Page 88 of A Bossy Roommate
I look down at the screen and am surprised to see it’s the attorney I had contacted prior to coming to New York.
“Everything okay?” Carter asks.
“My attorney is calling.” I think for a moment, looking at Carter. This is a private call, and my lunch break is technically over.
“Answer it,” Carter tells me. “It could be important.” His eyes say: It’s not like I’m going to dock your pay for taking a phone call in the parking garage.
I give him an “Okay, thanks” nod and a small wave, then swipe right while Carter heads inside the building without me. “Hello?”
“May I speak to Eden Ryan please?” a female voice on the other end asks.
“This is Eden speaking.”
“Good afternoon, Eden. This is Sarah Robertson from Robertson & Associates. I understand you’re in need of legal advice.”
“Hi, Sarah,” I say. “Thanks for getting back to me.”At last.I dismiss the ungrateful thought from my mind.
“Of course. I received your email regarding a joint bank account, and I’m sorry to hear about your situation. Can you please confirm some of the details for me?”
Uh-oh. Somehow, I have a bad feeling. Her voice doesn’t sound as if she has great news. Carter’s pessimism is rubbing off on me. “Sure.”
We talk for about twenty minutes.
The information I get from her boils down to this: If my former fiancé took all the money from a joint bank account without my consent (which I didn’t give him), it’s considered illegal, and I might have legal recourse. However, if I can’t prove that my fiancé took the money from the joint account without my consent (which I can’t) I might not have a good chance of winning the case. Legal fees can range from a few hundred dollars for a simple case to tens of thousands of dollars for a more complex case that goes to trial. If my fiancé has left the state (which I hear he has), it might be more difficult to track him down and enforce a judgment if I win the case. This could increase the cost and time involved in pursuing the matter.
There’s much more she said than that, but ultimately, I can sum up the call in eight words: I have no chance of making him pay.
Regrettably, I have no evidence to present, while he’s enjoying the backing of numerous individuals. It already stings that I can never get back the money I spent on the wedding itself, the fact I can’t hold him accountable for his wrongdoing is even more aggravating. The expenses I would incur could surpass any potential winnings, even in the event of a victory.
I can’t breathe.
It takes every ounce of willpower not to scream.
I close my eyes, trying to force myself to take a deep breath. It takes a while to manage, and when I do, it’s more of a huff than an actual breath. I take another, and another, until most of the fury has subsided. I’m still pissed. Rightfully so. However, at least I’m not seething and can walk into the building without looking like I’m on a murder spree.
Gwen greets me as I hurry by, and even though I smile, my emotions must still be clear because she hesitates for a moment before addressing me. “Good to see you, Eden. One of our visitors dropped this off.” She holds up Carter’s small black notebook. “Mr. Bancroft must have lost it by the elevator. Would you be so kind as to take it?” I thank her and am relieved when the elevator doors closes behind me.
I ride the elevator up on my own, focusing on my breathing. All I want is to get back to my desk and throw myself into my work. For a second, I see another option: throw myself into Carter’s arms. It’s the only thing I know will make the anger really go away, and that scares me to death. It would be the worst thing I could do right now, because our relationship, if you want to call it that, is temporary.
It’s not about proving a point to Rob. Not anymore.
It’s about proving a point tome.
It’s a chance to overcome the disappointment and get my life back together. It’s about standing up for myself. It’s about finding closure, that sense of peace after enduring the wreckage of a horrible breakup—after having been left emotionally broken and scarred, struggling to pick up the million shattered pieces of my heart, while fighting to reclaim a sense of self-worth that had been trampled upon by a remorseless individual. It’s about not letting an asshole get away.
Gretchen is talking to Jaylin and Lexi when I arrive on my floor, but instead of joining them, I walk right past. I swiftly enter Carter’s office to hand him his small black book. He’s on the phone and gives me a curt nod, before I make my way back to my desk. By the time I sit down in my comfy chair behind my huge desk with my incredible view of NYC and a world of possibilities just waiting for me, the anger has mostly subsided, and I can breathe easier.
About a minute later, Gretchen messages me.
Gretchen:
Everything okay? You looked upset.
Me:
Oh, you know, meddling phone call regarding my past.
Gretchen: