Elite (Eagle Elite) - By Rachel Van Dyken Page 0,34

that looked out onto a pond. Was that a plane?

“We need to open an account,” Nixon repeated.

“We?” Anthony turned around.

Holy hell he looked like an older version of Nixon. Was this his dad? No, he was still too young. I waited for the introductions.

“Technically, she needs to open an account. I would have gone to one of the other branches, but lucky girl has thousand dollar bills.”

Anthony’s eyes widened briefly before he turned to me. “What did you do, rob a bank?” He cracked a smile.

I grinned back. “I didn’t know they were big bills. My grandpa gave me some money before I was dropped off at school and there was a fiasco with my uniform and bags and…”

“Fiasco?” Anthony’s brows lifted. “This I have to hear.”

“Anthony—” Nixon was cut off by the guy waving his hand in the air.

“Make yourself useful, Nixon, and grab yourself a drink.”

Nixon muttered a curse and walked over to a bar in the corner.

“So, you were saying?” Anthony nodded his head.

My palms began to sweat. “I, uh… the people at school kind of drenched me in sugar water and raw eggs. My messenger bag suffered a very slow, sticky death.”

“The worst kind I’m sure.” Anthony smirked.

“Absolutely,” I agreed. “I guess technically it’s my fault, since I rejected that one’s rules on the first day.” I pointed at Nixon who narrowed his eyes. “But he did save me from social suicide. Not that I was already high on the popularity totem pole anyways… but yeah. Long story short, we went shopping, I busted out my money. Nixon almost had a stroke. Men in suits entered the grocery store with guns. Pretty sure I’m going to see that on the evening news, and… now we’re here.”

Anthony’s face remained impassive. “Alright. Sounds like a normal day in the life of Nixon. Welcome to the family…” He held out his hand.

“Oh, no, no, no, no.” I laughed nervously. “No, it’s not like… that.”

I waved both hands in the air like a crazy person.

Anthony’s head tilted to the side. “I’ve known Nixon for a long time, and I can tell you one thing for sure. It is very much… like that.”

I heard a groan from Nixon and something that sounded like a curse.

“Now, an account. Do you have your social security number?”

Embarrassed, I shook my head. “Grandpa said it was lost in the move.”

“The move?” Anthony repeated walking around his desk and hitting a few keys on his computer. “Where did you move from?”

“Chicago.”

Nixon spewed the contents of his drink onto the floor and began coughing. “Sorry, Uncle Tony.”

Ah, uncle, that made more sense.

Tony shook his head in annoyance but said nothing. “So, you’re from Chicago. Why did you move? Your parents come with you?”

I shifted uncomfortably on my feet. What did this have to do with me opening an account? Soon I felt Nixon’s hand grab mine. “My grandparents thought the city was too violent I guess? I don’t know. My parents were killed in an accident when I was six so…”

“An accident?” Anthony repeated. “My sincere apologies for your loss.”

I shrugged. “I don’t remember much.”

“Probably for the best,” Anthony said pointedly.

“Um, what does this have to do with opening a bank account? I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be rude, I’m just really exhausted.”

“Shopping does that to you,” Nixon said.

Anthony laughed. “I’d say Nixon does that as well…”

“Very funny.” Nixon shook his head.

“Alright, Miss Rooks, was it?”

I nodded.

“I’ll work some magic and open your account without your social security number. I’ll add the address to the school you attend. Do you have a phone number where I can reach you?”

I gave him my number while he typed.

“And the cash?” He held out his hand.

Nixon reached into his back pocket and handed him the wad that I’d pulled out of the box this morning.

If Anthony was surprised he didn’t say anything. Instead he counted the cash, around ten grand which is what Nixon had guessed.

He put it through a little machine. I signed something and he gave me a temporary card. It was black just like Nixon’s.

“We good?” Nixon asked folding some of the paperwork and stuffing it into his pocket.

Anthony nodded. “For now.”

Huh? What was I missing?

“Alright.” Nixon grabbed my hand. “See you Sunday, Uncle Tony.”

“You too, Boss. Don’t forget the time, or your pops is gonna throw a fit.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Nixon waved him off and we left.

The ride back to school only took a few minutes. I was quiet, mainly because I was confused and tired.

Once