“I’m sorry. That’s a silly question.” Bridgette walked around the desk. “I assumed since Mr. Johnson guaranteed the line of credit, he would get a copy.”
“Since…wait a minute, what?” Daniella stood up, effectively halting Bridgette on her way out the door. “What do you mean my husband guaranteed the line of credit? He has nothing to do with Beaux-Arts Galleries.”
Bridgette’s lips formed into a perfect circle of dismay. Two spots the same color as her red lipstick flamed her cheeks in rouge. “I—I’m sorry. Perhaps I misspoke.” She swallowed.
“No, you didn’t. What does my husband, Cyrus Johnson, have to do with this?”
“I’m s-sorry, Ms. Barrett. Please…” Bridgette looked helplessly at the open door, seeking to escape but knowing she couldn’t bolt in the middle of the conversation.
“I want an answer,” Daniella said. Her voice had grown louder, and a patron seated outside the door looked up from the magazine in his hands.
The bank manager appeared in the doorway. “Is there a problem?” He looked from one to the other.
“I…I said something I guess I shouldn’t have,” Bridgette stuttered. At this point, her entire face had reddened. When she explained what she’d done, the blood drained from the manager’s face.
“Did you give me that money because of who my husband is?” Daniella asked.
He lifted a placating hand to her. “Ms. Barrett, please, you have to understand…please don’t tell your husband. He told us not to say anything, and Bridgette didn’t know.”
Beside him, Bridgette’s head bounced up and down in agreement.
“Are you saying Cyrus knows about this? Did you call him and tell him I asked for an expanded line of credit?” If so, it was an astronomical breach of confidentiality.
“No. But Mr. Johnson handpicked Alex to handle your affairs and insisted you receive whatever you need whenever you requested it.”
“That’s impossible,” Daniella said. “The first loan you gave me was almost two years ago.” She’d already filed for divorce by then.
“That’s correct, ma’am, and the agreement has been in place ever since. Then, approximately two months ago, your husband contacted us to confirm it was still intact. We assured him it was.”
Daniella knew what would have prompted him to call. The night of Ivy’s engagement party, when she’d told him about her plan to expand to New York. He’d taken the information from the casual question he’d asked about her business to reaffirm the safety net he’d put in place for her was still intact. He didn’t want anything standing in the way of her expansion plans.
“We’ve been doing business with the Johnson family for years,” the manager continued. “We would never go against his instructions.”
“I don’t understand. Why would he do that?” Daniella wondered out loud. She’d meant it to be a rhetorical question, but Bridgette answered.
“Why wouldn’t he?” she asked, confusion etched in her face. “He’s your husband.”
True, he was her husband, even though he no longer wanted to be. The extent to which he’d gone to ensure her success boggled her mind.
They waited for her response, and she realized that because of who she was, who she had married, they were extremely nervous and worried about the outcome of today’s visit. If she complained to Cyrus, they were concerned he’d be so annoyed he’d move his money to a different bank because his explicit instructions had not been followed. While she knew he and his family did business with other banks—spreading the risk, he would call it—to be able to say this was one of them was quite an honor. It spoke volumes that the Johnsons entrusted Seattle Trust Bank with their financial assets and had done so for years.
“I won’t say anything to my husband,” she assured them.
“Oh, thank God,” the manager blurted, slumping against the wall. Then, as if he realized he’d said it out loud, he blushed and straightened. “I mean, thank you. We’ll get you taken care of right away,” he said.