Page 164 of The Home Grown
“I—”
“You come in here, tell me this and expect me to—who the fuck are you?” he says, his forehead glowing red.
“I’m … Michael Betts, but my friends call me Bettsy.”
Apparently, that was not the answer he was looking for.
“I know who you are … but… what the fuck is your problem? Ellie’s ruined Kathryn’s business, so you think you can come in here and ruin my?—”
“You’re kidding right? Kathryn mauled Ellie’s scalp. She ripped her hair out, for Christ’s sake. If anyone’s got a problem … it sure as hell isn’t me.”
“What the fuck?”
“Oh, another secret she’s keeping from you, then? Looks like she’s a conniving b?—”
Greg’s features tense. “Shut your mouth,” he says.
“Mate, look,” I hold my hands up in surrender. “I honestly don’t give a shit about you, nor Langer, nor Kathryn, for that matter. But I do care about Ellie … a lot. And I’ll tell you something for free, if Kathryn touches a single hair on Ellie’s head again, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”
Greg scowls, muttering something under his breath before he turns away.
“Now I’ve done a nice thing here today. It may not seem like it now, but one day you’ll thank me for it. I’ve told you what I know … now you can do whatever you want with that information. Oh, and while I’ve got you … if you could write me a cheque for that seven grand Kathryn owes Ellie, that’d be great.”
Greg turns back towards me. “I don’t know what Ellie’s told you, but Kathryn doesn’t owe her any money. I funded the start-up.”
“You funded the salon? So why the fuck does Ellie think she funded it? I mean … Kathryn isn’t the sort of person who’d lie about something like that, is she, Greg? Getting two lots of seven grand and?—”
“I—” His face drops as realisation dawns on him. “Shut the fuck up.”
I’ve hit a nerve. I can tell. But I can’t back down.
“Hey, all I want is the money back. That’s it.”
But he’s not listening. He’s retreating to his desk, pulling open draws and rummaging through paperwork. Piles and piles of it.
“Oh … fuck,” he says, flattening out a stack of papers—credit card bills by the look of it. “She told me her card was stolen but?—”
I don’t have a clue what’s going on. No idea at all, but what I’m guessing is whatever Kathryn told Greg she did with his money isn’t actually what she did with his money.
I step closer, my nosiness getting the better of me, but all I can see is line upon line of transactions.
Hotels. Hotels. And more hotels.
“Yeah, that was the hotel we stayed at for the Team?—”
Greg looks up at me, his eyes red and blotchy with the threat of tears.
Damn, I’m feeling sorry for the guy. He looks like his heart has been ripped out and all I can do is stand here and watch his demise.
But it is probably better that I told him, right? I mean, if it was me … I’d want to know.
“Right. Well, yeah … look Greg, I’m sorry I had to be the one to have told you, but no one deserves to be treated like this. No one. I’m sorry that it happened to you.”
I turn to leave, taking a step towards the door when Greg stops me. His hand resting on my shoulder.
“Mike?”
“Yeah?”
