The Perfect Woman (Rose Gold Book 2)

by Nicole French

  “Then how do you explain this one?”

  He flipped to another video, this time of a different, rickety townhouse, the black Escalade I knew and loathed pulling up to the curb instead. But again, a tall blonde woman exited the car dressed in off-white clothes, carrying a familiar Celine handbag, and wearing my favorite waterfall-colored pumps. She was…me.

  I stared, dumbfounded, as I strode up the path and knocked on the door, which was quickly answered by the same man I had met yesterday at the Newton house, stepping out onto the front porch of a different New England address. We embraced briefly and chatted for several moments like old friends before I left. But I had no recollection of this event. I had never been to that house or met that man before yesterday.

  And yet…that was me…wasn’t it?

  “That’s not—that’s not my car,” I stumbled as I watched the Escalade drive away.

  “It’s not? Because the plates match, Nina.”

  “I’ve been driving a Volvo here!” I protested. “You know this!”

  “I don’t think that matters, considering this was from three weeks ago,” Matthew snapped. “Jesus Christ, how stupid do you think I am?”

  I watched miserably as a few minutes later, the door opened again, and the man emerged, followed by several skinny pale girls with mousy-brown hair and haunted faces. Not the same ones I had spied in my house in Newton, but similar. Too similar.

  “Who—who are they?” I asked, unable to look away.

  Matthew laughed dryly. “It was my mistake, holding you back today. I should have let you knock on the door, if only to be an eye witness to the little charade you and your friend Benjamin put on together.”

  “Who are they?” I demanded, hysteria rising quickly. “Who are you talking about?!”

  “Please. Like you don’t know. Tell me, how long have you been recruiting girls for Ben Vamos, Nina? Or any of the other four separate prostitution rings run specifically for Ivy League shits that John Carson and Jude Letour have been running for decades? Have you been working for the Janus society all this time, or just since you got married?”

  I slid back in the bed, a cold, icy finger of fear sliding down my back. “I don’t—Matthew, I swear to God, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “How about this?” he said as he held his phone out again.

  It bore a different picture, this one taken somewhere in New York, from the look of the brownstones. Another safe house, I gathered. Another site for Calvin’s crooked dealings.

  “Here’s one of the ones in Brooklyn. Look familiar? See anyone you know?”

  He flipped through the pictures, and I watched aghast as another stream of girls poured out from a basement-level entrance.

  “In 1989, a Hungarian kid named Károly Kertész moved into a house rented by Ben Vamos in Paterson, New Jersey,” Matthew narrated as he paged through the stills. “He lived there with a woman named Sara Berto and her daughter from her first husband, Katarina Csaszar. Two years later, Sara went back to Hungary and took her daughter with her. Kertész stayed and went into business with Vamos. They provided fake papers to girls in the Eastern Bloc, brought them to the States, and then quickly forced them into prostitution, funneling them across the Northeast. They started working out of one property here and there, but quickly realized that trafficking girls wasn’t the best income without real money to back the enterprise. So first, to access the big names needed for a job like that, our friend needed a new identity. He changed his name. I think you’ll recognize it.”

  He flipped to the next picture, in which a familiar man was exiting the house in the previous photo.

  “Meet Károly Kertész, Nina,” Matthew said. “Otherwise known as Calvin fucking Gardner. Your husband.”

  “Oh, God.” My voice was cold and wooden, just like the rest of my body as I pulled the blanket tightly around my shoulders. “I had no idea. I swear it, Matthew. I had no idea.”

  “You had no idea? The houses. The fake passports. The fucking girls? Jesus Christ, Nina, some of them aren’t that much older than Olivia! By our estimate, there have been hundreds of children and young women funneled through these properties over the last decade. Your family is up to their necks in this secret society shit, and you had no fucking clue?”

  “They were just supposed to be for the immigration papers,” I whispered. “That’s all he said they were for.”

  “You can’t have really thought that. Even you aren’t that naive.”

  Matthew looked thoroughly disgusted. It was something I knew well. That contempt. That derision. Like I was nothing more than something on the bottom of his shoe.

  I just never thought I would see that expression from him.

  Tears started welling before I could stop them. “I swear it,” I whispered. “Oh, God, Matthew, I swear it. That’s all he bought them for.”

  “You swear it, when you signed the papers for every single one of these deeds?” he asked. “Christ, Nina, you just fucking admitted it! All fifty-three of them are under Pantheon, LLC.”

  I swallowed. Another house of mirrors. Another pile of shards. “What?”

  “Come off it, Nina. Stop with the big-eyed Pollyanna act.”

  Hastily, I swiped at the tears that threatened to fall. “No, really. What are you talking about? I’ll own up to having my name on that LLC, but fifty-three properties? My trust provided a down payment for two properties in Brooklyn outside of the house I bought in Boston with my own savings. And there were perhaps ten deeds in that office that day. That’s all.”

  “Just because we fucked a few times, sweetheart, doesn’t make me an idiot. I’m not falling for those big gray eyes again.”

  My jaw dropped. “Matthew! I swear it, I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “Then how the fuck do you explain all of these?”

  He exited out of the pictures and began scrolling through the other evidence he had been sent.

  “Derek has weeks of this shit,” he said. “Video after video of you visiting every one of Pantheon’s properties. Giving instructions. Sometimes you actually walk the girls to their car. Sometimes you even bring some of them in.”

  Again and again, I watched the woman in the waterfall-colored pumps exit the black Escalade.

  She had my hair.

  My shoes.

  My dress.

  She was…me.

  “I—what—how—” I stumbled over every word.

  Beside me, Matthew shook his head. “Do you have any idea how many of these Derek has? Most of the time, you never get out of your car. But on Sunday, you did.”

  My jaw quivered. “I—I don’t know what to say. Matthew, these aren’t real.”

  “That’s your car, isn’t it?”

  I stared. “I—yes, but, I never—”

  “And those are your clothes, aren’t they?” Matthew shook his head. “You were wearing those shoes the night we met. And I’d know those legs anywhere, Nina.” He sounded disgusted with himself.

  “Matthew,” I said slowly, feeling my heart drop—first from relief, then from sadness. “This isn’t me. It can’t be. I never went to these houses. The one in Connecticut, yes, but that’s all!”

  “It is you, Nina. In every single one!” Then he turned, and with a roar, hurled his phone against the wall, where it splintered immediately into the plaster. “Don’t fuck me, Mrs. Gardner!”

  Tears flooded down my cheeks. I didn’t know who that girl was. I didn’t know why we looked so alike or what she was doing in Calvin’s business. But as my heart pounded so hard it shook my entire body, all I could wonder was why Matthew didn’t believe me. How, after all this time, could he think that was me unless he wanted it to be?

  The thought ruined me all over again.

  “That isn’t me,” I said again and again. “I swear, it isn’t me.”

  But Matthew just stared at his broken phone. Then, in a mad dash grabbed his shoes and socks off the floor and made for the bedroom
door.

  “I trusted you,” he said in a creaky voice. “They said I shouldn’t. They even sent me here to find out what you were hiding.”

  I shrank even farther into the covers, my nakedness somehow so much more than skin deep. “They? Who’s…they?”

  But he only sniffed loudly, and it wasn’t until he opened the door to the bedroom that the light from the hallway showed the streaks of tears running down his face.

  “I trusted you, Nina,” he said again. “But this…goddammit. You just broke my fucking heart.”

  “Matthew!” I cried, suddenly finding my voice. “Matthew, please! Stay. Let’s talk about this. I don’t know what’s going on, but I know we can figure it out together!”

  But he just shook his head viciously, then stood up straight. His features hardened into a stony expression, a fierceness somehow only enhanced by the last tear streak sliding down his left cheek. He took one final look at me, and I could have sworn in that moment, I was turned to stone.

  “You better use that dirty money of yours to get a damn good lawyer, Mrs. Gardner,” he said. “Because after tonight, you’re going to need a fuckin’ army to escape a life in prison.”

  Before I could respond, he slammed the door of the bedroom and did the same as he sprinted out of the cabin, clearly trying to put as much distance between us as possible. The second bang rocketed me into action. I sprang up from the bed, grabbing the first thing from the armoire I could find—a plush terry bathrobe put here for guests. I shoved it on, then ran out of the cottage in my bare feet, prepared to chase Matthew down until he would come back and talk some sense again.

  But as soon as I reached the other side of the orchard, I came to a stop behind a big oak.

  The front porch light of the big house had turned on. Skylar appeared, tiny and disheveled in a black nightgown, followed by Jane, wearing only Eric’s shirt.

  “Matthew,” Skylar said, again and again, though the rest of their conversation, I couldn’t decipher beyond a few words.

  “Stay.”

  “Wait.”

  “Listen.”

  “Time.”

  But Matthew was a force as he rocketed into the house, then back out again, carrying his bags and briefcase. He looked so far from the smart, stylish man I knew and loved. Only half his shirt was buttoned, and his hair was standing up in the back, like someone’s hands had been running through it all night. My hands.

  I hiccupped back a sob, but remained behind the tree.

  The sound of tires on gravel drowned out their conversation before a taxi appeared. I watched as Matthew dropped reluctant kisses on both his friends’ cheeks, then ducked into the cab and left.

  Skylar and Jane turned toward the cabin. I shied farther behind my tree. Jane shook her head, then slipped an arm around Skylar’s shoulder and guided her back to the house, where they both disappeared.

  And then I returned to my bed, to lie there alone. Listening for the return of a car, but only hearing silence for hours until morning striped the walls with color and light. That was when my phone rang.

  I answered, too weary not to. “Hello, Calvin.”

  “Where have you been?” Calvin demanded.

  “Sleeping. It’s quite early still.”

  “The property manager called me. Said there were some vagrants in the Newton house, fucking freeloaders. Are you all right?”

  I frowned. I could count the number of times my husband had inquired about my well-being on one hand. And all of them were related to when he wanted something.

  “I’m fine,” I said.

  “So, listen. The DA has been really quiet, so I’ve convinced the lawyers to get a speedy trial back on track,” Calvin said. “Maybe get it scheduled by the end of the year or early spring.”

  “That’s good,” I replied numbly as I touched the indent on the pillow where Matthew’s head had been. “Get it over with.”

  “I’m going to need you to do something,” Calvin said.

  “What’s that?” I mumbled. At this point, I wasn’t sure I cared.

  “I’m going to need you to offer an alibi for a few separate dates. Under oath.”

  At that, I sat up. “You want me to be deposed?”

  “I want them to put you on the stand, yeah,” Calvin said. “If it comes to that.”

  “I-I don’t understand,” I replied. “I thought—I thought spousal privilege was supposed to keep me out of this trial.”

  “Only if I assert it,” Calvin sneered. “Lawyers think I should, but they don’t know jack shit. As of last night, my privilege was waived. I told them you’re Nina de Vries. There’s no better alibi in New York, and you’re going to give it to me.”

  Privilege. Waived.

  Just like that, I saw the imaginary shackles around my wrists unlock. Perhaps I’d be trading them for newer ones. But it would be an imprisonment I determined. Not him.

  “Of course,” I found myself saying, but then realized it would be suspicious if I acquiesced without any kind of fight. “Wait, Calvin. What do you mean, exactly, as an alibi?”

  “You’re going to tell them what I do, just like you’ve always known. That we flip properties. That we buy and sell real estate at a profit. And there will be a few dates where, I don’t know, you can talk about some dinner we had at home.”

  I swallowed. “What about the papers? The passports.” The girls, you lying piece of garbage.

  There was a long pause. Then: “It’s not a problem. The statute of limitations expired a long time ago. Besides, you have no evidence that I ever did that sort of thing. And they obviously don’t either.”

  I hummed in acknowledgement. My entire body still felt numb, but something deep inside me was ticking again.

  “I was also thinking about that vow renewal. I want to make it happen in the next week, two at the latest. I’ve already called a planner, and she’s getting us into St. John’s on a cancellation. You can wear your old wedding gown or get a new one. You just need to look the fucking part. Do you understand?”

  I hummed again in accord, though I had absolutely no intention of walking down any sort of aisle with this man ever again. I would have rather died.

  “And, Nina?”

  I swallowed. “Yes?”

  “If you don’t? Everything will come out in the open. Is that clear?”

  I understood so much more than he thought.

  And so, I found myself nodding.

  “Yes,” I said softly.

  “That’s right, princess.” Calvin’s voice struck a strangely hypnotic note. “Now do as you’re told and get back to New York. We have some work to do before your deposition.”

  The line went dead as he hung up. I sat on the edge of my bed for several minutes, hand pressed to my heart as I tried to calm it down to a normal rate.

  Not because I was afraid anymore.

  Because I was full of knowledge.

  There was only one path forward for me now. For the first time in my life, I knew exactly what I needed to do. And I finally had the courage to do it.

  Postlude

  December 2018

  Matthew

  I approached the corner office at the end of my hall with lead in my feet and my stomach.

  “Hey, Shirley,” I said to the assistant manning the desk outside.

  The small, gray-haired lady I’d seen most days for the past seven years smiled at me. “Hi, honey.”

  “He in?”

  She clicked a few screens on her computer. “Yes, he has a minute or two.” She pressed a button on the intercom. “Matthew Zola out here.”

  “It’ll just be a minute,” I told her, though I wasn’t sure why. I needed to tell someone, I guessed. Someone had to know what I was about to do.

  Shirley just gave me a sympathetic smile, but didn’t look surprised. “Go on in, hon.”

  I walked into the office of Greg Cardozo, executive assistant district attorney and head of the Bureau of Organized Crime and Racketeering. My boss for
the last three years, and before that, the guy who trained me when I was as green as the trees waving in the park a few blocks away. Rumor had it he was up for promotion, and he hadn’t made much of a secret that he was grooming me for his job.

  “Greg,” I said.

  Cardozo looked up. “Zola, hey. What’s going on?” He frowned, suspicious. Yeah, I wasn’t ever one for hand-holding, or to be loitering around anyone’s office.

  My throat felt thick. Like it had been coated in paste.

  “I—” I cleared my throat. Better get it the fuck over with. “Here.”

  I slid the paper I’d typed up and signed just before walking down the hall onto his desk. It was still warm from the printer.

  Cardozo frowned at it, then looked back at me. “What’s this?”

  “It’s my letter of resignation.” I had to look out the window and immediately hated myself for it. A real man looks another man in the eye when he’s full of shame. Even if he does have his tail between his legs. But here I was, staring at everything but my boss like one of the perps we interrogated regularly.

  “For what?” Cardozo asked.

  I sighed. “You’re not going to like this.”

  Cardozo sat back in his chair and folded his hands. “Try me.”

  So I sank down into the chair opposite him and proceeded to tell him the whole story. Well, most of it. Greg was a good boss. Partly because he knew how to listen. He sat back in his chair while I told him the story of me and the de Vries family, starting with that night, nearly a year ago now, when I’d gotten the call from Jane about her father. I skimped the details, of course, but recounted how and when I had first met Nina. And then described when I’d met her again, only to learn exactly who she was.

  “I’m not proud of it,” I said glumly. “I knew she was married. But that was all I knew at that point, I swear.”

  Greg only nodded and gestured for me to continue.

  So I told him the rest. About how we had finally planned to be together. About how the night of John Carson’s death, things were about to turn around. Until I learned about her husband’s part in all of it, and how that had led to months of trying and failing to keep our relationship separate from the case. For her sake. For mine.