25. The Bat Cave

EVANGELINE

Whitlock Capital, in large chrome letters, is displayed prominently behind the receptionist's desk. Floor to ceiling windows provide a beautiful view of the Potomac, and the lobby is decorated in whites and cool blues matching the landscape. Behind the big glass doors is the heart of the office, rows of desks with every computer screen displaying stock graphs and numbers.

"Evangeline Bowen, I mean Walker, to see Alistair Van Der Walt," I announce to the receptionist sitting behind the desk. She matches the office with a tight, high ponytail of dark brown hair, and a crisp white collared button up shirt.

She looks up from her computer. "Alistair?" she questions as if I have the wrong person.

"Yes, I have an appointment."

She barks into the phone, "Van de Walt, your appointment is here."

Motioning to the plush white couches, she offers, "You can take a seat while you wait."

"Thank you," I smile, and notice the modern art hanging on the walls. I step a little closer, admiring the brush strokes and colors. It's a contrast of color against the stark white wall, but perhaps that's on purpose so it stands out.

The receptionist notices me eying the paintings. "That one's a Brodinsky. Mr. Whitlock is a collector."

"It's beautiful." Darren has one hanging in the hallway of our home – his home, but I don't say that out loud.

I make my way to the couch, but before I can take a seat, Alistair comes bounding through the glass double doors.

He's wearing a tailored suit and tie that makes him look very dashing.

"Evangeline, nice to see you," he greets me in a professional manner that I'm not used to. "Do you want coffee, or maybe some water?" he offers sweetly. "Jordan will get you anything you need." He motions to the receptionist.

"I'm fine."

Jordan makes a face at him.

"Let's go back to my office." He holds the door open for me, and we walk into the heart of the office.

It's noisy and smells like coffee. I watch as people rush by, phones to their ears, ties loosened, and half eaten food in containers left abandoned on desks.

"Wow, Alistair, you really grew up," I comment as we pass a wide staircase that leads to the second floor where executives must work, just judging by the square footage of the offices that I can see.

"I'm no longer playing in the kindergarten sandbox," he winks, holding the door to his office while I pass through. He loosens his tie and takes a seat behind his desk.

"Adulthood is treating you well." I admire his office, decorated in dark woods and light carpeting. On the opposite wall is a framed certificate. "It's a beautiful office."

"You can put lipstick on a pig, but it's still a pig," Alistair jokes. "It's still a job," he shrugs.

"Your receptionist is nice. She seems to like you," I say sarcastically, judging by her attitude towards him.

"She's so far up Whitlock's ass, she smells like money," Alistair jokes, motioning behind me. A man wearing jeans and a graphic t-shirt of a band I don't recognize, is on the second floor, looking down at the hustle of the office.

"He looks young to be running a firm like this," I note. "Darren said he was a friend of your father's."

"That's his son. Everyone calls him Lock. He took over the firm a few years ago," Alistair explains.

"Does he always dress like that at work?" I'm trying not to judge, but with a company this size and serving most of Washington's elite, I would have thought he'd be in a suit and tie like Alistair.

"He's a bit unconventional. Reminds me of Darren, rebelling against the patriarch," Alistair offers.

"By the way, where is Darren?" Alistair raises a questioning eyebrow.

"Studying."

Alistair make a noise of agreement.

"This looks like the bat cave." I gesture to the five monitors lined up on his desk and the TV mounted on the wall with the sound turned off.

"I assure you, there's no saving of Gotham happening here," he explains in a foreboding manner.

Alistair sits back in his chair, casually crossing one ankle over the other and inspects his tie as if he didn't realize he had one on. His blond hair is no longer the carefree locks of a boy who plays lacrosse, but rather the carefully wrangled strands of a man who is lording over Gotham.

"I opened an account for you. The money is accessible for however you want to use it, but if I can suggest…"

"Those weren't the terms," I interrupt.

"I know Darren wasn't exactly excited about me handling the money, but I assured him I would take very good care of you."

"And that included having access to the money before the contract was up?" I question.

"You didn't know?" He tilts his head curiously.

I shake my head. "Darren neglected to provide that detail."

"Well, he explicitly told me that you were to have access to whatever you needed," he explains.

I don't know whether to be angry at him or relieved. I'd already been going through my savings as it was.

"I doubt this is the kind of thing your firm deals with."

"You'd be surprised." He smooths the tie against his chest and leans forward.

Getting back down to business, he pulls up something on his computer and tilts the screen in my direction so I can see. "I can invest the money however you like, but I have some options that could make you a modest profit, depending on how risky or conservative you want to be."

"I don't need it to make money," I insist exasperatedly. "I mean, five million is more than anyone would need."

Alistair flips a pen around between his fingers while giving me a challenging stare.

"That's not what we do here."

"So, what exactly do you do?" I inquire.

"Make the rich richer, of course." He says it as if it's a given, but I suppose a firm like this isn't for someone who has only a hundred dollars to invest – probably not even a thousand. I raise my eyebrows. "I'm not looking to be richer."

"You don't have a choice because it's my fiduciary duty to invest your money wisely," he informs me.

Alistairand duty were two words I never thought would be uttered in the same sentence, but then again, I never thought I'd be sitting on the opposite side of a desk having options on how to invest five million dollars. The thought makes me swallow hard. I know I asked for it – demanded it really – but I didn't think much about what it would look like to have it.

"And the more money I make, the more money you make." I stare back at him.

"That's a given." He sets the pen down.

A ruckus in the office distracts me, and I turn around to see a group of men enter the center of the bullpen where a small basketball hoop is erected under the railing of the second floor.

They lift one of the guys, who slams a basketball through the hoop as they cheer. From the second floor, Lock watches with amusement.

I turn back to Alistair. "What's that all about?"

He rubs the back of his neck as if he doesn't want to tell me, but he does anyway. "When someone brings in a particularly wealthy client, you get a slam dunk." His cheeks turn rosy with embarrassment.

I turn back to watch as they congregate under the hoop.

"Will you get a slam dunk for bringing me in?" I speculate.

His cheeks turn an even brighter shade of pink. "To be frank, five million barely gets you a pat on the back here." He raises an eyebrow.

This is a world that I don't understand and simply don't belong in, because five million dollars is life altering to the point that it makes me queasy. To think it means nothing to them – Alistair included – just makes me feel even more over my head. I stand to leave, but Alistair quickly rises from his chair, rounding the desk to stop me.

"I didn't mean to upset you."

I shake my head, grabbing my purse.

"Please, don't leave."

"I don't know why I came here to begin with."

"I'm just being honest with you. I don't want you to have any pretense about what we're doing here, and who you"re doing business with," he explains, and I can see the sincerity in his face.

"Look, it's more than just my ethical obligation to do the right thing by you."

"It's because I'm Darren's wife," I say for him.

"No," he states resolutely. "It's because I care about you." He crosses his arms over his chest. "I might have had a hand in everything that went down in Vegas, but do not think that I was ever okay with it, and the more I got to know you, the more it weighed on my conscience."

"You might think I accepted the offer too eagerly, Alistair, but you're wrong."

"I have never thought that about you."

I raise an eyebrow.

"Truthfully, I advised Darren not to give you access to the money before the contract was up."

I purse my lips. "I suppose that's fair."

"Look, however you came into this money is irrelevant. Here, you're a number, and that's not a bad thing if you're looking for anonymity."

I sit back in the chair, placing my purse in my lap.

"If you let me manage your money, I will make sure that, whatever the reason you accepted it, it will be more than enough to sustain you for a long time to come."

"I just want to make sure my grandmother has the best care."

Alistair sits back, intrigued. "Okay, tell me about your grandmother."