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What? No. I text:No way. I don’t understand. Call me.
I wait. He doesn’t call. I call him, and it goes to voice mail. I fight the urge to throw my phone across the room.
This isn’t a con, not really. This was my life. But now it’s over. I’m surprised when tears spill over my eyes. I’ve lost. Kate won. I’m glad I left the office. I can’t have anyone seeing me like this. I need a new plan, apparently. I dab at my eyes, careful not to ruin my makeup. Fine, I will forget about the company, I’ll forget about this place.
Which reminds me, I haven’t heard from that real estate hunk yet. No worries, though. I’ve decided I’ll be in residence at the Canopy by Hilton downtown until I find the perfect place. I won’t spend another night in this horrible home. I swear it’s haunted. Even as I hope it’s not me who is haunted.
A brief yet terrifying image of John as a ghost flies through my mind before I push it away. John died a cheater, and in that sense, he earned what he got. He’d better not be haunting me because he knows I always win. At least he knows that now.
I pull two large suitcases out from the storage closet as the whole house music system begins blaring the song “Who Are You” by the Who.
The windows are closed, and for once, the house is a pleasant temperature. I can outlast a little loud music. I open my suitcase, find my noise-canceling headphones, and pop them over my ears. One point for Tish.
I toss a few outfits into my suitcase, sexy dresses for evening and a couple of workout and tennis clothes for next week. Shoes and purses, five in each suitcase, are next. I open the safe and put on one of my most expensive gifts from John, a long gold necklace with diamonds sparkling every half an inch or so along the chain. It’s to die for, darling. I pull out my largest diamond studs, and instead of my travel wedding ring, I’ll wear the real rock from John. I will look like the spoiled wife I was when I check into my suite downtown.
I close the safe and realize somehow I need to get all of this out of here and into my new place. The only things I care about are my clothes and jewelry. The rest is all John’s stuff. I will pay Sonja tobring the contents of my closet to my suite at the Canopy. I’ll have them set everything up on rolling racks in the adjoining room. And I’ll have Sonja organize it all. She’ll handle that, and then I’ll fire her, too. She seems overly loyal to John and Kate. Overly attached to the past.
I am the future. That’s who I am. The music still blares as I make my way downstairs to the kitchen. As I stand in the kitchen, the electric blackout shades on the windows in the house start to roll down. I’m plunged into darkness even though it’s sunny outside. My house is a fiend.
I push aside the electric shades and open all the windows in the kitchen before realizing the music will carry to the golf course.
I need a fresh start. I’m not going to hang out in downtown Columbus. No, Paris is nice this time of year. Or London. Or, well, anywhere luxurious. I’ll go away for a price. And I know who will be willing to pay just about anything. I pull out my phone.
I text Kate:How about coming over to my house for a discussion. We need to work things out between us. For Ashlyn’s sake. I don’t understand what you said about owning seventy percent of the company, but I do know I have a right to something for being married to John. Don’t you want me gone? Maybe we can make a deal?
I watch my phone, pick it up every minute for the next ten minutes. I check to be sure I sent the message to the right phone number. The contact in my phone is labeledOld Mrs.Nelson. Yep, that’s her.
Finally, my screen lights up. It’s Kate. She texts:I’m busy. Sorry.
I’m so tired of these people. I want out. Kate’s my multimillion-dollar golden ticket.
I text.I can be reasonable. Buy me out.
She texts: Out of what? I can prove the will is fake. Witnesses, Mary and Sarah, signed statements. Notary ledger is being subpoenaed. John’s signature declared a fake per expert. You’re done.
Well, shit. I remember George never called me back. And his stupid receptionist, Mary, has turned on me. I’m alone, as usual.Ok, but I’m still here. I can make your life miserable. I can go to the press. Ruin the IPO.
I watch the bubbles as Kate responds. She must have a lot to say. I’m about to send another text when hers finally comes through.You already tipped off the media.
I text: Yup. But I’ll keep quiet from now on, for a price.
Kate texts:You killed John. You sabotaged Ashlyn’s car. You tried to take my company with that fake will. You tried to take everything.
Interesting. I wonder what she thinks she knows. She’s bluffing. She has no proof. Just Ashlyn’s stupid speculations.
Still my hand shakes as I reply,His heart stopped. His fault. Ashlyn is a brat who should go back to school. I don’t want the company anymore. I know what you want. You can have it.
I yank up the shade and stare outside at the backyard and the golf course beyond. Those guys out there on the golf course are John’s people. They were never mine. These neighbors aren’t my type. The whole scene in the suburbs never suited me. This is a place people come to die, the last stop before a retirement home. I’m so glad I’m getting out of here. I’m about to be super rich. I search for flights on my phone and discover several to New York this evening. I book a seat, first class of course, and when the travel site screen prompts me, I decide yes, I would like to add a luxury hotel suite. So I do. From New York, I can go anywhere in the world.
My phone lights up with a notice that there’s motion at the front door. Likely it’s a golfer coming to complain about the late afternoon noise. Or worse. It’s probably the neighborhood security guard writing me another citation for not understanding how to control my house. It’s like if you have a dog that keeps running away and digging up your neighbor’s yard. Sure, it’s not you doing the digging, but still, you’re responsible. Until you put some ground-up cherry pits in the dog’sfood, then you’re not. That was a lesson dear old Momma taught me when she killed my puppy.
Kate texts:This is your last chance. I’ll be over at 7. You better be telling the truth.
I text:I am.
“Coming,” I yell, even though I know the person at the front door can’t hear me.
I pull open the door. It’s the stupid rent-a-security-guard cop again.
