Chapter 7

The lobby of the Ashford was very quiet.

The young woman at the front desk startled when I walked in barefoot.

The blood on my knee had dried, the hem of my dress was streaked with dirt, and I was clutching my broken high heel in one hand.

"Room 818. Someone's expecting me," I said.

The receptionist hesitated, then picked up the phone and dialed.

Once she hung up, her demeanor shifted immediately. "Right this way, Mr. Bennett is waiting for you."

When I got to the door of room 818, I knocked three times.

The door swung open.

A man in his sixties opened it, his hair completely white, his back straight, in a clean dark gray suit.

When he saw me, his expression shifted for a moment.

It wasn't disgust. It was sympathy.

"You must be Evelyn," he said.

"You're Frank Bennett?" I asked.

"Come in and we'll talk," Frank said.

There was a long table with some documents and an old leather briefcase on it.

He poured me a cup of coffee and set it at the edge of the table.

Then he pulled out a yellowed photo from the old briefcase.

In the photo, two young men were grinning in front of an office building, with a sign that read "Summit Realty" behind them.

The guy on the left was my dad.

Young, sharp, full of nerve, and almost gone from my memory.

"Your father and I founded Summit Holdings together," Frank said.

"He held 35 percent of the shares, all of it in a trust. There is one beneficiary, and it's you," he said.

I held the coffee cup and my fingers shook.

"My dad never told me any of this," I said.

"He went too suddenly. After the accident I tried to find you, but you had just gotten married, you had moved, and your number had changed. It took me years to track you down," Frank said.

He slid a document across the table to me.

"This is the trust document. Once you sign, the shares are formally yours. At Summit's current valuation your stake is worth around 270 million dollars," Frank said.

Two hundred seventy million dollars.

I stared at the number, and it felt like a dream.

Ten minutes ago, I was kneeling by the curb, broke, not even enough cash for a cab home.

Ten minutes later, somebody was telling me I had 270 million dollars.

Frank saw the look on my face and let out a sigh.

"Evelyn, there's no rush. Read the documents, have a lawyer verify them, and sign when you're ready," Frank said.

He pulled an envelope out of the drawer and handed it to me.

"There's a card inside. It's the emergency fund your father left you. I've held it all these years, and there's still 400 thousand dollars on it. The PIN is your birthday," he said.

I took the envelope, my hands still shaking.

"One more thing," Frank said. "Nobody on Summit's board knows you exist. Your father hid the beneficiary's name to protect you. Until you decide what you want, no one is going to come looking.

"Take your time."

I clutched the envelope and stood up.

My legs were still shaky, my knee aching, but this time, I stood firm.

"Frank, can I ask you something?" I said.

"Go ahead," Frank replied.

"What was my father like back then?" I asked.

Frank stared at the photo of the young man, silent for a few seconds.

"He was a gentle man. But when it mattered, nothing could stop him," Frank said.

I nodded.

When I stepped out of room 818, I lingered in the hallway for a moment.

Out the window, the whole street was lit up with neon.

This city felt so big.

And for the first time the city no longer felt like Richard's. It felt like it could be mine.