The High Price Of Father's Freedom
Chapter 8
Sunlight blasted through the curtains, waking Abbey with the subtlety of a slap. She squinted at the clock. 6:00 AM.
She scrambled out of bed. Her clothes from last night were neatly folded on a chair, washed and dried. She put them on quickly. The cheap fabric felt rough against her skin after the silk robe.
She opened the bedroom door. The penthouse was silent.
On the kitchen island, a spread of pastries and fruit sat untouched. A note was propped against a carafe of coffee.
Gone to the office. Alfred will have the driver take you wherever you need to go. - A
Abbey let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. He was gone.
"Good morning, Miss Wynn," Alfred said, appearing with a terrifying stealth. "Shall I call the car?"
"No," Abbey said. "I'll walk."
"It is raining, Miss."
"I like the rain."
Alfred sighed and handed her a massive black umbrella. "Mr. Woodward insisted."
Abbey took the umbrella and fled.
When she got back to her apartment, Sophie was sitting at the kitchen table, eating cereal. She looked pale but alive.
"Abbey!" Sophie jumped up and hugged her. "Oh my god. You saved my life."
"Are you okay?" Abbey asked, squeezing her back.
"Yeah. The doctors said I was drugged. But... Abbey, the hospital bill? It was paid. In full. By 'Anonymous'." Sophie's eyes were wide. "And Miles? Liz said Miles got us in. Miles saved us."
Abbey stiffened. "Miles?"
"Yeah! Miles is the real deal," Liz chimed in, looking hungover. "He told me he had to pull some major strings with the owner to get that guy kicked out for us. He's taking us all to dinner tonight to celebrate you being okay. You have to come. You owe him."
Abbey felt a headache forming behind her eyes. Miles was taking the credit. Of course he was.
"I don't think-"
"Please," Sophie begged. "I want to thank him. And I don't want to go alone."
Abbey sighed. "Fine."
Later that afternoon, Abbey was in the library, trying to focus on Property Law. Her phone pinged.
UNIVERSITY PORTAL ALERT: PAYMENT CONFIRMATION. Your outstanding tuition balance of $12,000 has been paid in full.
Abbey stared at the screen. Not a deposit. A payment. It was from a shell corporation she didn't recognize, but she knew who it was. Armond. He hadn't given her money; he had pulled the strings directly. He hadn't given her a leash; he had tightened the one already around her neck.
She should call the bursar's office. She should be noble and reject it.
But being noble meant dropping out of law school. Being noble meant her father rotted in prison without a lawyer who could actually help him.
She closed the laptop. Her hands shook. I'll pay him back, she promised herself. Every cent.
Miles texted: Carbone. 8 PM. I got a table. Bring the girls.
Abbey typed back: We'll be there.
Across town, in a corner office on the 50th floor of the Woodward Building, Ken placed a sheet of paper on Armond's desk.
"She hasn't rejected the tuition payment, sir."
Armond didn't look up from his documents. "Good."
"And," Ken hesitated. "Mr. Sterling has a reservation at Carbone tonight. Six people. Miss Wynn is included."
Armond's pen stopped moving. A blot of ink bled into the paper.
He looked up. His eyes were glacial.
"Carbone?"
"Yes, sir."
Armond closed the file. He stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the city that looked so small from up here.
"Get me a table," Armond said. "Next to them."
"Sir, Carbone is booked months in-"
"Buy the restaurant if you have to, Ken. Just get me the table."
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