I Funded Their Empire for Years, So They Sent Me the Bill novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: On Demand

Nessa serves her demand for every cent on the shop floor in front of Cian, who walks away from his deal, and Cecily answers by accusing her of theft.

I didn't drop the sewing box.

I held it tighter and looked at my stepsister in her veil.

"Enjoy your wedding, Petra."

"Oh, I will." She turned back to the stairs. "You paid for the flowers. They're gorgeous."

I walked out through the guests, down the gravel drive, past a string quartet unloading cellos from a van.

Nobody stopped me.

I spent Saturday night and Sunday in a hotel by the airport, writing one page.

At nine on Monday morning I pushed open the door of Fitzsimons & Sons on Dawson Street.

The brass bell rang over my head, the way it had a thousand times.

The shop smelled of polish and old wood.

Glass cases ran down both walls, lined with grey velvet, full of silver that caught the light from the street.

An American couple was choosing a christening cup at the first counter.

The shop manager saw me and went white behind his glasses.

"Ms Bourke. I don't think you're meant to..."

"I won't be long."

Cecily stood at the back, by the old oak counter where the founders had taken their first order in 1851.

Fintan leaned beside her in a three-piece suit, looking rested.

The papers had said he and Petra had postponed their honeymoon "to put the family business first."

The family business had a meeting at nine fifteen.

The bell rang again behind me.

Cian Daly came in out of the rain in his waxed jacket, a leather folder under his arm.

He saw me and stopped.

Then he gave me the smallest nod and went to stand by the window.

"Nessa," Cecily said. "If this is about your things, Fintan will have them couriered."

"It isn't."

I put a single sheet on the oak counter in front of her.

"That's a demand for repayment of the loans in your statement. Four hundred and thirty-one thousand, eight hundred and twenty euro. You have twenty-one days."

Cecily didn't pick it up. She looked at it.

"You owe us, Nessa. It's all on page two."

Footsteps on the stairs.

The silversmiths had come down from the workshop on the second floor, the way they did when the bell rang too often.

Four of them stood on the bottom steps in their leather aprons.

The master engraver, who had worked in this building for fifty years, stood at the front with his glasses pushed up on his head.

I took the navy folder from my bag and opened it to page one.

I held it up in front of Cecily.

"Is that your signature?"

"It's a family document."

"Is it your signature, Cecily?"

Her mouth went thin.

"Of course it's my signature."

"Then the company owes me every cent on this page. On demand."

I turned to page two.

"This page is your rent and Fintan's ring and your family name. Bill me for those yourselves. They're not the company's."

The American couple had stopped pretending to look at christening cups.

Cian crossed the shop floor.

He didn't look at me. He looked at Cecily.

"On Friday at four o'clock," he said, "you told me Fitzsimons & Sons owed nobody a cent."

"And it doesn't, Mr Daly. Not in any real sense. Nessa was family."

"Was she."

He looked at the folder in my hand, at the signature, at the date.

Then he tucked his own leather folder back under his arm.

"I won't be signing today, Cecily. Or this month."

"Cian. Let's go upstairs and talk about this properly."

"We just did."

Fintan pushed off the counter.

He came around it and stood too close to me.

"You came into my mother's shop to embarrass her in front of an investor?"

"I came to collect."

"You'd be nothing without this family."

He said it quietly, smiling, for me alone.

"A girl from a dead woman's house in Dalkey, with a calculator. We gave you a name."

"You billed me for it," I said. "Two hundred and forty thousand."

The master engraver made a small sound on the stairs.

It might have been a cough.

Fintan's face went dark red from the collar up.

Cecily touched his sleeve, and he stepped back.

She picked up my demand at last, folded it once and slid it into her cardigan pocket.

When she looked at me, she was mild as milk.

"You had the keys to our accounts for six years, Nessa."

I went still.

Fintan had given me the online banking login four years ago, so I could see where the gaps were.

I had looked. I had never moved a cent.

"I've written to your managing partner," Cecily said, "about where that money of yours really came from."

← Chapter 2 · All chapters · Chapter 4 →

Want to keep talking to characters like these? Chat with AI romance characters: AI Boyfriend · AI Girlfriend · Dark Romance · Fantasy Romance · BL (Boys’ Love) · Billionaire Boyfriend · Mafia Boyfriend · Possessive Boyfriend · Hockey Boyfriend · Older Boyfriend · K-Drama Boyfriend · Anime Boyfriend · Vampire Boyfriend · Werewolf Boyfriend · Demon Boyfriend · Fae Romance · GL (Girls’ Love) · Anime Girlfriend · Goth & Alt Girlfriend · Gamer Girlfriend · Tsundere Girlfriend · Fantasy Girlfriend