A Good Marriage

by Kimberly McCreight

  Was her response a shade too emphatic, though? Like maybe she wasn’t one hundred percent sure of anything. I understood her not being thrilled to open up some can of worms. As a prosecutor, I never would have made it my business to go around interviewing random family members in search of alternative theories that might conflict with mine. You used evidence selectively to build on your story, not because you were an evil asshole, but because you believed your story. But genuinely exculpatory evidence was a different matter. No prosecutor would ignore that, not even Wendy Wallace. It could be career ending.

  “Amanda Grayson’s father was stalking her, and she was terrified,” I said more forcefully. I waited a beat for her face to register concern. It did not. “I think he killed her.”

  “Ha,” Wendy said quietly. She looked genuinely amused. “You know, I wasn’t worried about Paul, because I know how to throw him off his game. But I’d heard you were like a tenacious little dog at the US attorney’s office. Thank you for making it abundantly clear that description was not intended as a compliment.”

  Annoyingly, my cheeks flushed. And Wendy’s eyes gleamed.

  “The police need to talk to the father. Someone needs to check his alibi. Have your investigators even seen these journals? They were under the bed. Amanda recorded dates and times—phone calls, occasions her father was following her. It’s potentially exculpatory.”

  Wendy was nodding thoughtfully. It seemed I might finally be getting through to her. But then she suddenly shook her head, as though coming to.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Did you say something? I heard the word potentially, and then my brain exploded inside my skull.”

  “Look, I don’t think it’s so unreasonable to expect—”

  “Oh, it’s clear that you don’t think,” she snapped. “Your client is a millionaire. If you want to go on some wild-goose chase that’s not going to lead anywhere but straight back to him, be my guest. He’s going to pay for it, though, not the taxpayers of the state of New York. We’re not obligated to run down every stray fact just because you think it might ‘potentially’ lead somewhere. They also didn’t interview your client’s high school friends, or his dentist. So fucking what? None of that’s relevant just because you think it could be. But I’ve got an idea: I’ll subpoena all those journals just in case. Take them right off your hands. That way we can be sure to take our time reading them.”

  “And what if this does lead somewhere? What if Amanda’s dad says something incriminating to my investigator?”

  “Then you call your fucking investigator to testify!” she shouted, though we both knew damn well that she would make it her mission to undermine said investigator on the stand. She sat back calmly, a hand on each arm of the chair, like it was a throne. “I only agreed to meet with you because I thought that you wanted to grovel for a plea deal, and I was looking forward to saying no. Instead, you come in here asking me to do your fucking job for you?” She shook her head and let out a small dismissive huff. “You want to waste your time interviewing this fucking guy, that’s up to you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got actual work to do.”

  “Fine,” I said as I stood. “I disagree, but obviously you have to do what you think is right.”

  “Yes, obviously.”

  “Though prosecutorial misconduct is reversible error. If this lead pans out, and you deliberately ignored it …” I left the rest to her imagination.

  Wendy Wallace glared at me for a moment, then smiled. “I look forward to responding to that brief.”

  “Thank you for your time,” I said finally before turning for the door. “This has been illuminating.”

  “A word of warning,” she called after me. “Woman to woman.”

  I paused and turned back.

  “Be careful with Paul. He’s charming, but sooner or later he’ll dig out your heart and make you swallow it whole.”

  I cocked my head. “Oh, don’t worry,” I said with a smile. “Woman to woman: I’m way too smart to fall for Paul.”

  Grand Jury Testimony

  TAYLOR PELLSTEIN,

  called as a witness the 7th of July and was examined and testified as follows:

  EXAMINATION

  BY MS. WALLACE:

  Q: Good morning, Ms. Pellstein. Thank you for being here.

  A: You told me I didn’t have a choice.

  Q: You were subpoenaed to testify, that is correct.

  A: Are you saying that I do have a choice?

  Q: You are legally required to appear as a witness.

  A: Because I really like Mr. Grayson. He’s a really good boss, and I really don’t want to lose my job.

  Q: You don’t have to worry about that, Ms. Pellstein. The proceedings of the grand jury are secret.

  A: So you say.

  Q: No, those are the facts, Ms. Pellstein. So the law says.

  A: Whatever.

  Q: Let’s move on then, and get you out of here as quickly as possible. I only have a couple questions. You work for Mr. Grayson, is that correct?

  A: Yes.

  Q: In what capacity?

  A: I’m his assistant.

  Q: And what duties does that job entail?

  A: I organize Mr. Grayson’s calendar, book meetings, schedule appointments, arrange travel, answer his phone.

  Q: And how long have you had this job?

  A: Three years.

  Q: So you worked for Mr. Grayson in California?

  A: Yes.

  Q: Unusual to move an assistant across the country, isn’t it?

  A: How would I know? I don’t have an assistant.

  Q: Did you ever have occasion to speak with Mrs. Grayson?

  A: Of course. Whenever she called.

  Q: Did Mr. Grayson ever give you any special instructions where his wife was concerned?

  A: I don’t know what you mean.

  Q: Let me remind you, you’re under oath. You could be charged with perjury if you do not tell the truth. Did Mr. Grayson give you any special instructions where his wife was concerned?

  A: He told me not to put her calls through.

  Q: Was this on a specific occasion that Mr. Grayson told you not to put his wife’s calls through?

  A: No.

  Q: You were never supposed to put through her calls?

  A: I was always supposed to take a message. But I want to say that I felt bad about that. Mrs. Grayson—I didn’t know her or whatever—but she seemed like a nice person. I think Mr. Grayson was just busy. It was nothing personal.

  Q: You must have also felt bad that you were having an affair with Mr. Grayson, then?

  A: What? I’m not having an affair with Mr. Grayson.

  Q: Have you had sexual relations with Mr. Grayson?

  A: Yes. But it wasn’t an affair.

  Q: How many times have you had sex with Mr. Grayson?

  A: I don’t know.

  Q: More than once?

  A: Yes. More than once.

  Q: More than ten times?

  A: Yes. More than ten times.

  Q: More than a hundred times?

  A: I don’t know. Maybe. It wasn’t like a love thing. Or a relationship. Or whatever.

  Q: Why do you say that?

  A: Because Zach told me that: “This is not a love thing. This is not anything.” He told me that all the time.

  Amanda

  TWO DAYS BEFORE THE PARTY

  By the time Amanda was rushing down to Blue Bottle, she was more than ten minutes late. Sarah and Maude were already seated at an outside table in the small gravel patio area, the late June morning quite warm, but not humid. One of those perfect New York City summer days that Amanda had been repeatedly warned would soon give way to an unbearable August of stifling smells and furious people. Eventually even most of the adults would be off in the Hamptons or Cape Cod or on assorted European adventures, and by the last weeks of summer, Park Slope would be rendered nearly a ghost town.

  Maude’s back was to Amanda as she approached,
but she could see Sarah—big sunglasses on, her mouth a flat line. Amanda waited for her to look up, to smile broadly and wave theatrically as she usually did. But Sarah stayed fixated on Maude.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late,” Amanda murmured when she’d finally rushed through the café and out onto the patio.

  She hadn’t decided yet whether she would mention the emails about Case. She was so ashamed that she’d somehow missed them. But then hadn’t Sarah said something about getting similar emails and ignoring them?

  “That’s okay,” Sarah said, her voice grave. “Maude and I were just talking.”

  Once Amanda sat down, she could see that Maude’s eyes were puffy from crying.

  “What happened?” Amanda asked. “Is Sophia okay?”

  Maude shook her head. “I don’t know. I got another letter. It didn’t say anything different exactly—but I have such a bad feeling. I finally reached somebody at the camp, and they said she seems absolutely fine, but she’s gone on some stupid backpacking excursion, so I can’t actually talk to her directly until Thursday. I don’t think I’m going to feel better until I hear her voice.”

  “Maude, honey,” Sarah said more forcefully. “What happened to Sophia? There is obviously something going on. Tell us so that we can help.”

  “All Sebe wants me to do is stay calm,” Maude said. “And I just—he’s wrong. She’s not okay. I can feel it.”

  “That’s because husbands are useless,” Sarah said. “Even the gorgeous ones. Maude, tell us what happened.”

  “But I promised Sophia I wouldn’t.” Maude looked pained.

  “Please,” Sarah huffed. “Parent promises are kept at the discretion of the parent. Everybody knows that.”

  Maude stared out into the distance for a moment, chewing on her lip.

  “Sophia took some naked pictures of herself,” she finally blurted out, and then her body sank. “For this boy she’s seeing.”

  “Oh, Maude, they all do that!” Sarah exclaimed. “I’ve done that, which, by the way, I do not recommend—no matter how high your self-esteem, naked at forty-eight years old is much better in your head than in a selfie—but you wouldn’t believe the pictures my son and his friends get sent to them. All the time. And I am not blaming the girls, either. No, no, no. I know the boys ask. Even my boys, I’m sure. Like it’s nothing. And for that I blame porn. And not regular old Playboy either. That was healthy curiosity. This online garbage?” Sarah closed her eyes and shuddered. “Anyway, my point is, it’s a bottomless cauldron of twisted depravity out there. There are apparently whole websites devoted to things like ‘peeper porn.’”

  “Peeper porn?” Amanda asked.

  “Oh, just people videotaping up women’s skirts or setting up cameras in public bathrooms, that kind of thing.” Sarah blushed uncharacteristically. “No big deal, right?”

  Maude’s eyes filled with tears.

  “Oh, Maude, I’m so sorry!” Sarah cupped a hand over her mouth. “That peeper bullshit has nothing to do with Sophia! Really, it has nothing to do with anything. So Sophia took the pictures, and I’m assuming she gave them to the boy? It’s not a big deal. Seriously. We just need to make sure Sophia knows that.”

  “Think of how amazing it is that Sophia told you about any of it, Maude,” Amanda pointed out. “It shows how much she trusts you.”

  “Exactly. It’s a testament to what a good mother you are,” Sarah added. “I like to ride you about hovering, but, you know, my boys don’t tell me a damn thing.”

  Maude blinked, sending the tears rushing down her cheeks.

  “There’s more,” she said.

  “What?” Sarah asked.

  “Our computer was one of the ones hacked into,” Maude said. “And the pictures Sophia took of herself, they’re provocative, really provocative. They’ve threatened to post them.”

  “Those motherfuckers,” Sarah growled.

  Maude’s tears were coming even faster now. Her cheeks were glistening. “The worst part is, some of Sophia’s letters from camp have made it seem like there’s even more than that. Something I don’t know.” Maude looked from Sarah to Amanda and back again, like surely they must have some answers. “What else could there be?”

  Sarah shook her head. “She’s going to be fine. You just need to talk to her. All that time away from home without her phone? She’s had too much time to think.”

  But Maude continued to look so worried. And Amanda felt worried for her.

  “You can talk to her on Thursday, you said?” Amanda asked.

  Maude nodded. “Yes. But they can’t even tell me what time. What if it’s in the middle of the stupid party? I should cancel.”

  “Oh, don’t cancel!” Sarah cried, then recovered with a wave of her hand. “I mean, getting ready will keep you distracted. There’s nothing you can do right now anyway. What’s happened has happened.” Then she smiled playfully, like she was trying to lighten the mood. “Besides, you cannot have this be my last sex party and then cancel. I’ll have no closure.”

  “Maybe you should host my party then.” Maude smiled tearfully. “Speaking of the party, I should be getting home. There are deliveries coming.”

  “Will you be okay?” Amanda asked. “Do you want one of us to come with you?”

  “No, no,” Maude said. “I must seem spectacularly unhinged, but I’ll be fine. I think I just need some time to myself.”

  “You’re sure?” Sarah pressed.

  “Yes,” Maude said, taking a deep breath as she stood. “I promise.”

  Amanda and Sarah watched as Maude gathered her things and left. They did not speak again until Maude was safely out of sight.

  “God, what the fuck is wrong with me?” Sarah shook her head. “Peeper porn? I am such an asshole. It’s because I’m exhausted. Fucking Kerry.”

  “Kerry?” Amanda asked.

  Sarah looked startled by the question. “Oh, an argument. It was silly. Too much wine more than anything,” she said. “I was just mad about that fairy tale Kerry told about his stepfather.”

  “Fairy tale?” Amanda asked.

  “Kerry’s stepfather never broke his arm, though according to Kerry he was quite the jerk once upon a time,” she scoffed. “Anyway Kerry felt like everybody was gawking at you, and he didn’t want you to feel bad.”

  “Oh,” Amanda said, indeed feeling bad. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. That was only how the fight started, anyway … it blew up from there.” Sarah waved her hand. “But that’s a discussion for another time. Right now, poor Maude is what matters. I can’t believe I made her feel worse.”

  “No, no,” Amanda said, even though she was pretty sure that Sarah had made it worse.

  “I’ll call her later and check in.”

  “Can I ask you something totally unrelated?” Amanda began tentatively. She should have probably let the conversation go on a little longer before changing the subject. But she couldn’t bear to wait anymore. “It’s about that email you received from Country Day. About Will?”

  “You mean the one I decided to ignore because I wanted to get on with the business of enjoying my kid-free summer? Another example of my sterling judgment. Sure, why not? Ask away.”

  “We got a similar one about Case,” Amanda said. “A couple of them actually. But I overlooked them, so I didn’t respond.”

  “Well, at least you accidentally didn’t respond, instead of intentionally not responding like me.”

  “Will the school hold it against Case?” Amanda asked. “That I didn’t answer and set up the meeting?”

  “Absolutely not. Especially since the meeting was probably about nothing. All that school does is set up meetings. I get it. Bad things have happened because some other schools around here were asleep at the wheel. But how about a happy medium. Honestly, a kid stubs their toe and Brooklyn Country Day wants to have a meeting between you, the kid, and the offending piece of furniture. If Case was having an actual problem, they
would have called you.”

  “They would?” Amanda asked.

  “Definitely,” Sarah went on. “When that school really wants to find you, they hunt you down. Watch what happens if you’re late with a tuition bill.”

  Amanda smiled. She felt genuinely relieved. “Oh, good, then maybe it’s not serious.”

  “One hundred percent it’s absolutely not serious. I’d put it out of your mind completely. Pretend you never even got it. Like me.” Sarah was quiet then, her face grave as she looked toward the exit. “Trust me, ignorance sometimes really is bliss.”

  KRELL INDUSTRIES

  CONFIDENTIAL MEMORANDUM NOT FOR DISTRIBUTION

  Attorney-Client Work Product

  Privileged & Confidential

  July 1

  To: Brooklyn Country Day Board of Directors

  From: Krell Industries

  Subject: Data Breach & Cyber Incident Investigation—Progress Report

  Interview Summaries:

  SUBJECT FAMILY 0005: Does not know whether they received a conference request from Brooklyn Country Day due to shared family email. Will inquire of all family members once they have returned from camp.

  SUBJECT FAMILY 0006: Received Brooklyn Country Day conference scheduling request but did not reply. Did receive other suspicious emails from different household accounts. May have responded.

  SUBJECT FAMILY 0016: Received Brooklyn Country Day conference scheduling request and scheduled conference. A later message indicated that conference had been canceled and would be rescheduled.

  PRELIMINARY CONCLUSIONS:

  Brooklyn Country Day systems were compromised on or about April 30. At that time, extensive personal information about Brooklyn Country Day families was gathered, including children’s names, family emails, and other contact information. Access was obtained to the personal computers of individual families once they interacted with a counterfeit conference scheduling form. If a conference was scheduled it would subsequently be canceled with an automated follow-up email. If this access attempt failed, a second attempt was made using an alternate forged account. Based on syntactical variation and disparate IP locations, it appears likely that several individuals are responsible for the specific exchanges with subject families.