Me: My job is on the line here. And I’m being told that the Fed ref number is not valid.
Anna: Give me a moment, im in a meeting.
Me: Anna, what is going on?
Me: ?
Anna: Just finished here.
Anna: Will call them now.
Anna: They are in a meeting, im getting a call back by 2:30pm.
Me: Why is it always something? I feel like you’ve been stalling on this for weeks and it’s finally gotten to this point where I can’t cover it any more. Im out of backup options.
Anna: Im really trying here.
Anna: Not everything is in my control.
Me: it feels like there is a problem. something is holding this up—obviously everything is not ok. A wire does not take weeks. A wire does not take days even. I feel like you’re not being straight with me and I can’t afford to keep chasing you like this.
Anna: Also if you’d like me to confirm to your employer’s accounting that i assume the responsibility for the outstanding balance and confirm what led to it, i can do that
Anna: I resolved any outstanding issues this Wednesday.
Me: I just don’t understand why it can’t be as we discussed: I’ve yet to receive a wire confirmation and it’s been two business days since Wednesday.
Anna: Wire just got sent yesterday. Im sorry i dont have the confirmation in the format you want it, so i cannot forward it.
Me: I don’t care what format confirmation is in so long as it proves a wire was sent to my name and account yesterday.
Me: Please just be straight with me. I do not understand why this should be so complicated.
Anna: Ill send you the proof once I get it.
Anna: PayPal let me send 5k, I had to submit my address proof to send more
Anna: Did you get [the 5k] ok?
Me: Yes thank you.
I had received an email from PayPal with the subject line: “You’ve got money.” The body of the email read: “Anna Delvey sent you $5,000.00 USD.” Anna had never sent any money to me via PayPal before, and I almost never used my account, so I wasn’t entirely sure how it worked. I logged into PayPal to double-check that the message was legitimate, saw the funds, and immediately transferred them to my checking account.
Anna: [The wire] shall be there by monday, if not they have permission to escalate this and reimburse for damages.
Me: And did they not send you a confirmation of any kind?
Anna: No not yet.
Me: Then I don’t think your bankers actually processed the wire yesterday. That Fed ref number isn’t valid and they can’t provide you with any receipt from the transaction? Do you expect a receipt today? When a wire transfer is initiated then a receipt is produced. And then it can take 48hrs (if not more) for it to show up in my account.
Me: You said it’d be here yesterday so hearing now it will be in on Monday just feels like pushing it back another day again and even then there is definitely no guarantee because we don’t have any proof the wire has been initiated.
Me: I don’t know what escalate means because I feel we should already be past that point.
Anna: It will be there by monday.
Anna: If not ill send another one from a different account/ get out cash/ check or another form of payment.
Anna: Its not a big deal.
Me: Ok. It’s a huge deal to me.
Me: But you know that.
Me: My job and finances are on the line, as was my apartment until you sent the 5k today. I’m not sleeping. I’ve been waking up at 4am in a panic. My life is completely distraught right now. This is a huge deal - actually one of the most traumatic experiences I’ve had. I don’t understand why you would say it’s not a big deal.
Anna: I only said it to say that I have multiple other options to settle this payment with you.
Anna: Not like I sent you my last money.
Anna: That’s the way I meant it.
This back-and-forth became a dizzying and nauseating routine. Every night a panic and every morning a rush. When the money from PayPal appeared in my bank, I finally paid the “minimum payment due,” $1,922.66, for the May statement on my personal American Express card. My June statement would close at the end of this same week, with a minimum payment due of $32,879.60. I was glad to have received the money from Anna, but it did very little to alleviate the stress of my financial situation. And Anna was unmoved by my intensifying pleas and accusations. Each message I flung at her merely bounced back in a perverted echo. She fired off wave after wave of text messages—riddles on which I might trip, or even choke. Delay tactics. My despair grew steadily worse, but Anna evidently misjudged my tenacity.
And so we carried on, business day after business day, week after week. Still, I showed up for work. Every photo-shoot detail, phone call, and conversation seemed to take twice the effort. I booked a photographer and a studio space for a portrait of the musician Beck. I went back and forth with a London-based agent for a shoot with Clive Owen. I’d been doing my job for so many years by this point that it was intuitive, even when it was demanding, but now I was barely holding it together. Even as I went through the motions—“Are you the stylist’s assistant? Okay, great: you can set up in this part of the studio”; “Are you all getting hungry? Lunch is scheduled for noon. I’ll see if the caterers can come any earlier”; “Hi, I’m just calling to see how early you’d like me to schedule your car to the airport?”—my brain was somewhere else. I tried to use weekends to alleviate stress, but instead they became the days when my panic was at its worst, because Anna’s bankers weren’t working and there was no hope of the money arriving.
Almost all of my energy was devoted to Anna—to rationalizing her delay, and chasing reimbursement.
* * *
“Nothing yet, but it will be fine,” I kept saying—to Nick, Jennie, Janine, and most of all to myself. But no one was convinced. My anxiety peaked at night, as I lay awake in bed. Nothing felt real and anything seemed possible. What if she never pays me? I had waited so long to give voice to those words—afraid that in doing so, I would lend them more power. Now, at last, unable to sleep, I said them to Nick, and felt their truth for the very first time. It wrecked me.
Nick rubbed my back as I struggled to breathe. I choked out fear in rhythmic bursts: “I . . . won’t . . . be able . . . to make . . . it back . . . I’ll . . . never . . . save enough . . . to buy . . . a house . . . I won’t . . . be able . . . to have . . . kids.”
Morning came before sleep. But Germany, where Anna’s bankers were located, was hours ahead. Maybe today—it must be today. I had to keep moving forward. One puffy eye focused on my cell phone, the other closed under a cold compress. My fingers shot flares in the dark. Texts at five a.m. How to convey the urgency? Could I make Anna feel, understand, and act? I put my hair back, makeup on, and made it to work on time. I smiled at colleagues in the hallway, wondering if they could tell. There was a pinprick in my protective bubble, and I felt the oxygen escaping fast. It’ll be there this morning, this afternoon, by end of day. Everything should be on track now, Anna had said.
* * *
Mid-June and still no wire. On the Thursday before Kate’s wedding, I made a decision: Anna had taken enough; she couldn’t have this moment, too. My energy redirected, and I handled my responsibilities with loving care: I picked up Kate’s wedding dress from a tailor in Brooklyn and had my rental car ready to go. I would leave at six a.m. the next day to be in Amherst by noon for a celebratory lunch with the bride.
Anna: When are you back?
Me: Sunday evening sometime.
Anna: Haven’t seen you in like a month.
Me: We keep traveling at opposite times.
Anna: I did nothing fun the whole time since im back.
Anna: Lets plan something monday.
Anna: I shall be at mercer then.
Me: I really need this to be over with before I can have fun. I’m too stressed out.
Fun. That’s how our un
likely friendship had begun: nights out, fancy dinners, white wine, and glamour. Now the party was over, and yet we were still bound together, against my will. I wanted her gone but couldn’t let her go. Had she trapped me in a room with her and locked the door on purpose? Was she afraid that I would leave? Did she want me to need her? Was this the power she craved?
Aside from Nick, no one in Amherst knew anything about my Anna problem. I could tell them, of course, and they’d be there for me, but it wasn’t the time or place for that. Besides, their mere existence—my people—was support in and of itself. I needed them. Nine of us, a sisterhood forged in college, not because of a sorority or club but by choice. Anna had no place here. She had no lasting friendships that I had ever seen. She was too insensitive, antisocial, and detached by nature. She would have needed me as a conduit, as someone people could relate to. My acceptance of her would have encouraged others to do the same. Now I understood.
My friend Liz officiated the ceremony in a white tent on a grassy hill:
“We are wrapped in the arms of the Connecticut River Valley,” she began, “where Kate and Russell have chosen to make their home, for this grand celebration of love. Let the magnificence of this place hush your soul.” Everyone was calm; everything was still. “Russ and Kate, turn away from each other for a moment, if you can, and look out at these faces . . . you have chosen to surround yourselves with this fellowship of people quite deliberately.”
In times of trauma, life unfolds in a chiaroscuro of peaks and valleys. You feel the highs and lows with amplified intensity. Overcome with love for my friends, I wept.
* * *
Back in New York, the nightmare resumed and intensified. “Can’t you see that something’s not right?” Nick fumed. I had been keeping Nick abreast of my efforts, and shared some of Anna’s text messages with him as I struggled to find a way forward. He had grown increasingly angry with her indirect responses. At times, faced with his pessimism, I actually found myself trying to defend her.
“If she sent a wire, where is it?” he asked.
“I called Chase to check and they said it’s not in the system yet, but if it’s not here tomorrow, Anna will take out cash or find some other resolution,” I said.
“Nothing this girl says is true!” he replied.
That possibility concerned me, of course. But what else could I do? I was trying to be as firm with Anna as I could without scaring her away. At least her constant contact was a comfort; she hadn’t simply gone silent and disappeared.
Quite the opposite: on and on she communicated. More than one wire had been initiated; surely one would arrive. Or maybe she could transfer the balance to a credit card of her own. Would Bitcoin be okay?
Mm no thank you! Don’t know how to pay Amex with that , I responded.
Anna wrote: So the wire from yesterday is on the way, and the first one will be sent once they get certificate of good standing from my lawyers. Whichever comes first today.
And yet, one day passed and then another, with no sign of the money in my account. Did you get confirmation? I texted. Three hours went by. I texted again: Still nothing on my end. Did they send you anything? It’s getting close to EOD. I thought it’d be today?? Anna?
I dont have the swift [code], im in a meeting, she replied. I have couple missed calls I cannot speak right now. No one emailed me about any delays. If its not there by Monday morning we can meet and do cash deposit.
Ok, I wrote. I’d learned that SWIFT codes were commonly used for international wire transfers.
She continued. I provided everything they ever asked for from their fraud prevention dept etc, i made it first priority for everyone involved. Im sorry for this whole thing and you are rightfully frustrated, it doesn’t come from my negligence, everyone’s demanding more and more absurd things and throwing sentences around like 48-72h processing time. I just got a voicemail from person who was supposed to get back to me on Wednesday.
I’m sorry, I texted. I know it’s frustrating for you, too.
Yes like nothing can be easy for me, she replied. For every one thing that goes well there are 99 that dont.
Another Monday came and went and still there was nothing—no wire, no cash, and no clear explanation. Anna continued to make excuses: Im waiting for my lawyers to forward [the bankers] one last thing. After that everything shall be cleared right away; they had to verify more info and i wasn’t aware it was federal holiday in Germany last th-fr, so they just got the stuff they needed today; Im driving ill text you shortly.
Driving where? I texted in response. Anna—this is so urgent and has been for so long!! We need to make a plan to meet for the cash deposit today. I can’t keep waiting for this wire. I’m extremely stressed about this.
Back to the city, she wrote, claiming to have been dealing with some sort of a work-related “emergency” upstate. I was up all night working with europe.
I typed out a response. Ok - will you go pick up cash and text me? I’ll meet you at chase- or I can meet you at citi. Either way.
But Anna was still “in a car” and then “in a meeting” for the rest of the day. She texted at three o’clock in the morning: Just got back, i have to go upstate tmro again for the first half of the day. Im supposed to leave around 7-8am. If i catch a bank thats open i can drop an envelope off with security at otc [One World Trade Center]. That or wire will go thru, or ill be back in the afternoon. Almost two hours later, she texted again. Still up working, I probably wont be in town till afternoon, but promise to settle this today.
When I woke up that morning, I replied right away: Please keep in touch. There is nothing in my account. I have not received any email with a swift code etc. I do not expect the wire will come through. Please plan to get the cash before banks close today. Except by that afternoon, it began to sound like Anna wasn’t coming back to the city before banks closed. Her texts went on. Can i do it myself [deposit cash to your account]? There are [chase banks] here, she said. I called Chase to ask if this were possible and learned that Anna could deposit a money order, cashier’s check, or a regular check on my behalf—not cash—but they would go through a clearing process that could take up to seven days. Anna insinuated that a cashier’s check would work best.
Fine, I wrote her, if you’re not going to make it back today, which I’m guessing you’re not?? will you withdraw a cashier’s check and deposit into my chase account today?
Ill let you know when I stop by at the branch, she replied.
One hour later, I checked in. Are you heading to the bank yet? Please leave enough time to make sure this is done.
Yes, she promised.
What’s the status? Did you get the cashiers check?
Im at a branch rn, she wrote. Then, a few minutes later, They didn’t have enough cash at that one, omw to the next one.
For a cashiers check??? I asked. That didn’t make any sense.
Cash cash, she replied. Cash is available right away. Cashiers check takes at least a day to clear . . . I can’t be responsible for clearing times, and it will be my responsibility to cover it . . . I meant if they place a hold on [the] check for x days you’d be equally frustrated.
Hadn’t we just decided on a cashier’s check? Hadn’t I just told her that she wouldn’t be able to deposit cash on my behalf ? Was I going out of my mind? Was she?
Just do the cashiers check if they do not have enough cash, I told her. At this point I’d rather wait for the cashiers check to clear than wait for the wire . . . at least my bank will be able to track it. More than two hours later, I asked, What’s happening? She didn’t respond. It really feels like you’re just stalling. What’s the deal?
I did get everything from my bank, fell asleep in the car sry for not responding, she finally wrote, almost an hour later.
. . . what did you get? I asked.
Check from citi, she said.
* * *
The next day was Thursday, June 22, one month and two days since I’d left Morocco. If
Anna had picked up that check, I wanted to make the handoff as easy as possible, before she had time to encounter any additional obstacles. It was time to confront her in person.
Unexpected and unannounced, I walked into the Beekman hotel at quarter to eleven. Hey - I’m here. What room #? I texted. No response. I called from my cell phone. No answer. Unfazed, I found the concierge desk. “Hi, is it possible for me to call up to a guest’s room?—Anna Delvey. Thank you.” I wasn’t nervous; I was angry. My words and actions were pointed and firm.
She answered with a groggy “Hullo?”
“Hey, I’m here. What’s your room number?”
It was the first time I’d seen her since La Mamounia. She looked disheveled, her hair matted from sleep. She wasn’t wearing any makeup and her eyelashes were jagged, missing extensions here and there. Her small bedroom was full and messy. Papers covered the surfaces. Her suitcases lay open and overflowing. The black linen dress she’d had made in Morocco hung in dry cleaner’s plastic from an open closet door.
“Where’s the check?” I asked, trying to make the transaction simple. She shuffled through piles of papers, looked under clothing, and dumped out various bags before claiming to have left it in a car. After working upstate the day before, she had ridden back to the city in a Tesla loaner with one of her lawyers, she explained. The check must be there.
Of course it couldn’t be easy. Of course there was a problem.
First she called the Tesla dealership, and then her lawyer’s office. (“He must have it,” Anna proclaimed.) I refused to leave. Anna assured me that the check would be dropped off. First she said it would be delivered to me at my office, but when she was unable to provide me with her lawyer’s cell phone number, I decided not to leave her side. I shadowed her to Le Coucou, where she had a lunch meeting with a different lawyer, who was introducing her to a private wealth manager. The wealth manager seemed unimpressed by Anna’s art-foundation summary. Compared with the other times I’d seen her describe the project, Anna’s presentation today had lost some of its shine. She seemed juvenile as she spoke, vainly fussing with her hair, as she disjointedly relayed the key components. We finished our food, and one of the men picked up the tab. I followed Anna back to the Beekman. She told me that she needed to take a conference call.
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