Cole Cameron's Revenge. Sandra Marton
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was standing directly in front of her, and his frigid eyes locked onto hers.
“Cole?” She held the papers out toward him. Her hand trembled. “What is this?”
“Your future,” he said, almost gently. “Look at the last line.”
She did. Total balance, seven hundred eighty-two dollars and…
“Those are your assets, darling.” His voice was a purr. “The payoff. Not quite what you’d been expecting, is it?”
He was standing too close, invading her space. She knew it was deliberate, that he meant to throw her off balance, and he was succeeding. She didn’t like having him so near, didn’t want to smell the scent of his cologne, something elusive that went with the expensive suit. Tiny lines radiated out from the corners of his eyes. The years had bruised him, as she knew they’d bruised her. She was worn down by gossip, exhausted by deceitful slurs but he—he had become harder and more dangerously masculine than ever, watching her with a little smile she longed to slap from his face.
A chill raced through her blood. She took a step back and fought to keep her tone steady.
“I’d like an explanation, Mr. Jergen. Is this supposed to be all that remains of my husband’s estate?”
“Late husband,” Cole said. “Ted’s not around to play your games anymore.”
“Mr. Jergen,” Faith said, ignoring Cole, “surely there are other assets. What happened to them?”
“It’s complicated.” Jergen patted her arm. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Faith—”
“Then simplify it,” she said, jerking away from him. “And please remember that my name is Mrs. Cameron.”
She heard Cole laugh but she didn’t care. She was tired of being patronized and she kept her eyes on the lawyer until he flushed.
“As you wish, Mrs. Cameron. In brief, your husband lost everything in the market.”
“What market? Stocks, you mean? But Ted wasn’t a gambler.”
“No. He was a prudent investor—at least, he was until a couple of years ago. Then he began buying technology IPOs. Initial public offerings, Mrs. Cameron, in a sector where people were making fortunes overnight.”
“Go on.” Faith folded her arms. Maybe that would keep anyone from noticing that her heart was trying to pound its way out of her chest. “He invested lots of money and made lots of money. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, if your stocks keep escalating in value, or if you sell out in time. Your late husband made some errors in judgment. His stocks fell, but he kept buying. I suppose he thought he’d recoup. And—”
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