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Talbot does, and I see a screenshot of an Instagram exchange. Scanning over it, I read part of a conversation where one party admits to buying custom essays from a website and turning them in for good grades.
“You faked these messages?” I ask.
He chuckles nervously. “Didn’t even have to fake it. Pretended I was a friend of his using a new profile. He was almost proud to admit it.”
“So you make a business of getting kids kicked out of school?”
“I make a business of getting kidsinto school. Only time I have to kick somebody out is when it’s the middle of the school year and attendance is full. And that costs extra.”
He closes the screenshot and opens another. I see two images, side-by-side, of myself in a grungy room snorting lines of white powder off a coffee table. I know it isn’t me. I’ve never done coke in my life. But the images look so real. They’d be enough to fool anyone.
“Fuuuck,” I breathe, staring at the fake photos.
Behind us, Alessandro opens the briefcase. Inside are stacks of bills. “This looks like a good business. What is this, 30 grand?”
“50,” says Talbot, looking just slightly smug.
Alessandro chuckles. “You must really have a gambling problem to be owing Gagliardi big with this kind of income. From now on, you work for me. I’ll send someone every month to collect my 50 percent.”
Talbot’s face reddens. “50 percent?”
“That’sifyou promise to get Ava back into school. If you say no, you’re going over the balcony.”
“You’re not listening to me. I don’t even know how I would—”
“16 floors. Long way down.Figure it out.”
“But the arrangement I had with Mr. Gagliardi—”
Alessandro grabs Talbot by the collar of his polo shirt and drags him across the living room, through the sliding glass doors, and to the balcony. I follow, my adrenaline spiking.
“I don’t give a shit about your arrangement with Mr. Gagliardi. You want to visit him in prison, that’s your business. But you’re kicking up your 50 percent to me, and you’re getting Ava back into school. It does not matter what lies you have to make up. You’ll come up with something.”
He forces Talbot against the railing overlooking the city street, hoisting him by the waist so his feet leave the ground.
“Either that, or we do a little experiment in human flight. Get ready to flap those arms real hard.
“Okay! Okay!” Talbot gasps, his eyes bugging out as he stares down at the street so far below him. “Jesus, I’ll do it! I’ll do whatever you want.”
“You’ll do what?”
“I’ll get her back in. And I’ll pay you half.”
Alessandro allows Talbot’s feet to return to the ground, although he keeps him pressed against the railing. “Good answer. But I have to ask. Are you going to forget about our deal when I leave here? Ireallywouldn’t want to have to come back.”
“No! I won’t forget.”
Alessandro steps backward, calm now. “Good. You’re not going to see my face again. If you do, it’s because you haven’t held up your end of the bargain. And that means my face will be the last thing you ever see.”
“Understood,” Talbot babbles, quaking with relief. “I’ll find a way to—”
He breaks off as Alessandro sticks a syringe into his neck.
“He was talking too much,” says my husband, shrugging.
***
Alessandro
