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Authors: Nancy J. Parra
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man at the airport?” I blurted out.
I noticed a tick in Warren’s jaw at my question.
“Pepper!” Felicity scolded.
“It does, doesn’t it?” I went in for the kill. I could always tell when my sister was hiding something, and today’s something had to be a doozy.
“Actually, that’s the bad news.” Warren patted Felicity’s hand. “We’re late because the police wanted to question us both the minute we got back.”
“Both of yooze?” Dad’s expression grew concerned. His eyebrows veed and his mouth tightened. “Felicity, tell me you did not let them question you without a lawyer present.”
“Don’t worry,” Warren said. “I called my lawyers.”
“You called your lawyers? What does an accountant need with lawyers? Or are they your boss’s lawyers?” I found myself planting my feet wide and putting my fisted hands on my hips. I was ready to punch this guy. How could Felicity say yes to a man who acted so out of character?
“Warren’s really rich,” Felicity blurted out.
“What?” Mom and I asked at the same time.
How could Warren be rich? He didn’t wear fancy clothes. He wore suits from chain department stores. He drove a Volvo, for crying out loud.
“How can he be rich?” I asked. How well did Felicity know Warren anyway?
“I have a trust fund,” Warren said. “I’m worth half a billion dollars. My grandfather was an oilman in Texas. My father took his trust money and made a killing in stocks.”
“Why did we not know this?” Mom asked. “Felicity? Did you know and not tell us?”
It hit me suddenly that the reason for his large check was because he could afford to pay me. It all seemed so odd. We were comfortably middle class. Our family didn’t know the first thing about trust funds or lawyers or private jets, for that matter.
“I only found out this weekend,” Felicity said. “The jet is Warren’s private business jet. Daniel and Laura work for Warren.”
“You own the jet?” I couldn’t believe it. Who owns a jet?
“I don’t like to talk about my money,” Warren said. “I’ve had some really bad experiences dating women who only saw dollar signs when they looked at me. I wanted a woman who loved me for me, not for my fortune.” He turned to Felicity. “So when I met Felicity, I told her the truth. I am an accountant—who happens to also have millions in trust.”
“You lied to her?” Dad growled.
“No, sir,” Warren said. “I simply left off the part about my trust fund.”
“Warren studied accounting so that he could best manage his money,” Felicity said. “He runs a charity foundation. He told me about it, but I thought he volunteered there. I had no idea he actually ran it.”
“You run a charity foundation?” Mom asked and fanned herself. “Oh, my.”
“The plane is simply one of a number of diverse investments I own. I bought it to help the foundation. I promise you, sir. I will take good care of your daughter. I set out to find someone who loves me for me. I found her.”
“I think it’s time for the champagne,” Dad said. “I hope you don’t mind that it’s the cheaper stuff.”
“Warren doesn’t mind.” Felicity patted his knee. “Don’t treat him like he’s any different than us. He’s an accountant who just happens to own a private jet and a couple of homes in Europe.”
Oh, man, I thought. How could Warren keep a secret as big as this from Felicity?
“It’s why the police wanted to question us,” Warren said. I watched as he squeezed my sister’s hand. “I’m connected to the airport and the dead man.”
“You are? How?” I asked and had to restrain myself from yanking my sister away from the suspicious man beside her. “As far as I know, they haven’t released the man’s identity yet.”
“His name was Randy Stromer,” Warren said. “He worked as a janitor at the airport. Since I own a forty-nine percent share of the airport and rent out hangar four, the police had to question me. It
I noticed a tick in Warren’s jaw at my question.
“Pepper!” Felicity scolded.
“It does, doesn’t it?” I went in for the kill. I could always tell when my sister was hiding something, and today’s something had to be a doozy.
“Actually, that’s the bad news.” Warren patted Felicity’s hand. “We’re late because the police wanted to question us both the minute we got back.”
“Both of yooze?” Dad’s expression grew concerned. His eyebrows veed and his mouth tightened. “Felicity, tell me you did not let them question you without a lawyer present.”
“Don’t worry,” Warren said. “I called my lawyers.”
“You called your lawyers? What does an accountant need with lawyers? Or are they your boss’s lawyers?” I found myself planting my feet wide and putting my fisted hands on my hips. I was ready to punch this guy. How could Felicity say yes to a man who acted so out of character?
“Warren’s really rich,” Felicity blurted out.
“What?” Mom and I asked at the same time.
How could Warren be rich? He didn’t wear fancy clothes. He wore suits from chain department stores. He drove a Volvo, for crying out loud.
“How can he be rich?” I asked. How well did Felicity know Warren anyway?
“I have a trust fund,” Warren said. “I’m worth half a billion dollars. My grandfather was an oilman in Texas. My father took his trust money and made a killing in stocks.”
“Why did we not know this?” Mom asked. “Felicity? Did you know and not tell us?”
It hit me suddenly that the reason for his large check was because he could afford to pay me. It all seemed so odd. We were comfortably middle class. Our family didn’t know the first thing about trust funds or lawyers or private jets, for that matter.
“I only found out this weekend,” Felicity said. “The jet is Warren’s private business jet. Daniel and Laura work for Warren.”
“You own the jet?” I couldn’t believe it. Who owns a jet?
“I don’t like to talk about my money,” Warren said. “I’ve had some really bad experiences dating women who only saw dollar signs when they looked at me. I wanted a woman who loved me for me, not for my fortune.” He turned to Felicity. “So when I met Felicity, I told her the truth. I am an accountant—who happens to also have millions in trust.”
“You lied to her?” Dad growled.
“No, sir,” Warren said. “I simply left off the part about my trust fund.”
“Warren studied accounting so that he could best manage his money,” Felicity said. “He runs a charity foundation. He told me about it, but I thought he volunteered there. I had no idea he actually ran it.”
“You run a charity foundation?” Mom asked and fanned herself. “Oh, my.”
“The plane is simply one of a number of diverse investments I own. I bought it to help the foundation. I promise you, sir. I will take good care of your daughter. I set out to find someone who loves me for me. I found her.”
“I think it’s time for the champagne,” Dad said. “I hope you don’t mind that it’s the cheaper stuff.”
“Warren doesn’t mind.” Felicity patted his knee. “Don’t treat him like he’s any different than us. He’s an accountant who just happens to own a private jet and a couple of homes in Europe.”
Oh, man, I thought. How could Warren keep a secret as big as this from Felicity?
“It’s why the police wanted to question us,” Warren said. I watched as he squeezed my sister’s hand. “I’m connected to the airport and the dead man.”
“You are? How?” I asked and had to restrain myself from yanking my sister away from the suspicious man beside her. “As far as I know, they haven’t released the man’s identity yet.”
“His name was Randy Stromer,” Warren said. “He worked as a janitor at the airport. Since I own a forty-nine percent share of the airport and rent out hangar four, the police had to question me. It
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