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I study her expression, keeping my eyes locked on her face, but only see surprise and concern register there. “You’d better change your password immediately.” She gestures toward my phone on the table. “Do you want to do it now?”
I shake my head. “They can’t get in. I have two-step verification. But I’ll call tomorrow, just to make sure.”
She lifts her glass of water and takes a sip before saying, “Why do you still look so worried?”
“We’ve had some mail go missing. Bank statements. Paid bills that never got to where they needed to go. Scott thinks someone is targeting us.”
Her eyes widen. “Have you called the police?”
“Not yet,” I say. “But Scott’s going to want to, after tonight.” I let the threat hang in the air, searching her face for a reaction. A flash of worry. A flinch. Something that might betray her. Again I see that jotted note. Aunt Calista—$$—unclear how much.
Our pie arrives and we begin to eat in silence. Finally, Meg says, “I don’t want to overstep, but do you think Scott might be gambling again?”
I look up from my plate, a dark realization washing over me. The secret I shared, the truth I revealed so long ago, has now come back to haunt me. This is what con artists do—squirrel away information and use it when you’re at your most vulnerable. As if to say, It’s not me you should be worrying about.
I could have made up any reason why Scott and I might be prolonging our engagement. But I’d settled on offering up the truth, never knowing how expertly she might use it against me.
Meg gestures toward my ring. “How often do you take that off?” she asks. I must look confused because she clarifies. “I’m just wondering if it’s possible he could have swapped out the stone without you noticing.” She holds her hands up and says, “I’m sorry, but if he’s gambling again, that’s exactly the kind of thing he’d try to do.”
My mind flashes back to my grandmother’s engagement ring. How long it took me to notice it had gone missing, and how hard Scott argued that the house cleaner must have taken it before finally admitting he’d sold it to cover a debt.
“I’m overstepping. I’m sorry,” she says. “But if you want, I know a guy in the diamond district downtown. He can take a look at it just to make sure.”
I take a bite of pie, but I can barely taste it, imagining the kind of guy Meg might have, and how quickly he would swap the stone out himself. “I don’t ever take it off,” I tell her. Though that’s not exactly true. I take it off to go to the gym. I take it off when I get a manicure. There have been plenty of times I’ve taken the ring off, where Scott could have done something with it.
“I don’t want to make things worse,” Meg continues. “But I also want you to be careful. If your instincts are telling you something’s off, you should listen to them.”
“You’re right,” I tell her. “But I don’t think it’s Scott.”
Meg nods, accepting my words, and slips a piece of pie into her mouth and chews. Finally, she says, “Well, I guess that’s good then.”
***
When I get home, I creep into the house, careful not to wake Scott, and go straight to his computer, unable to fully discard Meg’s suspicions until I can see for myself. A long list of websites come up, but they’re all legitimate, and none of them are the bank. Then I check his phone, where again I find nothing that indicates he’d been the one accessing my account. I feel a thread of relief, followed by a wave of exhaustion, wondering if there will ever be a time when I won’t have to check up on him. If there will ever be a time Scott isn’t the person my mind always leaps to first.
I hear him shift in bed and realize how careless I’ve been. I ignored his warnings, believing I could handle Meg. If her strategy is to foster doubt in my relationship with Scott, to grow the divide between us so wide I start to question him, it’s working.
But I’m still in control. I know who Meg is and what she’s doing. My account is locked down. Her attempt failed.
I shrug out of Meg’s coat and log back in to my email, wanting to double-check the time stamp on the attempt. An email from Jenna sits at the top, subject line reading Reading, PA.
Curious, I click on it.
My researcher found a DBA under the business name Life Design by Melody, and the name Melody Wilde attached to it. Backtracking with the state of Pennsylvania showed that the DBA was filed by Meg Williams. But here’s the thing…there’s a house involved. That’s how my researcher found her. It was sold to Meg’s company for $20,000. I don’t know much about Pennsylvania real estate, but that’s not a lot of money.
I sit back in my chair, thinking. A DBA—also known as a fictitious business name—and a property transfer for well under market value. And then my mind flies to Meg’s mystery buyers. Maybe they’re not industry people, committed to protecting their privacy, or collaborators working alongside Meg. Maybe they’re Meg herself.
Two Years Ago
Reading, Pennsylvania
