Page 21 of This Could Be Us
He disconnects, and I walk swiftly back to the kitchen.
“Hey, I’m going out to Daddy’s shed for a bit,” I tell them, keeping my face as straight as possible. “I need to look for something. Be right back.”
“Mom,” Inez says. “Do we have to go to school tomorrow?”
I pause on my way out and turn to assess the three of them. “Do you want to?”
Lupe’s gaze wanders to the dining room table, where the outside world is still wedged into the fruit bowl. “I have a history test, but I can make it up. I guess… I guess one more day won’t hurt.”
“I want to get back to the gym,” Lottie says. “But we can call Coach, right? Think he’ll understand?”
“I know he will,” I say. “Inez? What do you want to do?”
“I don’t want to hear them all lying about Dad,” she says, her mouth set into a mutinous line. “We don’t have anything to be ashamed of. It’s all a big misunderstanding. We didn’t do anything wrong, and neither did Daddy.”
I don’t address that because Edward hasn’t given me the ammunition to answer honestly or with any confidence.
“One more day, then,” I tell them. “We’ll let this die down, and I’m sure we’ll hear from your father by then with some answers.”
I start for the back door, calling over my shoulder, “Finish your lunch.”
I want to curl up under my duvet and sleep until this shit is figuredout and I can get my life back, but curiosity and more than a little anger propel me to meet Judah at the shed out back. Once I’ve unlocked the fence, I slip into Edward’s domain. It’s been semiransacked. The agents didn’t leave it a complete mess, but apparently they searched hard for something. I have no idea what they may have found.
I straighten up some of the mess they left behind, pausing to study Edward’s most prized possession. A signed Larry Bird jersey. It hangs on the wall behind the couch, framed and under glass. Lola teased me when I first brought Edward home to meet my family.
“Not only is he a gringo,” she said, “but a Celtics fan? The fuck outta here. At least you coulda married a cool white guy.”
I slide my hands into the pockets of my jeans and find the pink grocery list wadded up, useless until I can figure out how to buy food. I always keep a little cash stashed upstairs, a legacy of a grandmother who didn’t trust banks. Myabuelaused to hide money in socks, boxes, mattresses. I’m not that bad, but there is enough cash to at least get food until our accounts are unfrozen, once I’m ready to brave the outside world.
Ifour accounts are unfrozen. I have no idea when that might be. I have no idea about a lot of things, and the uncertainty hangs over me like a guillotine.
Tossing the list onto Edward’s pool table, I prop my butt on the edge, waiting for the man who started this storm.
The door creaks open and Judah pokes his head inside. I forgot how handsome he is, his features arranged into striking sharp angles and blunt edges. Even in dark jeans, a sweatshirt, and some J’s, he’s impressive.
I fold my arms across my chest in what I recognize is a defensive posture, but I can’t help it. Ifeeldefensive. I don’t know if Edward’s animosity toward Judah is completely justified, but I do know he has something to do with how my life has been destroyed.
“I gotta give it to you,” I say, not even bothering to round the edges of my harsh words. “You got some nerve coming to my house when you’re the man who put my family in this situation.”
“Let’s be very clear.” He watches me intently. “I’m not the man who put your family in this situation. Your husband did that, but I am the man who wants to get you out of it. I’m taking a risk just coming to talk to you about this. If I didn’t want to help, I wouldn’t even try.”
I frown, processing his words. “How can you help? Why are you here?”
“To encourage you to cooperate with the FBI any way you can. Tell them everything you know.”
“I don’t know anything. They asked me a lot of questions last night, and I told them the truth. I can’t help them. And why would I help them prosecute my husband?”
“Because in cases like these, the spouse is always a suspect. Who benefits more from Edward stealing this much money than you? They’ll be watching to see if you access the offshore accounts or try to run to the summer house or—”
“Offshore accounts?” My head spins and, trembling, I rest one hand on the pool table for support. “The hell? What summer house? I have no idea what any of this is about.”
“You may not,” Judah says grimly. “But Edward does.”
Every time I think I might see just a bit of the sky, another set of storm clouds rolls in. A house and accounts I’ve never heard about? I don’t want to believe it, but a tug in my gut gives me pause, feeds my rage that I even have to sort this shit. All because of two men. One of them is behind bars and one of them stands in front of me right now.
“You actually think Edward stole six million dollars?” I ask.
“No.” Before I have time to allow myself any relief, he goes on. “It’s actually five million, eight hundred thousand, four hundred forty-four dollars and thirty-three cents. At least that’s how much I’ve been able to trace. There’s probably more.”