Haley Thistle
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You're Dead: Chapter One (special preview)
🕑 Added 2021-10-14 21:00:04 +0000 UTCIt was Tuesday, and that was about as far as any descriptor could go. For years now, all Tuesdays had become the same. They didn’t carry the stress of Monday, they didn’t have that feeling of achievement like Wednesday. They just existed as a day between days. Nothing special ever happened on a Tuesday.
Walking to work I rarely made note of anything around me. I paid attention to traffic flow, signs, whatever color the lights were. I didn’t want to get run over or trampled on my way in after all. My mind was already focused on work. I was going over what had to be done that day, prepping for clients I was going to see. I was already looking forward to lunch and the solitude that would bring, and that should have been a sign of my unhappiness. But whoever paid attention to that red flag?
My father owned the accounting firm where I worked. Once called Mitchell and Sons Accounting, it was changed years ago to Mitchell’s Accounting when no sons were present. Being an accountant wasn’t my first choice for a career, even if I had a head for numbers. I had other plans before I realized how big an issue money really was.
I wouldn’t go so far to say nepotism came into play at work. I was vetted through my father’s grueling hiring process like anybody in the firm. I didn’t even have an office, I had a desk behind a wall. I was also so close to the supply closet my coworkers constantly asked me to bring them things. Was it annoying? Yes. Did I have the backbone to say no? No.
When lunch arrived I was so excited to get up and leave. I had my lunch packed, but on my way in I saw one of my favorite food trucks going towards the park. I had already made up my mind about what I was going to order and where in the park I was going to sit. I was just about to touch the door when I heard my name called out behind me.
“Daisy, can you come here for a second?” My father was beckoning me into his office. My stomach dropped and I chewed on my lip. I could see what it was and wait for my lunch break, or I could talk myself out of it.
“Okay.” I followed him into his office and stood in front of his desk.
William Mitchell hadn’t always been the goal oriented person he was. Back when I was young, the goal was too far away to aim for. He worked in steps, counting each one as a success. Now the steps weren’t even noticed. If he didn’t reach goals, then it was a problem. I wondered what goal wasn’t reached and how it was my problem.
My dad sat down at his desk then waved a bill at me. “What the hell is this, Daisy?” he asked with a sigh.
“It looks like paper, Dad.” This was not the time to crack wise, but my mouth always moved faster than I could control.
My dad sighed and extended the paper out further. “I am not the bank, Daisy. Nor do I appreciate being used as some emergency penny jar. I thought you were grown up enough to know you have to rely on yourself.”
It was a credit card bill he waved before me. One that he cosigned with me long ago when I was first going to college. It was for emergencies only and a way to build up my credit. I was still paying off some major purchases from back then, which is why I kept it. I hadn’t used it in ages, or at least that’s what I thought. At And the end of the bill there was a new charge.
“Clover,” I huffed and lowered the bill. “This was a mistake.”
My dad gave me the eye, something he inherited from his Jewish grandmother. “How is this a mistake? And how is Clover involved?”
I folded up the bill in order to tuck it away, but he snatched it back. “She was supposed to use my other card.” I thought this would be a good argument.
“What did you buy?” My dad insisted.
“That’s none of your business,” I said with a shake of my head. “What iI buy with my money shouldn’t be a concern to you if I am an adult like you claim.”
Dad’s sigh was so heavy his shoulders fell. His eyes cast down and he shook his head in disappointment. “How long are you going to support her? Has she even tried to pay you back?”
“This is Clover,” I insisted.
His dark brown eyes burrowed into me. “I’ve gotten used to that. But she can’t keep playing pretend and dancing around while you foot fit the bill.” he pointed back to the bill. “What did she make you buy?”
