Free Priceless by Nicole Richie Page B

be.”
    Charlotte swallowed. “So I have no money at all?”
    “You have money. You just can’t get it.”
    “And how long will that be the case?”
    He shrugged gently. “I am working on it.”
    Charlotte put her hands on the table. “And can you give me a loan? I need money to live on. Presumably, they can’t prevent you from doing that?”
    For the first time, Edelstein looked embarrassed. “I can speak to my fellow bank officers.”
    She frowned. “Once the case is over, I presume they will be just as happy to keep our money for us? They, of all people, know I’m good for it.”
    He wouldn’t meet her eye. “Yes, Miss Williams. But many of our other customers have invested money with your father, and it is unclear at this time how much this situation is going to cost the bank. It would not be prudent for us to … uh …”
    “Help me while your other customers are so angry.” She understood. “Will you keep bothering the FBI and SEC, please, and I will call you at the end of business today to see if you’ve made any progress.” She’d pulled her mask down, and he would never see her vulnerable again. She stood. “I believe I have some jewelry in a safety deposit box, yes? Am I able to access that?”
    He coughed as he stood. “Yes, Miss Williams. The investigation overlooked that or, rather, didn’t care about it. You have your mother’s diamonds, of course, and a rather valuable pearl necklace.”
    As she followed him down to the vault, Charlotte found herself growing hard inside. She realized that if she was going to get out of this situation, she was going to have to be resourceful. Creative. Bold.
    But first? Shopping.

    DOES IT REALLY
count as shopping if you’re selling things?
Charlotte wondered. Probably not, but it was a fine distinction. Squashing the horror she felt at doing it, she’d taken her mother’s diamonds, the pearl necklace, and half a dozen other pieces from her Chinese chest and carried them to Mr. Geller.
    Mr. Geller’s was a name that, among the rich of the tristate area, had become synonymous with a certain kind of trouble. “She’s gone to see Geller” is all you needed to say to convey that so-and-so was having a little financial difficulty. Charlotte had actually already been to see Geller, when she was eighteen, in order to pay off a foolish bet she’d made with a friend which she’d been too embarrassed to ask her father about.
    Mr. Geller was an expert in fine jewelry and discretion, equally important areas of expertise for someone in his position. He worked out of an office in the Flatiron Building, with simply his name on the door, and you never ran into anyone else there. You had the feeling he’d just been sitting there waiting for you, and only you, and that after you left, he would go back to sleep until you returned to reclaim your valuables.
    Charlotte had called him as she left the bank, and it was as if he’d been expecting her call. And he might have been, if he watched the news like everyone else.
    Davis had made no comment when she gave him the address, although he must have known its significance. Geller had been as gracious and charming as ever and brought her an excellent cup of coffee as they sat in his office.
    “I am so happy to see you, Miss Williams. It has been quite a while since you were here last.”
    He smiled with every apparent sincerity. He was a dapper gentleman of uncertain age. He could have been forty. He could have been sixty. The gossip was that he spoke many languages fluently and traveled the world extensively helping the wealthy liquidate their assets. He had reputedly never been robbed, leading people to speculate that maybe he also assisted those connected to organized crime, who would hate to lose Grandma’s emeralds while they were under his protection. His office was richly carpeted and incredibly comfortable, with a slowly ticking grandfather clock in the corner. It all looked a bit like Freud’s treatment room