Fear the Wicked (Illusions Series Book 2)(54)

The thought terrified me as the faces of my former parishioners flashed in my head. The adults would be fine, I was sure about that, but what would Jericho do to the children?

With that concern in mind, I quickened my pace and didn’t understand where I was headed until the bold lettering of the company’s name was staring me in the face.

Like all the buildings in the city, the glass doors were freshly scrubbed, the company name positioned with pride. I hated these bastards, and hated having to talk to them, but if I had any hope of stopping Jericho, I needed money.

Slamming my hand down on the metal rail that cut the center of the door, I pushed the glass partition open and stepped inside.

The receptionist was a friendly thing with big brown eyes, blond hair and tits filling out her sweater. Not exactly my type, but I didn’t mind the view as I told her who I’d come to meet.

“I’d like to cash out my inheritance held by my father’s estate. I need to speak to Eric Cotter. He’s managing it.”

Her fingernails clicked over the keys of her computer, her hips wiggling over her seat. Even without looking at me with desire behind her eyes, she managed to flirt without saying a thing. Body language is always the most telling, and it was a good thing most people didn’t know how to read it. If everybody in the world paid attention to their surroundings and other people as much as I did, there would no longer be any such thing as surprises or secrets.

“Mr. Cotter,” the receptionist spoke into the little microphone sticking down from her headpiece. “A gentleman is here to see you regarding cashing out his estate.”

Her cheeks tinted with a faint pink in response to what Eric had said, her lips parting on a soft giggle.

“Of course, how stupid of me. Give me one second to find out his name.”

She must have been new on the job. Most seasoned receptionists knew that the first thing you did was find out who was standing in front of you.

Peeking up at me with shy eyes, she parted those pretty pink lips to ask, “What is your name, Sir?”

I loved the way the word Sir rolled off her lips, but I didn’t have time to show her just how much I appreciated it. “Jacob Hayle.”

“Thank you,” she whispered before repeating my name to Eric Cotter. The receptionist glanced up at me a second later. “He says you can meet him in his office. It’s room 203 on the second floor.” Pointing to the right, she directed me to the elevators.

Thanking her, I didn’t bother telling her I’d been here before and knew exactly where to find the office of the estate managers. It didn’t take long for the elevator to climb to their floor and ding as it opened the doors.

The hall was well lit, the lights a bit too harsh and glaring. But once I’d stepped inside the office of Cotter and Baxter, I found the lighting much softer and more to my liking. Another pretty woman sat at a desk, but rather than asking my name, she simply pointed down a hallway I knew led to Eric’s office.

He lifted his face when I stepped inside, and as I closed the door behind me, he pushed to his feet. His hair was silver in areas, turning to white in others, which gave away his advanced age. But even older than me by several decades, his sharp brown gaze was focused and attentive, his body several inches shorter than me, and his belly more soft and rotund than mine. Money had the ability to overfeed a man, usually leaving him as soft and round as an overweight baby when he died. It was obvious Eric Cotter had lived a life of luxury and ease in this large city.

“Jacob,” he greeted me with a deep, friendly voice that was smooth and cultured. “I’m surprised to see you again. You were adamant the last time we spoke that you wanted nothing to do with the inheritance.”

“Circumstances have changed,” I explained as I shook his hand. He squeezed my fingers a little too hard, but I ignored the attempt to size me up as a man. Pulling my hand away, I wiped my palm down my pants. It felt slimy and sleazy to be here accepting the blood money my father had left behind in his death.

Motioning toward the chairs positioned in front of his large glass desk, he suggested, “Why don’t you take a seat so we can get you what you need? All it will take is for you to give me your bank account information so that I can transfer the money.”

My brows shot up in surprise. “It won’t take longer? I thought this would take several days.”

Shaking his head, he rounded his desk and dropped his weight into the overpriced executive chair. “That’s it. A click of a few buttons and the money is yours. Technically, it’s been yours since the day the estate was closed, but you never gave me a way to send the money over. Neither you nor your brother seemed interested in it. The only reason I was able to find you through the years was due to your affiliation with the Catholic Church. Your brother, however, has been more difficult to find. It’s like he dropped off the face of the planet. You wouldn’t know where I could find him, would you?”

“Nope,” I lied. “I have no idea at all. I haven’t spoken to Jericho in years.”

I had to admit it was much easier to lie now that I wasn’t strangled by my old clerical collar.

Nodding his head until the triple chin beneath his face shook with the movement, Eric slipped me a piece of paper and a pen. “Just give me your routing and account numbers and I’ll see that the money is in your account within the next hour.”