Owned By The Possessive Alpha, Bounded To My Mate novel Chapter 71

Chapter 71

Chapter 71

DENISE

“Bank first,” she said when I’d finished. “You need to sit with someone who can look at your full picture and tell you what the best vehicle is for your starting amount. Not a general branch private banking arm or a wealth management consultant. Some of them have minimum thresholds but some don’t, and with what you’re describing you’re already in the range for a real conversation.”

“Can you come?” I said. “I know you’re only here for three weeks-”

“I was literally about to suggest we meet today,” she said. “Give me an hour. Get your documents–identification, the account information, any statements you have. And that private account, bring documentation for that too.”

“How did you know about the private account?”

“You mentioned redirecting funds,” she said. “That implies a destination. Bring it.”

I looked at the ceiling briefly. “You’d have made a good investigator.”

“I make a good everything,” she said. “One hour. The Meridian Bank on Calloway Street-they have a private client entrance on the side, tell them Andrea Davis sent you and you’re there for a consultation.”

She hung up.

I sat for a moment with the particular feeling of momentum-the specific sensation of something that had been still beginning to move. It was one of my favorite feelings and I had missed it without fully registering the missing.

I got up, went to the guest room, and began pulling together documents.

The private account statements. The credit union records. The investment research I’d been doing for two weeks. The application confirmation from the university program, which had arrived in my inbox while I was on the phone and which I read twice before

closing it.

I found the black card on the coffee table.

I put it in my bag.

Not to spend carelessly. Not to perform having access to something. But because I was going to a bank to build financial infrastructure and having the card was accurate documentation of my current situation, and accurate documentation was the foundation of accurate planning.

I was also going to pay for my own coffee.

Andrea was already at the private client entrance when I arrived, which meant she had left before her stated hour was up, which meant she had been ready to do this before I called and the call had simply confirmed the plan.

She looked at me when I came around the corner and assessed my expression with the quick competence of someone who had always been good at reading where I was.

1/3

1:50 pm P PPP

Chapter 71

You submitted the application already,” she said.

“This morning.”

“Good.” She pushed off the wall she’d been leaning against. “Don’t second-guess it.”

“I’m not.”

“You have your second-guessing face on.”

“That’s just my face.”

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She held the door. “Come on. I know the consultant inside-she’s good. She won’t try to put you in products you don’t understand just to hit a target.”

We went in.

The private client area was quieter than the main branch, with the particular considered calm of a space that had been designed to make people feel that their money was being taken seriously. A woman named Celina met us within five minutes-mid-forties, direct, with the professional manner of someone who had a lot of information to communicate and preferred to do it efficiently.

I liked her immediately.

We sat down and I laid out what I had, and Celina looked at it without the particular condescension that I had occasionally encountered in financial spaces when an omega without obvious inherited wealth came in asking questions about investment structures.

She asked good questions. I answered them honestly.

By the end of an hour, I had a starting plan-treasury bills as the foundation, a specific mutual fund that Celina had evidence for rather than enthusiasm about, a REIT that would become relevant in six months once the initial positions had established. A timeline for the degree program’s financial impact and how to structure around it.

Real, specific, mine.

After Celina stepped out to prepare documentation, Andrea looked at me across the table with the expression she’d used since we were sixteen when she thought I’d done something right.

“You look like yourself,” she said. “I said it at the coffee shop but I mean it more now.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means-” She considered. “You look like someone who is building something for herself. Not around someone else. Not in the gaps of someone else’s life.” She paused. “You were always capable of this. You just needed the ground under you to be solid first.”

I thought about St. Mira’s, and the account at the credit union, and the resale listings, and the four years of documentation organized by date in three separate locations.

“I’ve been building for a while,” I said. “Just quietly.”

“I know,” she said. “Now you can do it loudly.”

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