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THE NEXT MORNING, SHORTLY BEFORE NOON, I LUG A TOTE BAG OFcleaning supplies to my studio. I’m not planning to begin another collage until after the show, but I want to tidy up the space and inventory the materials I have for future pieces. I’m just opening the door when my cell phone rings. It’s finally Kane.
“Excuse my delay in returning your call,” he tells me, “but I needed to gather some pertinent information for you. Do you have a pen handy?”
“Um, yes, I’ve got one.” I set down my supplies and quickly grab a pen and pad from the countertop.
As I jot down contact info for the trustee, a banker named Ava Wilcox, my hand trembles a little. My god, this really seems to be happening. I haven’t been punked or conned, or hallucinated the whole thing.
“Do you have a sense of how long it will take for the money to hit my account?” I ask.
“Ms. Wilcox will have all that for you. And you’ll deal with her directly going forward.”
“Got it. Well, thank you. Is-Is there anything else I need to be aware of?”
He clears his throat. “Actually, yes, there’s one additional matter I need to bring to your attention. It’s about Chris’s wife, Jane.”
My heart skitters at the sound of her name. “I meant to tell you—she was waiting for me in the lobby when I left your office on Monday,” I say. “Someone must have told her I’d be there.”
He takes a moment to reply, making me wonder again whether Kane was her source. “Yes, Caroline Whaley informed me of that fact, and I’m very sorry about it. We’re not certain who passed along the information about our meeting, but we’re looking into the matter. Anyway, as I mentioned, she’s not happy about the trust, and from what I’ve learned, she’s looking to take some action.”
“Whatkindof action?” I say, growing agitated.
Kane sighs. “There’s no attorney-client privilege in this scenario, so I’m at liberty to share what I’ve heard. Again, it’s just hearsay, but it looks like she’s hired a law firm to contest the transfer of the trust.”
How stupid of me to be lulled by Caroline’s assurances that Jane wouldn’t have a chance. I’d let myself believe she might not even try.
“But what grounds would she have?” I hear pleading in my voice. “That Chris was too sick to know what he was doing? His mother told me that wasn’t the case.”
“Not that, from what I’ve heard.”
“Then what?”
Silence.
“Hello?”
“Yes, I’m here,” he says, his tone even more serious now. “You said you and Chris never communicated after the night you spent together. I can only be of help to you if you’re completely candid with me.”
“I have been.”
“There’s no email or text history between the two of you?”
“No, nothing like that.” Does Kane think I’ve been totally bullshitting him? “As I told you, I didn’t even know his full name. Why? What difference would it make even if wehadbeen in touch?”
Another pause, and this one feels especially ominous.
“There have been some cases lately—perhaps you’ve seen them in the news—of married men being extorted by women with whom they’ve had sexual relationships.”
“Okay, but what does that have to do with me?”
“My understanding is that Jane is planning to claim that you’re an extortionist and that you blackmailed her husband into leaving you all that money.”
15
Now
IDON’T BELIEVE IT. BRADLEY KANE HAS JUST FLOATED THE IDEAthat I might be a blackmailer.
“Wait, you can’t be serious,” I exclaim. “As I’ve told you repeatedly, I never had any contact with C.J. after that night, and I’m certainly not an extortionist.”
