Chapter 12 - Sixty-One Million Dollars
The money arrived on a Tuesday.
Abby opened her bank portal.
Then closed it.
Opened it again.
The number was still there.
She called Camille.
“Is something wrong?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“There are too many numbers.”
Camille laughed.
For the first month, Abby changed almost nothing.
She paid her father’s rehabilitation expenses.
She paid Noah’s tuition.
She cleared medical debt.
She replaced her car.
Not with a Lamborghini.
With a reliable SUV.
Noah complained.
“You have sixty million dollars.”
“And?”
“You bought a Toyota.”
“It starts.”
“You’re impossible.”
She purchased her parents a comfortable house with no stairs.
Thomas refused at first.
Then cried in the kitchen.
Abby kept her apartment for three more months.
One morning rain came through the bedroom wall.
She stared at the bucket.
Then laughed so hard she had to sit down.
That afternoon she bought a home.
Not a mansion.
A brick house with a garden.
Four bedrooms.
Dry walls.
She kept Pearl beside the fireplace.
The rest of the money went into professional management.
Abby refused to pretend she understood investments because suddenly she had money to invest.
That decision impressed Camille more than anything.
Cross Meridian changed too.
Julian created an independent employee ethics office.
Anonymous reporting.
Emergency hardship grants.
Transparent compensation audits.
No secret integrity tests.
He sold the hidden monitoring equipment.
Then donated the proceeds.
Rosa Alvarez eventually agreed to meet him.
She made him buy coffee.
He did.
Abby heard about it from Rosa herself.
Because Rosa called Abby.
“I wanted to see the woman who made Julian Cross discover shame.”
Abby laughed.
“I didn’t.”
“You helped.”
They became friends.
Life became strange.
Reporters continued calling Abby “the cleaner who inherited millions.”
She hated it.
Not because she was ashamed of cleaning.
Because nobody called Julian “the man who inherited billions.”
Men inherited.
Women were transformed by inheritance.
Poor women especially.
So Abby gave one interview.
“I was Abigail Mercer before the trust.”
The reporter asked:
“What will you become now?”
Abby replied:
“Hopefully still Abigail Mercer.”
The quote went everywhere.
Julian framed it.
Abby made him take it down.
“You framed my interview?”
“It was a good line.”
“That is weird.”
“I have a large house. Walls need things.”
She stared.
He removed it.
Their relationship changed slowly.
Coffee.
Arguments.
Board meetings.
Calls at midnight that had nothing to do with conspiracies.
Julian learned Abby hated oysters.
Abby learned Julian secretly watched terrible cooking shows.
He learned not to send a car without asking.
She learned he hated birthdays because Harrison turned them into corporate events.
One evening they stood inside the penthouse bedroom where everything began.
The dresser was empty.
Julian said:
“I’m replacing it.”
“Why?”
“I hate looking at it.”
Abby touched the wood.
“I don’t.”
He looked surprised.
“It reminds me of something.”
“My psychological dysfunction?”
“That too.”
“What else?”
“That I walked away.”
Julian became quiet.
Abby turned toward him.
“Do you know what I thought when I saw that money?”
“What?”
“I thought about taking one bundle.”
He stared.
“Twenty thousand?”
“Yes.”
“Why only one?”
“Because in my panic brain, stealing twenty thousand felt less criminal than stealing three hundred thousand.”
Julian laughed unexpectedly.
Abby did too.
Then her smile faded.
“I wanted it.”
“I know.”
“Really wanted it.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t walk away because temptation disappeared.”
Julian watched her.
“I walked away while wanting it.”
He nodded.
“That’s the part I didn’t understand back then.”
“What?”
“That integrity isn’t having no price.”
Abby looked at him.
“It’s deciding some things aren’t for sale.”
Julian stepped closer.
He did not touch her.
“Abigail.”
“Yes?”
“I would like to kiss you.”
She smiled.
“Look at you asking permission.”
“I’m developing rapidly.”
“You’re developing slowly.”
“Can I?”
Abby waited just long enough to make him nervous.
Then:
“Yes.”
Their first kiss happened three feet from the place where Julian had left $300,000 to prove everyone could be bought.
The irony was not lost on either of them.
But romance did not erase what happened.
Abby made that clear afterward.
“You understand this doesn’t mean I trust every part of you.”
“I know.”
“And I’m never becoming your employee again.”
“Absolutely.”
“And if you ever leave cash somewhere to test me—”
“I’ll assume my survival odds are poor.”
“Good.”
Julian smiled.
Then his phone rang.
Vincent.
Julian answered.
Vincent had received a diagnosis.
Pancreatic cancer.
Advanced.
He wanted to see Abby.
May you like
One time.
Before it was too late.
