Fingers went tapping. A moment passed. It got real quiet when the rep became confused. Eventually, she came back on the phone and said, “I’m sorry, but we don’t seem to have a customer by that name.”
“Oh, my mistake,” I said, sounding as chipper as she. “I must have the wrong provider. Thanks for your time.”
I hung up before the rep could say good-bye. Time was running short. Ruby would be coming home, and I needed to make more calls. The next five calls yielded the same results as my attempt at being Greg Johnson. I spoofed numbers from Delaware, New Jersey, two from California, and one from Anchorage, because the Michelle Shocked song of the same name came up in my iTunes shuffle. Ruby kept such an eclectic collection of music.
I kept on calling. I got closer on my twenty-fourth call to UniSol Health. William Spader, thanks and praises, was an actual UniSol customer. Unfortunately, Spader wasn’t the ideal customer.
“Could you tell me if this policy covers my wife?” I asked.
“I’m sorry,” the representative said after much finger tapping. “But according to our records, you’re not married.”
“Oh well,” I said. “Sorry about that. Thanks for your time.”
I picked the next name from my list. Spoofing a Massachusetts exchange, I called again. This time, I was Elliot Uretsky. I was traveling on business and needed to look up my prescription coverage. Dang it, but go figure—I left my cards at home. So naturally, I provided my home address upon request. I verified Elliot’s mother’s maiden name, Askovitch, which was one of the security questions I stored in my database—oops, not encrypted—for password retrieval purposes. It was also one of the security questions UniSol asked before they’d give me any of Uretsky’s account information. I found out that my policy (I mean Elliot’s) covered my wife (I mean his). The rep gave me the account numbers, which I jotted down in a spiral-bound notebook.
And I picked up an interesting tidbit. It seemed that Elliot last filed a claim four months ago. He was also behind on making his payments. In my mind, that was a plus. To pull off this scam—lifesaving scam, that is—I intended to change his mailing address with UniSol so that he wouldn’t be receiving any of Ruby’s bills in the mail. Given that Uretsky didn’t seem very interested in keeping his health insurance coverage in good standing, I suspected he was also a guy who wouldn’t be looking for his bills.
Still, I decided to keep fishing, made ten more calls, got lucky twice, two names that would fulfill my purposes: Chuck Trent and Racine Romaguera. Both were in the UniSol network; both were married; both spouses were covered by hubby’s insurance policy. Trent was the healthiest of the lot—he hadn’t had any claims filed in the last nine months. Romaguera beat Uretsky by some, as he’d last seen a doctor six months ago.
I decided to learn a bit more about these men before I made my selection. I checked them out first on Facebook. I couldn’t tell what Uretsky looked like from his profile pic, unless Uretsky and Mario from Super Mario Bros. were related by blood. That was because the picture Uretsky used for his Facebook profile was a screen grab from the video game.
Romaguera was a bald, good-looking, outdoorsy type.
Trent’s picture showed him sunbathing on a towel. Clearly, this was a guy who thought chest hair and aviator glasses made him sexy. Their profiles were otherwise set to private, so I couldn’t glean much useful data.
LinkedIn provided me with some more basic information. All three kept profiles on the world’s largest professional network. Trent was in sales, which sort of explained his Facebook profile picture. Nothing says, “Trust me,” quite like a half-naked, oiled-up body. Romaguera was employed by Fidelity. Uretsky was a contract computer programmer with a passion for start-up companies. Maybe he was too busy developing software to realize that he’d fallen behind on his health insurance premiums. On the downside, Uretsky lived in Malden, and I wasn’t too keen on him residing so close to my home.
But the way I saw it, Uretsky was the least likely to become suspicious. When the bills stopped coming, he wasn’t going to notice. That was my thinking.
I had found my helper.
CHAPTER 7
Ruby had no idea where I was taking her. It was a sunny May afternoon, the kind of day where the warm breeze carries a sense of newness, a signal of spring. It seemed an appropriate day to kick off our new life. New beginnings—that’s what this was all about. Starting today, we were no longer going to live as John Bodine and Ruby Dawes. Ruby didn’t know it yet, but we were about to become Elliot and Tanya Uretsky.
Phase two of my plan went off without a hitch. Forged health insurance cards were much easier to make than credit cards, which require an image that goes on the card itself. Not to mention credit cards usually have embossed numbers and those funky holograms. I suppose I could have made a fake credit card, but I doubted it would have come with a $270,000 credit limit. For my purposes, the UniSol health insurance card I made was just as good as plastic. Even better.
Ruby walked, hands stuffed into the pockets of her well-worn gray hooded sweatshirt, moving at a brisk pace, though not so quick as to pass by her surroundings unaware. If anything, she seemed intent on taking everything in. Ruby paused as we strolled past the Coolidge Corner Theatre, a former church building converted into a classic Art Deco movie house.
“I want to go to the movies,” Ruby said, reading the marquee.
“After,” I said.
“After what? Where are you taking me, John?”
“I can’t tell you. I have to show you.”
Ruby sighed aloud and looked away.
“I’m not in the mood for surprises,” I heard her mutter under her breath.
A young mother, with two young children in tow, squeezed past us on the crowded sidewalk of one of Brookline’s more bustling neighborhoods. I could see Ruby take in every detail of the woman and her children as a lump found its way into my throat. I should be a father and Ruby a mother. Judging by Ruby’s pained expression, I guessed she was thinking the same. I’m sure the mother passed by without giving us a second thought. To her, we were just a young couple out for a stroll on a sunny afternoon. To us, though, this mother offered a window into an experience we both longed to have.
We put off having children until my depression eased. Then it was my business that had to get off the ground. Soon after, we had Ruby’s tuition to pay. It never seemed like the right time to have kids; it was something we’d put off until some future tomorrow. How could we have known that tomorrow might never come?
We walked past a bakery that smelled of cinnamon and freshly kneaded dough. With a glance, no discussion needed, I grabbed Ruby’s hand and led her inside. I figured her favorite muffin, banana chocolate chip, would help her feel a little less ticked off at me. She ordered a vanilla bean Frappuccino with whipped cream. When I gave a look—Ruby never ordered such decadent drinks—her response, pre-slurp, was a straightforward, “To hell with eating healthy.”
We finished our treats and then wandered another block or two, past more mothers and fathers with more kids in tow. The closer we got to our destination, the more nervous I became. It felt like the familiar ingredients of a particularly dangerous mountain climb—one part exhilaration, one part trepidation, and two parts “Holy crap.”
There’s no other way, I kept saying to myself. There’s no other way.
I stopped at a four-story brownstone on Harvard Avenue. The Coolidge Corner neighborhood offered up a veritable melting pot of residents—all ages, all races, all in varying shapes and sizes. The college student population here seemed equal in proportion to the number of young professionals who called this somewhat posh city neighborhood home. Ruby looked around, didn’t see anything but apartment buildings, and then looked around some more. She couldn’t figure out why I had stopped walking.
“Where are we going?” she asked, perplexed.
“Here,” I said, pointing to the peeling decal numbers, 457, on display in the arch window above a single glass door
.
“What’s here?”
I fished out a key from my front pants pocket. It was shiny brass because it was so new. The Realtor had given it to me the day before, after I signed the lease. Warily, Ruby followed me up the concrete front porch steps, still glancing around, still confused. The key felt stiff in the lock and took some twisting and pulling before I finally got the tumblers engaged. Ruby walked right past the metal bank of mailboxes, including the one that I had already labeled with the name Uretsky.
“What’s going on, John? I really don’t like surprises. I’ve had enough surprises lately.”
I kissed Ruby’s forehead, letting my lips linger an extra few moments to make certain my love for her sank in.
“Just give it a second, okay? I’ll explain everything soon enough.”
I walked ahead of Ruby, but imagined she was looking all around as we trotted up the tiled stairs in the grimy stairwell that led to the fourth-floor apartment, number twelve, the last unit in the building. Her curiosity was palpable. I felt bad for not having been more forthcoming. When I devised this plan, it seemed like a good idea. Now I worried the shock would keep Ruby from cooperating, and this endeavor would be a no-go without her.
I worked the apartment key into the lock and kept my back to Ruby so she wouldn’t see my trembling hand. I reminded myself to breathe. Just relax. Like on a climbing expedition, I needed to cross this threshold feeling complete and total confidence that I’d achieve my objective. But this time, it wasn’t just my life I was focused on saving.
I pushed open the door and stepped into a fully furnished apartment. Ruby followed close behind.
“Whose place is this?” she asked, taking a tentative step inside.
“Ours,” I said.
Ruby put her hands on her hips. She pivoted her feet on the coated hardwood floor. From where she stood, Ruby could see into the living room, with its futon couch, two armchairs, bookshelf, a few plants, and small TV on a small TV stand. Yes, we had cable. I’d splurged. Ruby could also see the kitchen, a simple rectangular room with countertop seating. The bedroom door to her right was closed.
Because I wanted a short-term lease, it was simpler to rent a fully furnished apartment. Ruby didn’t know it yet, but I’d already rented our apartment, fully furnished with our furniture, to a professor couple from a university in Barcelona, Spain, who were coming to the States for a six-month research sabbatical. Six months was a perfect length of time, since it equaled Ruby’s schedule for Verbilifide treatments.
“Ours? What are you talking about?” Ruby said, her voice rising in pitch. “We have a home. I don’t want to move.”
“Ruby, I did something, something I probably shouldn’t have done, but I did it, anyway. Come into the living room and sit down. I need to tell you everything.”
CHAPTER 8
The look on Ruby’s face broadcast her dismay in high definition. She knew bad news was coming and refused to take one more step into the apartment. She stood in the entranceway, arms folded, expression stern and disapproving. She couldn’t imagine what I was going to say. She heard only the words, “I did something . . . something I probably shouldn’t have done.” If you’re a fan of Lifetime movies, like Ruby is, those words, spoken by a nervous spouse, tend to be followed by revelations of infidelity, a hidden drug problem perhaps, or an admission of a felony crime. No wonder she didn’t want to sit down.
“What have you done, John? If you’re leaving me for another woman, I swear I’m going to kill you.”
There was no jest to her threat. A heavy mood seemed to thicken the air. I took hold of her hand.
“No, baby,” I said, my eyes locked firmly on hers. “There’s no other woman. There can never be another woman. You’re the love of my life. That’s why I can’t let anything happen to you.”
My voice broke. A choking sob got caught somewhere in my throat, while gathering tears blurred my vision. I watched Ruby’s angry expression transform into one of pure sympathy for me. How could someone vacillate between emotions that quickly? Love, that’s how. But I didn’t need another reminder of Ruby’s genuine goodness. All I needed was for her to get better.
Ruby tugged on my hand, leading me into the living room. She sat down on the futon beside me, hand resting on my knee.
“Sweetie, talk to me. What’s going on?” Ruby asked.
I swallowed hard and took several deep breaths until I felt composed enough to speak. That’s when I told her everything. I explained how Atrium would cover only the cost of the generic drug, even though the generic was unavailable. And how Wilhelm Genetics could give us twelve thousand dollars toward the cost of her medication—a sliver of what we needed. I explained again how the other prescription assistance programs didn’t provide coverage for Verbilifide and how some health insurance companies, such as UniSol Health, offered a generic drug exception.
“We can’t just get this drug on a promise to pay the pharmaceutical company back one day,” I said more than once. We needed insurance or cash, and had neither. That’s when I told her about my phone-spoofing effort and how I’d found a suitable identity to steal. The Uretskys, Elliot and Tanya, had what we needed: UniSol Health.
Ruby got real quiet, as I had when I first found the cancer on the bottom of her foot. It was that kind of silence. She got up from the futon and walked around the room, inspecting every corner of the tight space like it was a crime scene—which I guess, in a way, it was. I watched her enter the bedroom and come out moments later, holding a framed picture of the two of us, taken on the top of Mount Greylock in the Berkshires. She held the picture up for me to see. She had one hand rested on her hip, body slightly tilted, as though readying to accuse me of something.
“John, what’s this apartment for? Why did you fill it with our things? Explain this to me.”
I expelled a heavy breath.
“Elliot Uretsky had fallen behind on his health insurance payments,” I said.
“How is that helpful? Won’t UniSol come after him for payment and hold his future claims?”
“It’s good because he won’t be wondering why he’s not getting any bills from UniSol. We only need to do this for six months, and I’m counting on Uretsky being too scattered to notice his missing UniSol Health bills. Meanwhile, the bills and statements are now coming to a P.O. box I got in his name. I also made him current on his account, so there’s no receivable issue, either. Still, we have to be careful. Insurance fraud is a very big problem.”
“One that we’re apparently contributing to,” Ruby said, her arms folded across her chest.
“I figured the sudden and sustainable claims might rouse some suspicion. UniSol Health has an eight hundred number for a Special Investigations Department. The apartment is a precaution in case they sent somebody out to investigate us. If they did, they wouldn’t find cause to dig very deep.”
“Meaning?”
Ruby tossed the picture onto the futon like she was throwing a Frisbee.
“Meaning we have an apartment rented as Elliot and Tanya Uretsky. I made us identification cards, too.”
“Made?”
“Forged.”
“Goodness, John. So we don’t drive?”
“Too hard to make driver’s licenses. But a Mass ID is way easier to duplicate.”
“Let me guess. You made it off the Internet.”
I looked honestly surprised, because I was.
Now it was Ruby who looked surprised. “I was joking. You really did?”
“DocumentID.com,” I said. “They sell kits. Synthetic paper. Butterfly pouches. ID laminators.”
Ruby looked away.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” she said.
I jumped up to grab a bucket that was tucked under the kitchen sink.
Ruby held up her hands to stop me. “I’m not really going to be sick,” she said with a huff. “It’s just how I feel.”
At least now I was standing beside her. I reached out to touch her, but Ruby jer
ked away.
“We can’t do this, John,” she said.
“We have to.”
“No. We don’t.”
“We don’t have the money. Where are we going to get the money?”
Ruby let go an exasperated sigh. “We’ll go on TV,” she said. “The Today Show.”
“You just want to go on The Today Show because you have a crush on Matt Lauer.”
“No, John. I just don’t want to be a criminal.”
“And then what? What do you think they’re going to talk about? Your cancer? Or the fact that I cut the rope of my climbing companion and sent him falling to his death?”
“That’s not enough of a reason not to try.”
I nodded my agreement. If I had to relive what I did to Brooks Hall on national television for Ruby, I’d do it in a heartbeat.
Then I said, “Even if they did pick up our story, there’s no guarantee we’ll raise enough money in donations. What then? We can’t fall back on my plan. Not after we’ve exposed ourselves to the world.”
“Can’t you have faith in other people . . . that they’ll come through for us in our time of need?”
“Climbing taught me how to rely on myself, Ruby. That’s what I have faith in. Solve my own problem. I can’t trust anybody more than myself.”
“Oh, ye of little faith, what if we get caught?” Ruby asked.
“Who?” I said. “Who’s going to catch us? Elliot Uretsky hasn’t even paid his bills. He’s not going to see a single statement. And we’ll make our co-payments on time, every time. Like I said, this isn’t permanent. In a few months’ time, you’ll be cured and this will all be put behind us.”
“Where did you get the money for the apartment?”
“And cable,” I said, making a weak attempt to lighten an increasingly tense mood. Ruby’s expression conveyed a blend of disbelief and disgust. Smartly, I decided to shelve any further mood-lightening attempts. “I sold some equipment,” I confessed. “But I didn’t buy the furniture. I just rented a furnished apartment.”
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