The Lost - J. D. Robb [108]
She hoped that all these months later her position at the bank would still be available. Her meager savings were now depleted.
Because she’d sold her car, she walked the six blocks to the tidy house she’d shared with her mother, after giving up her apartment. As she entered she picked up the mail and carried it to the kitchen. She made a cup of tea and sat at the table, carefully opening each envelope and adding to the pile of unpaid bills. The medical bills were bad enough, but the unpaid taxes meant that she would soon see her family home go up for auction.
“Oh, Mama.” She buried her face in her hands, refusing to give in to the desire to weep.
How had her life taken such a turn? She’d been raised in a lovely, middle-class family, and had a good education and a fine work ethic. Though it was true that her grandfather had squandered a good deal of his savings on land speculation that hadn’t paid off, Aidan’s mother and grandmother had picked up the pieces and paid off his debts. Her father had saved enough for a decent retirement, at least until his prolonged illness drained his income. With her mother’s illness following on the heels of his death, Aidan’s life savings were quickly gone, as well.
Her fingers moved over the calculator, tallying the debt so far. She studied her negative bank balance and felt a sudden panic. In her line of work at the bank she’d counseled many people who were one paycheck away from financial disaster. Unlike them, she had no paycheck to depend on. She was already ruined.
She glanced at the clock. Too late to phone her old supervisor now. But first thing tomorrow she would make that call. Mr. Saunders had to hire her back. Had to.
When the doorbell rang, she thought about ignoring it. She was too drained to deal with well-m eaning neighbors. But good manners had her doing the right thing regardless of her feelings. She opened the door and forced a smile to her lips.
“Aidan O’Mara?”
The man was dressed in an impeccable suit and tie, and carrying an attaché case. He handed her a business card. “Philip Barlow, with Putnam, Shaw and Forest.”
At the mention of one of the best-known legal firms in town, her smile fled. Which of her creditors had turned her debt over to a law firm?
“I’m Aidan O’Mara.” She squared her shoulders to hide the feeling of dread at what was to come. A lawsuit on top of everything else would be the final humiliation.
“Ms. O’Mara, I’m sorry about the timing of my visit. But it was your mother’s obituary in the newspaper that brought me here. You are listed as her next of kin.”
Aidan nodded. “Her only kin.”
“Maybe not.” At his words, her head came up sharply.
“My firm was contacted by a legal firm in Ireland. Mr. Cullen Glin, from the town of Glinkilly, in the county of Kerry, Ireland, has spent years searching for his long-l ost child. We have reason to believe that your mother was his daughter.”
Though relieved to know that his visit wasn’t about a debt, Aidan was already shaking her head. “I’m sorry. You’re mistaken. My mother’s parents lived right here in town. I’ve known them all my life.”
“I’m sure you have. But Mr. Glin’s sworn statement says otherwise. There are . . . extenuating circumstances that will question certain claims that you have accepted as fact for a lifetime.”
“But I . . .”
“Mr. Glin’s arguments are very persuasive.” The young lawyer glanced around the small foyer, noting the well-worn carpet, the faded draperies. “When I reached his solicitor by phone, I was instructed to relay his request that you fly to Ireland and meet his client face-to-face. If, after that meeting, either of you is not persuaded of the relationship, your visit will be terminated at once.” Seeing that she was about