted out for you, ASAP.”
Relief floods his face. “Thanks.” He breathes, and then he hesitates, like he’s weighing up whether to say what else is on his mind. I lift my eyebrows expectantly. “It’s just that … is everything okay? I saw your father on the news, and then when the check didn’t go through…” He breaks off again, looking embarrassed.
I stare at him coolly, tilting my head slightly.
“In the year I’ve been living here, have I ever missed a payment, Andreas?” I ask. He shakes his head, his cheeks flushed. “Exactly. And I don’t intend to start missing them now.” I give him a stern look.
“Of course. I didn’t mean to offend you,” he mumbles. “It’s just … I was worried…” He laughs uneasily as he rubs the back of his neck. The way he looks like he might pass out at any moment has me almost feeling sorry for him.
“If you’re worried about how I can afford this place, you needn’t be,” I assure him. “I have a trust fund that could comfortably buy this building and its tenants too.” Which is saying a lot considering Sorrel Towers homes some of the wealthiest elite in all of Savannah. I pause long enough to slide my key into the lock, then I look back and quirk my brow. “Was there anything else?” I add, hoping I’ve made it clear that our conversation is over.
“No, I’m sorry to have bothered you with this. Have a good night, Miss Rossi.” He nods at me, then scampers around the corner in the direction of the elevators.
I let myself inside and lean my back against the door until it snaps shut, then I slide down to the floor, hugging my legs up against me. This morning I woke up, and it was like any other day. How did everything change so much in the space of a few short hours? More importantly, how the heck am I going to come up with rent money? There's no way I can come up with that kind of cash.
My stomach churns at the thought of moving, because I love my apartment. Located in the heart of the historic district, it’s the optima of opulence and luxury. From the million dollar view of the historic district to the hot tub on the balcony, it’s the home I always dreamed of. Price wasn’t a factor and my father was more than happy to get it for me, like everything else I asked him for. I guess years of emotionally neglecting your daughter makes you harbor some guilt. I breathe in slowly, trying to stem the panic attack that I know is looming.
Everything will be fine. I just need to get by until my father sorts this out.
I laugh at how naïve I’m being. How can everything possibly be fine? The only money I have is in that trust fund, which is apparently now empty. When you take that out of the equation, my entire worth totals a whopping ten dollars. Getting a job is pointless, because it wouldn’t even cover my rent, let alone all my other living expenses. Hell, even ten jobs wouldn’t come close to getting me out of this mess.
What the heck am I going to do?
CHAPTER TWO
Hudson
“Looking good there, sexy.”
I turn around and laugh at Matty as he lets out a low wolf whistle. He tosses his bag on the chair near my trailer and then wanders over to the worksite, fixing his toolbelt in place along the way. I put my hand up to shield the sweltering, hot August sun from my eyes as I smirk at him.
“Half an hour late is better than not turning up at all, I guess,” I yell out. “What’s your excuse this time?”
“Traffic,” he says with a shrug. I snort, because I-95 is an absolute bitch during tourists season. “Admit it,” he adds. “You took that shirt off just for me, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” I chuckle, running my hand over my smooth, chiseled abs. I spread my hands out and shrug. “You caught me. This is all for you. It’s got nothing to do with the fact that it’s a hundred degrees, and I've been out here covering your ass.”
> “You’re always talking about my ass,” he complains, a gleam in his eye. “That could be considered sexual harassment, you know. Especially when you’re dressed like that.”
“Just don’t tell that wife of yours that I’ve been hitting on you.” I chuckle.
I don’t doubt for a second that Marisa could pack a mean punch if she thought I was trying to cut her grass, especially with those pregnancy hormones kicking around. I jump off the ladder I’m standing on and then saunter over to my trailer, ignoring the chuckles of Matty as he takes my place to help James fit the rest of the frame for the window.
Matty and I have been friends for years, so when I started this business, asking him to come and work for me was a given. I was a little worried that me being his boss might damage our friendship, but it hasn’t. It doesn’t seem to matter how much time we spend together, it’s like nothing can come between us. Though, that might change if I have to screw the guy over when my business folds.
“Ooh, it looks like someone can’t handle the heat,” Matty jeers, while the other two guys laugh.
“I handle the heat just fine,” I retort. “It’s you I need the break from.”
I disappear inside the trailer and slam the door shut, just in case any of them get any ideas about joining me. I’ve been on the site since five this morning, and I'm exhausted. Almost too exhausted to find the energy to think. I grab a bottle of water from the cooler on the floor and then sit at my makeshift desk—some wood offcuts expertly nailed to an old door—and flick open my ancient laptop. I shift as the plastic crate I’m using as a seat digs into me, while my eyes scan the room. It’s funny how often I used to dream of having a real office, instead of this beat up trailer that doubles as a break room. Now I’d just settle for being able to pay my bills.
I unscrew the cap of my drink and take a gulp, not realizing how thirsty I am. The moment the icy cold water hits my stomach, I start to feel better—right up until my eyes fall on the stack of unopened bills piled up next to the wall. I frown and pick one up. This is a surefire way two depress me, but I guess I have to open them eventually. At least, that’s what the debt collectors who are starting to circle keep telling me. And they’re right. I need to suck it up and deal with this.
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