"Charlie Atkinson?" a man asked, dressed in a fine tailored suit.
I turned to him, shaking his handlike a well-brought up woman. Even though I am seventeen, I could act like a college graduate. "It's Charlie Specter, sir," I said politely. Seeing the confused look in his eyes, I went on. "I didn't share my last name with mymother."
The man nodded. "I amNickRenaldi, attorney at law."
I nodded once again, wondering whythis lawyer was talking to me.
"I helped your mother make her last will and testament," he added, knowing I was already uneasy around him.
"Your mother left you everything, however, due to certain circumstances, you cannot collect on her estate until you are eighteen."
Myheart sank. This guy couldn't have been serious. This is just moment's after the final prayer of mymother's funeral, and he wanted to talk business?
"So?"
"So," he said, going on, ignoring my lookof utter disbelief. "Considering how you are under age and cannot live alone with no means of employment, you're ordered, bylaw to live with next of kin."
"My momand I didn't have any. Mom's family disowned her, and she didn't know whomy father was."
Renaldi shook his head, telling me I was wrong. "Your mother did know who your father was. She listed himon your birth certificate. Have younot seen your own birth certificate?"
Ignoringhis condescending tone, I gave hima hard glare. "Mymother was a lawyer, she took care of all mylegal necessities. No, I haven't seen my birth certificate for that reason. Now, get tothe point of whyyou're talking to me after my mom's memorial or be on your way. I need to grieve without some tight ass lawyer breathing down myneck."
Nick Renaldi stepped back a little, apparently not usedto it. "You remind me of himalright." He looked back down to his file of me and my mother. "Your next of kin is your father, a lawyer in Manhattan."
Again, myheart sankand made my stomach churned. "What?"
"Your father is Harvey Specter. You will be sent to live with himuntil you are of age."
"You're fucking kidding me."
Renaldi shook his head. "I am afraid not."
Tears welled in my eyes, I quickly pushed them back. I wanted to be cried out even if the only time I cried was when Momdidn't wake that morning she died. I wanted tobe alone to grieve and the world wasn't giving me that. Instead, I was being torn fromthe life I wanted and to this bastard of a father whoprobably didn't want anything todowith me.
I shot up frommybed, ignoring the throbbing in myheadwith tears in myeyes. I wipedthem away. I reallyhated that lawyer. I did. Mom hadn't even been buried and he was ripping me frommylife. Burying my face into myhands, I tookin a deep breath.
Don't cry, don't cry. Crying is for funerals, babies, and weak people. You aren't at a funeral. You aren't a baby, and your mother didn't raise you tobe weak. Now stop crying and act like nothing happened. It was onlya dream.
But no, it was a memory. I knew that.
I climbed out of bed, knowing sleep wasn't going tocome back and that I needed something for this headache. When I walked out, someone lookedto me. I thought I was alone. But I wasn't. Instead, Mike was sitting at the couch, papers sprawled around the coffee table with laptop open. The music he was playing was on and turned down low. But he looked tome as soon as he saw me.
"Hi," he said awkwardly.
"Hi," I said softlyback, walking to the kitchen where my pills were.
I didn't know Mike had followed me until he said something. He had been watching me for a while before he spoke. "Are you hungry?"
