“I’m so sorry.”
“You already said that. But a simple sorry doesn’t cut it if you can’t even give me the slightest bit of clarification.” William looked at me through bloodshot eyes. “I thought you were different. But you’re just out for yourself like everyone else.” He stood up abruptly.
“Wait, there’s more.”
“I’ve heard enough.”
“It’s about Tatiana.” And us.
“Save it. Why would I believe you anyway?”
“Please listen, William. You can’t marry her. You can’t go through with this wedding.”
“I’m done here. You’re not the person I thought you were.” His phone buzzed then. “It’s Tatiana; I have to go.”
“Wait.”
“I can’t.”
“Please, William.”
“Good-bye, Kerrie.” He hurried into the street and hailed a cab before I could say any more. I wanted to call to him, but the words didn’t come fast enough. Sure, I could have gone after him, but I didn’t.
Honestly, I’m not completely sure what I’m running toward anymore.
38 KERRIE
“Thank God you’re here,” Sara said when I finally arrived at my apartment.
The truth is, after my conversation with William, I wasn’t in the mood for company. I’d taken the long way home, lurching through the streets of my extended neighborhood, intentionally avoiding speaking to anyone. You’d think anonymity would be easy to achieve in New York City, but it always seems that the very moment you want to go unnoticed is the very moment everyone wants to notice you.
“Come on in.” I unlocked the door and reluctantly let her inside. My feet were swollen from pounding the cement sidewalks and my back was aching from a string of restless nights. Giving up had never seemed as seductive a prospect. But by the determined look on Sara’s face, I knew she wasn’t about to let that happen. “Let’s sit at the kitchen table,” I suggested, hearing the strain in my own voice.
“We have a huge fucking problem,” Sara announced, as soon as I’d draped my cardigan over the back of my chair and slumped into it. She spread her arms to wings’ length to indicate just how huge it was.
“What’s the problem?” I asked, when what I really wanted to do was pour us each a glass of wine and confide in her what had happened with William.
“I’m at a standstill.” Her fists were balled. “This asshole is clean as a whistle.”
“You’re absolutely sure?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “Sorry. It’s just that I’ve gone over everything I could find on Arthur. I’ve burned through all my contacts and pursued every single lead. And nothing.” She leaned forward, ensnaring her fingers in a twitchy cluster.
“So then that’s it?” I felt strangely relieved. I could still reveal Jordana’s demons without taking down Arthur. And it wouldn’t have to ruin William and Tatiana’s wedding.
“No.” Sara shook her head vehemently. “There has to be something else. Anything.”
“Maybe there’s not. We knew this could happen.”
“I refuse to believe that.”
“I know you don’t want to admit it, but isn’t it possible that Arthur isn’t a criminal after all?” I find it pretty ironic that, while I originally came up with the idea, Sara is now the rabid one.
She looked at me accusingly. “No. And you better not be throwing in the towel.”
“I’m not.” I could be.
“Then think,” Sara pled. “Think of anything. Any little morsel of information that could mean something.”
We sat quietly for a few minutes. Suddenly our plan felt so disconnected from my own motives toward Jordana, even though I know the consequences will achieve the same end.
“I’ve got nothing.”
“Jesus, Olivia.” She folded her arms across her chest. “The least you could do is try to participate. This was your mission to begin with.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I wish I could think of something. I need more time.”
“We don’t have time. We’ve come this far. Do not give up now.”
“I already said I’m not.”
“Good.” She nodded briskly. “Because nobody respects a quitter.”
39 KERRIE
By nine o’clock the following morning, with just over forty-eight hours left until Tatiana and William say their ‘I Do’s,’ I found myself standing in front of the Stephen A. Schwarzman Building of the New York Public Library, commonly known as the Main Branch, waiting for Jordana to meet me.
The best and only way to describe the entrance to the library is regal, with its three-feet-thick marble, twenty thousand blocks of stone, and two arresting lion sculptures—which the website tells me are named Patience and Fortitude—trapping either side of the stairway.
“Sorry, I’m running behind.” Jordana appeared minutes later, looking polished as ever in a royal-blue shift dress and nude, patent leather heels with red bottoms, which even I can now identify as Christian Louboutins.
“No worries.” I saw her recoil a little. She hates that expression.
“Let’s go.” She walked ahead of me and I followed her inside. “It’s imperative to see the rooms a couple of days before any event, even though they won’t be entirely set up. It allows for last-minute alterations should any be necessary, which I hope they’re not.” She spoke quietly.
“That makes sense.” I lowered my voice too, as a security guard approached.
“Hello.” Jordana smiled politely. “We have an appointment to see the Doonan-Blunt wedding spaces.” Clearly, anyone who worked at the library would be well apprised of the grand affair.
“And you are?”
“Jordana Pierson.” Every time she says her name, I note the elegant cadence. It sounds so much better than Jordan Butler. In the same way Olivia Lewis turns her nose up at Kerrie O’Malley.
“Just a second.” He held up his index finger before engaging in a swift and garbled dialogue on his walkie-talkie. “You’re all set. You know the way?”
“Yes, thank you.” Jordana lead me to the Celeste Bartos Forum, where the reception would take place. A seated dinner for four-hundred-and-twenty-five guests. I’ll never forget that number, not just because it’s astronomical, but because Caroline has continually lamented the fact that she had to offend at least a hundred others who didn’t make the cut.
“Wow, this is spectacular.” As we entered the cavernous space with its thirty-foot-high glass saucer dome ceiling and sixty-four-hundred-square-feet of real estate, it suddenly occurred to me that William is going to marry Tatiana. And that once they’ve been pronounced husband and wife, this is where they’re going to celebrate their lifelong commitment to each other. With four-hundred-and-twenty-three of their family members and friends. I felt sick.
“Wait until you see it all dressed up. The vendors will be arriving this afternoon and working straight through the next two days. I’ll be spending a lot of time here overseeing.” Jordana wandered around, swabbing surfaces with her fingertip and scrutinizing everything within reach.
“Where did you and John get married?”
“The Metropolitan Club on Sixtieth and Fifth,” she answered instantly and without emotion. “Let’s move on to where the ceremony will take place.”
“Right behind you.” I trailed after her as she took off down the hallway to continue her white-glove inspection.
An hour later—after she’d made note of two light bulbs that needed replacing—Jordana was finally ready to leave. She had a meeting with our bride, Lucy Noble, and since there was still plenty of follow-up to be done for The Wedding of the Century, I was anxious to get back to work.
“I’ll be at the office in a couple of hours,” she said, raising her arm to hail a taxi. “Would you please email me the file called NobleCooper3 when you get in? It’s on my computer. This way I’ll have everything in front of me for Lucy. Whenever I’m with her, I feel like I’m being cross-examined. Ty
pical lawyer.”
“Sure, no problem. But it should be in our shared files. I can send it right now from my phone.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so. There was a copy on my desktop so I just worked off that one.”
“That probably wasn’t the most updated version. But don’t worry, I’ll figure it out.”
“Perfect.” She smiled gratefully. “I’ll see you soon.”
* * *
Once Jordana was gone, I walked to the subway station at Forty-Second and Lex and took the train uptown. I was at my desk within fifteen minutes and ready to conquer the long list of tasks at hand, when I remembered the file for Jordana. I opened her laptop and waited for the screen to spring to life. Discouragingly, her desktop was still as big of a disaster as it was when I first met her. Random files and folders everywhere. Remarkable, since she’s so particular about everything else.
I found the file she was referring to, but as expected, it was an old draft and needed to be revised, which would take time, assuming I could find where she’d saved everything else.
That was when it caught my eye. The folder titled CD. The one Jordana had told me contained some documents of John’s. I opened it up and searched through a few of them. Just a lot of numbers, as she’d said. Numbers that made no sense to her or to me. But a nagging feeling had me on edge, so I emailed everything to Sara. Just in case.
Then I turned my attention to the chores that confronted me. And forgot all about it.
Four hours later, Jordana called to say that she wouldn’t be returning to the office, that she had too many things to deal with. So once I’d tied up every loose end, I shut down my computer, turned off the lights, and locked the door behind me. There was one more thing I had to do before heading home. One last favor for William.
40 KERRIE
I didn’t sleep last night. Not a wink. I couldn’t. Once Sara told me what she’d unearthed in John’s files, I knew that today would be the day.
A day Jordana will never forget, because the world as she knows it will be demolished, the same way mine was eighteen years ago.
It’s a lot to digest, especially when I look back on everything that’s transpired over the last few months. I’m exhausted, physically and emotionally. And I miss William. I was an idiot to think there could ever be something real between us, romantically speaking, but that doesn’t alleviate the pain. If this is what heartbreak feels like, then maybe love isn’t worth it.
Still, despite my anguish, this morning a lengthy piece will run on the front page of The Wall Street Journal, outlining just what Arthur Doonan is capable of, especially with the assistance of his cohort John Pierson (the best surprise of all!). It turns out that CD, the name of John’s elusive folder, stood for Camp David, where he and Arthur have been holing up most weekends for the last six months, pulling off the money-making scheme they’ve been cooking up for quite some time.
It’s pretty amazing that a financial giant like Arthur, who’s managed to skirt any sort of censure for his entire career, will be taken down over John Pierson’s sophomoric mistake. It’s even more amazing that the proof was right there in front of me all along. Regardless, it feels like a hollow victory.
I’m not going to lie, there were moments, as I tossed and turned in bed, when I doubted myself. When I thought about Jordana’s pitiful marriage. The loss of her father. The fact that she doesn’t know what it feels like to love or be loved. But as soon as I let myself feel a modicum of sympathy or compassion, I took out an old photo album of Nana’s and reminded myself that Jordana was the reason her life was cut short.
Once the sun had risen, I dressed myself in a slim black pencil skirt and the same red blouse I wore to my interview with Jordana. The one she didn’t approve of. The one I haven’t worn since. It turns out she was wrong, and Sara was right. Red is my color. It’s the color of power, which is what I hold. Jordana will never see me coming.
Sara did ask if I wanted her to join me. I’m not sure whether it was a show of solidarity or because she was worried I wouldn’t be able to hold my own against Jordana. Either way, I knew I didn’t need her there. If there’s one thing I’m ready for, it’s this.
I arrived at the library by 7:00 a.m.—I wanted to be there before she was. I once read that the element of surprise is the most challenging art of war. I look forward to witnessing that firsthand.
I sat on the steps waiting for her with a copy of the newspaper in hand, counting on the fact that she hadn’t seen it yet. She arrived minutes later wearing a tailored white pantsuit, with her hair pulled back into a tight chignon. Her expression was concentrated, not concerned. I took a long, deep breath. I didn’t exhale until she approached.
“You’re here early.” She clearly wasn’t expecting me.
“Early bird gets the worm.” Jordana doesn’t know she’s the worm. Not yet.
“Excellent.” She smiled proudly. I savored her praise one last time. “Let’s get inside.” I followed her toward the entrance, where there was a guard waiting for us.
“Jordana Pierson, here for the Doonan-Blunt wedding.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Pierson. We can’t let you in.”
“Oh, no, we’re not here as guests right now.” She laughed nonchalantly. “I’m the wedding planner.” I’ve never heard her use the word planner before.
“I know who you are.” His face remained stern. “I’ve been given express orders not to allow you in.”
“What are you talking about?” I looked down at my feet and took another deep breath. It was go time. The moment I’ve been waiting on for months. Maybe even for the last eighteen years.
“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” His tone was unyielding.
“To leave? This is preposterous.” She looked past him for someone else to appeal to. There was no one.
“I don’t want to have to do it by force. And I’m sure you don’t want that either.”
“No, of course not.” She shook her head in disbelief as we retreated down the steps onto the sidewalk, which was vacant, save for a few passing joggers. “I have no idea what’s going on here,” she said to herself more than me. “What the fuck am I supposed to do now? I can’t call anyone at this hour on a Saturday.”
“I don’t think you’ll need to bother,” I said, as my heartbeat trotted to a sprint and my armpits flooded with perspiration.
“What do you mean? We have to get in there. There’s still a lot to be done.” Her eyes darted around in search of anyone who could help her.
“It’s over, Jordana.”
“What’s over? What are you talking about?” I handed her the newspaper with the headline A DARK DAY ON WALL STREET, with photos of Arthur and John beneath it, and watched as the realization seized her. Her mouth dropped open, but no words came out.
“I’d say I’m sorry, but—”
“But what?” She looked at me with a ferocity in her eyes.
“But I’m the one responsible for it. Although, come to think of it, I really have you to thank. All of the information I needed was right there on your desktop.” I smiled smugly. “Oh, and I may have messengered a letter to Caroline Doonan last night saying that you were The Wall Street Journal’s source. I’m guessing that’s why they didn’t let us in.”
“Olivia. You better tell me exactly what’s going on here.”
“You should really be nicer to me. You once told me I saved your life. Don’t you remember that?”
“This makes no sense.” She shook her head. “I never said that to you.”
“Sure you did. Eighteen years ago. When I invited you into my home, and you stole everything from me.”
“Oh my God.” She looked at me with widened eyes, as she studied my features one by one. “You’re . . . ?”
“Kerrie. O’Malley. That’s me.”
“All this time . . .” She reached around for something to steady her, but there was nothing to hold on to.
“Yup. Surprise!”
&nb
sp; “I’ve always thought there was something so familiar about you, but I could never put my finger on it.” I watched her expression mutate from shock to fear, as everything began to fall into place. “You’re a liar.”
“You’re catching on now.”
“But, why? Why this?” She held up the newspaper. “It doesn’t—”
“Add up?” I finished her sentence for her. “Sure it does. You ruined my life and now I’m going to ruin yours. Tit for tat.”
“What the fuck?” I could see she was trying to calculate her next move. “What do you want from me?”
“I want you to pay for what you did to me. And for what you did to my nana.”
“Which was what, exactly? What did I do to you that would warrant this?” I’d expected a bigger reaction. More drama.
“You stole from me!” I accused, hoping to rile her. I’d had enough of her demureness.
“I was desperate.” Her voice remained even, which provoked me even more.
“That’s it?!” I cried, as a young mother pushing a double stroller crossed the street to avoid us. “Desperate? That’s your excuse?”
“I took a piece of jewelry and some cash when I was a teenager, so you went and destroyed my husband’s career and probably mine, too? What the hell, Olivia? Or Kerrie. Whatever your name is.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? You stole my life! You completely screwed my whole fucking existence!” I gasped for air and kept going. “Oh, and that piece of jewelry you’re referring to? That was the only thing I had left of my dead mother. Do you have any idea what that means to a twelve-year-old girl? You may have been desperate, but you were also a selfish bitch. You didn’t give a shit about anyone but yourself!”
“You think I wanted to take your mother’s ring and your nana’s money?” Her lips were quivering as she spoke. She tried to still them. Because weakness is an admission of guilt.
“Yes! I do! Why else would you have done it?”
“Well, let’s see, maybe because I had a father who abused the crap out of my mother. And I knew when I left it would only get worse for her. I knew that if she stayed, there would be times when there wouldn’t be enough food to eat because he’d spent his paycheck on booze and bullets. I knew that if she stayed, she’d keep crying herself to sleep at night, because she was that lonely. Or battered. Or sick. I knew that if she stayed, one day he might beat her so hard that she wouldn’t recover. That’s the way it was for us. I wanted to give her an insurance plan. I had to. What’s so wrong with that?”
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