cessary.” Shit! “I must ha一ve something with my
married name.” I rifle through my purse. What do I ha一ve with my name on it? I
pull out my wallet, open it and find a photograph of Christian and me, on the
bed in Fair Lady’s cabin. I can’t show him that! I dig out my black Amex.
“Here.”
“Mrs. Anastasia Grey,” Whelan reads. “Yes, that should do.” He frowns. “This
is highly irregular, Mrs. Grey.
“Do you want me to let my husband know that your bank has been less than
cooperative?” I square my shoulders and give him my most forbidding stare.
He pauses, momentarily reassessing me, I think. “You’ll need to write a
check, Mrs. Grey.”
“Sure. This account?” I show him my checkbook, trying to quell my pounding
heart
“That’ll be fine. I’ll also need you to complete some additional paperwork. If
you’ll excuse me for a moment?”
I nod, and he rises and stalks out of the office. Again, I release my held
breath. I had no idea this would be so difficult. Clumsily, I open my
checkbook and pull a pen out of my purse. Do I just make it out to cash? I
ha一ve no idea. With shaking fingers I write: Five million dollars.
$5,000,000.
Oh God, I hope I’m doing the right thing. Mia, think of Mia. I can’t tell
anyone.
Jack’s chilling, repugnant words haunt me. “Tell no one or I’ll fuck her up
before I kill her.”
Mr. Whelan returns, pale-faced and sheepish.
“Mrs. Grey? Your husband wants to speak with you,” he murmurs and points
to the phone on the glass table between us. What? No.
“He’s on line one. Just press the button. I’ll be outside.” He has the grace to
look embarrassed. Benedict Arnold has nothing on Whelan. I scowl at him,
feeling the blood drain from my face again as he shuffles 419 | P a g e
Fifty Shades Freed
out of the office.
Shit! Shit! Shit! What am I going to say to Christian? He’ll know. He’ll
intervene. He’s a danger to his sister. My hand trembles as I reach for the
phone. I hold it against my ear, trying to calm my erratic breathing, and press
the button for line one.
“Hi,” I
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