How she detested that smug condemnation in his eyes. A man like Prescott, with his fancy clothes, obscene wealth, and judgmental nature exemplified all that threatened her children’s chance of a secure future. “Let’s just say I have a...benefactor.”
Now why had she said that, as though she were a woman cut from the same cloth as her mother? She had no doubt Marc Dupree would positively go apoplectic if he heard what she’d just claimed, all but confirming his bad opinion of her.
Disturbed by the direction of her thoughts and that she’d think of the handsome hotel owner at a time like this, she batted at a stubborn curl falling loose from its pins below her hat. What did it matter what Dupree thought of her? If she’d done her job properly last night, and had fully misled him into thinking she lived on The Row, she would never see the man again.
A pity.
No. Not a pity. A blessing.
Studying her with narrowed eyes, Prescott rose from his chair and made his way around the desk.
Laney threw her head back and held his stare, refusing to stir as the banker drew closer. No matter what happened in the next few minutes, she would not let this man see how much she abhorred his self-serving attitude. The one that led him to give and take money whenever it pleased him.
“You have a...benefactor?” He practically spat the word.
“I do.”
“You expect me to believe some misguided soul gave you five hundred dollars? Your friends on The Row may help you out on occasion, as well as a few saloon owners, but I know for a fact that none of them have the kind of money you just delivered here today.”
Laney swallowed back a nasty retort and concentrated on remaining calm. “Is it so hard to comprehend?”
“I find it impossible. No one would give money to you or that...home...of yours. A place filled with illegitimate children with mothers working on The Row.” His face inflated with fury. “It’s beyond repulsive.”
Laney recoiled at the callous words. “No child is repulsive.” Let these little ones come to me. “There are many people in Denver who see the need for my orphanage.”
“You mean the shamed mothers of your kind who need a place to discard their brats.”
Her knees buckled at the venom in his tone. Hands trembling, she grasped the side of the desk to steady herself. This man, with his refined eastern accent and overfilled belly, had never cared about Charity House. Or the children. But surely, he held a fondness for one of them. “What about your son?”
“Don’t ever mention that boy in my presence again.” His rage reverberated in his voice.
“But I thought you wanted to provide for Michael’s future, if not for the other children.”
“That was never my intention.” Prescott’s lips twisted in a snarl. “He’s Sally’s problem, not mine.”
Hypocrite. Just like the men who’d come to Laney’s mother, wanting their pleasure and paying handsomely for it, then cursing her unholy profession once back in their daily lives on the righteous side of Hollady Street. “If that’s how you feel, then why lend me the money in the first place?”
“Simple.” He let out a bitter laugh. “I knew you could never pay back that much money in time. I gave it to you so you would fail. And then Denver would be rid of you and your brats for good.”
He’d wanted her to fail? He might as well have grasped her heart and squeezed the very life out of it. She clamped her lips tight shut, shunning the weak tears that would proclaim her despair to this man. All this time, Laney thought Prescott had loaned her the money for the benefit of his six-year-old son. She’d been wrong. So...very...wrong.
“It doesn’t matter what you think,” she said, realizing the truth as she spoke it out loud. “You signed our agreement. That makes it legal. You can’t deny me the right to pay off my loan.”
He blinked, his insults held in check for the first time during their association. Sensing victory, Laney clutched her small advantage and pounced. “Take the money and let’s be done with this distasteful business between us.”
Prescott paused. “I’ll have to count it.”
Hardly daring to breathe, Laney nodded. “By all means, take your time. My morning is yours.”
As he rounded his desk and lowered back into his chair, a sense of euphoria built inside her.
Almost there.
Counting one bill at a time, he made slow work of checking the amount.
Almost there. Almost there.
His gaze unreadable, Prescott set the last bill on top of the pile and looked up at her.
“You lose, Mr. Prescott.” Laney allowed a full smile to lengthen across her lips. “And now I own Charity House.”
I own Charity House. The thought coiled in her head, making her dizzy with relief.
All she had to do was endure a few more tense moments in this awful man’s company and she’d never have to deal with him again.
“Before I leave this morning I want the deed to Charity House. And I want you to put in writing that I have no more debt owed to this bank. Or to you.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”
What? “Why not?”
“You’re short the full amount.” He patted the stack of money.
“Short?” That couldn’t be correct. “The full amount is there, all five hundred dollars. I counted the stack myself, just this morning.”
“You didn’t include the interest.”
Every fiber of her being froze at the look of pleasure on Prescott’s face. “Interest?”
“You can’t think I would have given you three extra days on your loan without a penalty.”
He had the audacity to look sorrowful now, as though the matter was out of his hands. A lie. They both knew he was the owner of this bank. He could add or subtract any terms he liked, on whatever whim suited him.
“Have you no decency?” she whispered, trying to reconcile the man standing before her with the one he presented to the good people of Denver. He attended church every Sunday, pretended piousness while in the pew, and then conducted shameless usury the rest of the week.
“How much interest are you talking about?”
“Ten percent.”
She gasped.
“But to prove I’m a fair man, I’ll extend your loan through the end of the month without adding any additional fee.”
Fifty dollars. He wanted an additional fifty dollars in less than three weeks. It might as well be five thousand. How would
