But everything changed when she gave me a nonfunctioning debit card to pay for our flights, betting I’d volunteer mine instead. She could have played it differently. When she was without a way to pay, she could have made up some excuse and canceled the entire trip. Except that Anna’s visa really was expiring and she needed to leave the country. Going to Canada, Mexico, or a nearby Caribbean island wouldn’t work. For her visa to reset, she had to go farther. So she picked Morocco. Someone else had to foot the bill while she figured out the next move in her shell game.
The verdict doesn’t change what really happened. My story is just the same as it ever was. Anna is going to prison for four to twelve years—she began her sentence at Bedford Hills Correctional Facility for Women in Westchester County, New York, on Wednesday, May 15, 2019. And my involvement in her arrest and the judicial process was never solely about my case. It was also about preventing her from doing this to other people. And in that regard, I think I succeeded.
A few weeks after the trial, on the same day that Anna entered prison and exactly two years after the Marrakech trip, I found myself on the corner of Howard and Lafayette Streets. I looked up at 11 Howard, thinking of all that had transpired and trying to let go of the unpleasant memories that caused me to avoid this little section of Manhattan for so long. Strangers casually walked by Le Coucou; others came and went through the hotel’s front doors. The characters I had once spent so much time with were long since gone. I made my peace and moved on.
Minutes later, I was walking east on the sunny side of Grand Street, between Mulberry and Baxter, when my phone rang. It was a woman from American Express. She told me that I would be protected from the charges—the remainder of the La Mamounia bill. Standing on the side of the street, I cried, overcome by relief and gratitude.
The nightmare had finally come to an end.
Epilogue
* * *
The thing is, I’m not sorry. I’d be lying to you and to everyone else and to myself if I said I was sorry for anything. . . . My motive was never money. I was power hungry. I’m not a good person.
—Anna Sorokin, The New York Times, May 10, 2019, the day after being sentenced to four to twelve years in prison
* * *
Almost everyone I have spoken to knows someone who has been scammed, if it hasn’t happened to him or her directly. Trust is a healthy and normal part of human nature. And yet it’s hard to talk about this sort of experience because too often people are quick to be judgmental, to blame the person who was tricked rather than the trickster. Many often assume that individuals who are susceptible to cons—ideal marks—are characteristically naive, greedy, or foolish, explains author Maria Konnikova in her book about con artists, The Confidence Game. But when it comes to actually predicting who will fall for a scam, she writes, “personality generalities tend to go out the window. Instead, one of the factors that emerges is circumstance: it’s not who you are, but where you happen to be at this particular moment of your life. If you’re feeling isolated or lonely, it turns out you’re particularly vulnerable. . . . Given the right fraud, it seems anyone can be a victim.” I believe that applies to what happened to me, as well as to most of the other victims of scammers with whom I’ve now spoken.
Many run-ins with con artists and sociopaths are far worse than mine was. Every day, people lose more than I did—and they do so to schemes that don’t involve fine dining, saunas, or five-star hotels. Some people get scammed out of things that can never be recovered, or experience damage that can never be repaired. It could have been much worse.
I have tremendous respect for people who have suffered through long-term toxic relationships and found the strength to recover from the psychological damage inflicted on them. I do not equate my experience with theirs. My time with Anna was relatively short. She was not in my most intimate circle, and I was surrounded by supportive friends and family.
And for the most part, I have it together now. Anna is in prison. I’ve made my money back and repaid my debts to Janine and Nick. I have my health. My loved ones are safe. And look at all that I’ve accomplished—this book, for example.
I’m aware of my good fortune—to be loved, supported, and to have the resources I have—but that doesn’t mean this experience hasn’t taken its toll. My struggle continued long after Anna’s arrest. The stress of navigating the financial burden lasted for more than a year, as did the emotional impact of Anna’s deceit. I slipped into depression and stayed there so long it became my new normal. I carried my anxiety everywhere. I hyperventilated, cried, lost hair, barely slept. I lashed out at loved ones and fought with myself. To this day, I sometimes feel too vulnerable to leave my apartment. Some nights I lie awake spiraling into negativity, looking for proof, wherever I can find it, that all of my most irrational insecurities are true. I am lucky to be surrounded by patient friends who convince me that they are not.
I’ve come out on the other side, and I’ve changed as a person. I see the importance of listening to my own voice and giving myself permission to speak up. I understand that, no matter what they say, people show you who they are through their actions. I believed that my friend Anna was a wealthy German heiress. I didn’t pay close enough attention to the things I saw in her that didn’t fit this pattern, the eccentricities I rationalized and the complexities I dismissed. Those were the details that revealed who Anna really was. I spent so much time begging her for the truth when, in fact, the lie was all there was.
I’m not always successful at it, but I try to put what I’ve learned into practice: I have to remember—time and again—to stop worrying about what other people think of me. I remind myself that sometimes it’s okay not to be okay and that healing takes time. And I’m more open with my loved ones—sharing the good things and the hard things—because that’s what real friendships are for. It wasn’t an experience I’d wish upon anybody, but I did gain something valuable. Instead of losing trust in others, I found the strength to trust in myself.
Acknowledgments
* * *
I could not have written this book without help, encouragement, and support from colleagues, friends, and family members—to whom I am deeply indebted.
I’m grateful to Aimée Bell, my editor at Gallery, who helped me find my voice and, as a former V.F. colleague, provided early reassurance. My appreciation extends to Katy Follain at Quercus for her constructive insight. Thanks to Max Meltzer for his patience and sharp editorial skills and to eagle-eyed Adam Nadler. It has also been a pleasure to work with Jennifer Bergstrom, Elisa Rivlin, Jennifer Weidman, Jennifer Robinson, and the entire team at Gallery.
My sincerest gratitude goes to Mollie Glick and Michelle Weiner at CAA for their advocacy and wise counsel. I am also indebted to John Homans and Radhika Jones for their support in publishing a portion of this tale within the hallowed pages of my favorite magazine, as well as to Graydon Carter, Chris Garrett, and Susan White for all that I learned under their leadership.
I would like to express my admiration for Assistant District Attorneys Catherine McCaw and Kaegan Mays-Williams and Detective Michael McCaffrey for their sensitivity, dedication, and utmost professionalism from beginning to end.
I’m profoundly thankful to Kate for reminding me that sometimes it’s okay not to be okay; to Liz for her fierce love and loyalty; to Taylor for her tireless generosity; to Alicia, Holly, Ashley, Olivia, Natalie, Sarah, and Lacey for their love and kindness during this difficult time; to Mary Alice, Lindsay, and Emily for their solidarity. A special thank-you to Ariel Levy for listening at a pivotal juncture and pointing me in the right direction, and to Kacy Duke for her positivity and compassion.
My deepest thanks to Janine for believing in me when I felt scared and alone, and to Dave for his advice and steadfast friendship.
Words are inadequate to convey my gratitude to Kathryn MacLeod, who has taught me so much during the decade I have known her. Kathryn, thank you for your mentorship, friendship, and unflinching support—thr
ough thick and thin. Many thanks also to Mark Schäfer and Ilene Landress.
Nick Rogers kept me sane and alive while I wrote this book and reminded me in hard times to change my thinking. Nick, I am forever indebted to you for the love, patience, and support you have given me over the course of many years.
I would like to express my endless appreciation for my wonderful and loving extended family—thank you, Aunt Jennie, for your graceful candor and inspiring influence; Uncle Bob, Aunt Becky, Uncle Bill, Uncle Jim, Aunt Mia, Uncle David, Uncle Marty, and Aunt Amy for sharing your wisdom and encouragement; and Grandma Marilyn, for opening your home to me and making my dream to live in New York City possible.
Mom, Dad, Jennie, and Noah, thank you. I love you beyond all measure.
About the Author
* * *
Rachel DeLoache Williams was born and raised in Knoxville, Tennessee, and is a graduate of Kenyon College. In 2010, she moved to New York City and landed her dream job in the photo department of Vanity Fair, where she helped produce photo shoots—including those for the annual Hollywood and New Establishment issues—and worked with the magazine’s leading photographers and iconic subjects. My Friend Anna is her first book.
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Certain names and identifying details have been changed whether or not so noted in the text. Some text messages have been edited for spelling, punctuation, and capitalization and certain dialogue and texts omitted to maintain narrative flow.
Copyright © 2019 by Rachel DeLoache Williams
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First Gallery Books hardcover edition July 2019
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Interior designed by Laura Levatino
Jacket design by Andrew Smith
Jacket photograph courtesy of the author
Author photograph by Nick Rogers
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.
ISBN 978-1-9821-1409-1
ISBN 978-1-9821-1411-4 (ebook)
My Friend Anna Page 28