Page 41 of Camp Bliss
Shaking my head, I stare at the phone. This can’t be right. With trembling fingers, I tap-tap-tap to recheck the balance. There’s no fucking way—
“Your current balance is $415,229.19”
Half. Half the money is gone.
Saliva fills my mouth. I try to choke it down and cough. The phone goes slippery in my hand.
“No fucking way.”
* * *
I’mon the phone with the DEFCON 5 level of customer service. No idea how long it’s been. Fifteen minutes? An hour?
Reality is on sabbatical.
I’m existing in a waking nightmare where my best friend has wired half—exactly half our money—to an offshore account.
The worst part?
Apparently, he’s done nothing illegal.
“Mr. Rousseau, we can freeze the account until you and Ms. Ste. Marie can go to your local branch with appropriate ID.” The First Horizon rep really deserves a raise. Because I’ve been swearing so much, her headset is probably radioactive by now. “Since Mr. Bassett’s a legitimate signer on the account, it’s our recommendation that you move your assets to an account where he does not have access.”
This can’t be happening.
In a few seconds I’m going to wake up. Stare at the ceiling of my cabin. And thank God my biggest problems are going to be sunburn and blisters on my hands.
Because thiscannotbe happening.
“Would you like us to freeze the account, Mr. Rousseau?”
“Um…”
“It’s for the protection of all parties. Mr. Bassett won’t be able to execute any other transactions.”
For the first time in my life, I feel my pulse in my eyeballs.
“But I won’t be able to access the money either?”
“Correct. You and Ms. Ste. Marie won’t be able to make any charges or transfers either.”
Ms. Ste. Marie.
Greta. Greta doesn’t know.
I’m going to have to tell her that we’re fucked.
I’m going to have to tell her what he’s done to us.
I drop like a stone, luckily onto the foot of my bed.
“H-How long?”
“Until you can get to your branch and—”
“Tomorrow then?”
“Sir, it doesn’t appear any of your area branches are open on Saturday, so—”
