A Good Marriage

by Kimberly McCreight

  “And we will need to talk about the rest,” she said, then cleared her throat. “But I assume you’d like to wait on that, given this case you’re dealing with.”

  I nodded. “Thank you.”

  Millie pressed her lips tight. “Okay,” she said. “A few days, though, tops. In the meantime, start thinking about what you want to do, because this—our arrangement—I think maybe it’s run its course.”

  It was a relief to be in the empty office with the door closed. I was even more grateful for the excuse of having to pull myself together to dial Zach’s accountant. I would face Millie’s news later. I would.

  He answered almost immediately. “Teddy Buckley.”

  “This is Lizzie Kitsakis. I’m Zach Grayson’s attorney, and he’s given me power of attorney to have financial discussions with you on his behalf. I can email an authorization before we speak further, if you like.”

  “Okay,” Teddy said, drawing out the word warily. “Yes, that would be great. I’m sure, under the circumstances, you can understand why I have to wait until I have the authorization in hand before we proceed.”

  A by-the-book, nervous guy. Not surprising for an accountant. But there was something else in his voice: relief. He’d been hoping for a call. From somebody.

  “Yeah, hold on one second. I’ll send it right through.”

  “No problem,” he said. “I can wait.”

  I held my phone away from my ear, snapped a photo of Zach’s executed authorization, then attached the image to an email. The whole process took less than a minute.

  “Okay, you should have it in a—”

  “Got it. Yep, all looks in order.” Teddy Buckley exhaled. “I was so sorry to hear about Mrs. Grayson.”

  “You knew her?”

  “Not really,” Teddy Buckley said. “Everything I heard about her, though. She seemed … human. People who are that wealthy, or who’ve been that wealthy, aren’t always. Anyway, it’s sad what happened to her.”

  “Before we go any further, could you get a payment over to Evidentiary Analytics? They’re the expert investigation firm we’re using to assist with Zach’s defense, and they need a payment for services rendered, also a retainer for future services. Thirty-five thousand total. And if you could wire it ideally right now, while I wait, that would be helpful. Apologies for the fire drill, but as you can imagine in a situation like this, they’ve already fronted a significant amount of money for lab tests and so on.”

  “You want me to wire thirty-five thousand dollars?” Teddy Buckley asked. He sounded wary again. No, actually, he sounded confused. “Right now?”

  “The power of attorney extends to payment requests.”

  “Yes, I can see that. But I’m afraid I can’t wire the money.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “There are no funds available to transfer.”

  I pressed my eyes shut. “What do you mean?”

  “That there is no money. Not in the foundation’s accounts or in the Graysons’ personal ones, at least none that I have access to. Frankly, I’m surprised that Mr. Grayson didn’t tell you this himself when he signed the authorization. He is fully aware. I can’t imagine why he’d sign an authorization for money he knows full well he does not have.”

  But the answer was clear to me: Zach had been hoping to get as much out of me and my experts as he could before the truth caught up. It was a decent strategy. Look how far it had already gotten him.

  “What happened to the money?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. “Do you know?”

  “No. I discovered several large transfers at Mr. Grayson’s direction. When I inquired, he quite angrily told me it was none of my business. But technically, I also have a fiduciary responsibility to the foundation’s board of directors.”

  “Why would Zach need to take the foundation’s money?” I asked. “Didn’t he just sell his company for millions of dollars?”

  “That’s not my understanding,” Teddy Buckley said, but carefully.

  “Then what is your understanding?”

  “Listen, this is really all gossip and conjecture. I wasn’t involved at the time. I only took over after the company was sold, once the foundation was established. I don’t handle financial matters for Mr. Grayson’s new company,” he said. “It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to—”

  “Mr. Buckley!” I shouted, even though I was probably on thin ice. “I don’t have time for this. I’m just trying to get an innocent man out of jail, and I have experts who need to be paid. You have an authorization allowing you to speak with me. Believe me, I am acting on Mr. Grayson’s legal authority. You are obligated to answer my questions.”

  Teddy Buckley took a nervous breath. “My understanding is that Mr. Grayson was bought out by the board of ZAG, but that they were able to pay him a significantly reduced amount because of alleged malfeasance.”

  “Malfeasance?”

  “I don’t know the specifics and it’s not been proven legally, of course. But apparently, it was discovered that Mr. Grayson had some … unorthodox methods. It made ZAG, Inc. vulnerable,” he said. “Surely he was paid enough to cover personal expenses, to establish the foundation and start the new venture. As for the ongoing costs of that venture … Again, this is speculation.”

  “Oh,” I said, feeling queasy. “I didn’t realize.”

  But now I did. This was probably the real reason Zach had sought me out to represent him: he was broke. Any other attorney would have demanded a huge retainer up front. And they would have—smartly—waited for the check to clear before getting to work. How much better if he could get me, for free? It hadn’t even occurred to me yet to ask about a retainer. Evidently, it hadn’t occurred to Paul either. After all, Zach was rich. What could possibly go wrong?

  “Mr. Grayson stopped taking my calls about a month ago, but Mrs. Grayson had agreed to meet before she died. I was going to explain the issue to her, and then escalate to the board of directors if need be. But when I showed up at the foundation last week, she wasn’t there.” He paused, then took another breath. “I returned the next afternoon and then the one after that, but Mrs. Grayson continued to be unavailable. I ended up telling the foundation’s assistant director what was going on. It was against my better judgment, and I’ll admit it skirted an ethical line. But I felt that somebody at the foundation needed to know before they started awarding nonexistent funds to needy students.”

  “Assistant director?”

  “Let me look at my notes,” Teddy said, reluctantly. “Her name is Sarah Novak.”

  “You met with Sarah Novak?”

  “Yes, briefly.”

  Sarah had specifically mentioned this accountant trying to track Amanda down, and yet she’d left out the fact that she’d met with him herself? And that during that meeting he’d dropped a bankruptcy bombshell? What was she hiding? Was it possible that she’d been involved somehow with Zach in taking the foundation’s money?

  “When exactly was this?”

  “Hold on,” he said. There was the sound of tapping on a keyboard in the background. “It was Thursday, July second, at four p.m. I will say Mrs. Novak wasn’t happy when I told her. Actually, she was very, very angry. Honestly, it took me by surprise. I had expected concern, but she seemed to be taking it all very personally.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Um, well, she said something like, ‘Great, so now I’m out of a fucking job? What am I supposed to fucking do?’” Teddy sounded very awkward swearing, like he was speaking a foreign language. “There was more, but all along those lines. With more profanity and more shouting. She seemed very worried about the financial consequences for her personally.”

  “Okay, thank you,” I said.

  “Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

  I hung up and looked through the glass office door as Millie paced back and forth in the distance, shaking her head and waving her finger in the air, as though she was reaming out
Vinnie for doubting me. Unfortunate, given that he’d been right from the start.

  Zach was a failure—a loser—the very thing he swore he’d never be. Who knew how far he’d go to cover it up? Maybe he was in on some scheme with Sarah. Maybe it was the two of them who’d been together the night of the party, not Zach and Maude. Was Maude protecting Sarah? Was Sarah’s disdain for Zach part of some elaborate ruse?

  The possibilities multiplied before my eyes so rapidly that soon I felt sure of only one thing: I’d been flying blind.

  Amanda

  ONE DAY BEFORE THE PARTY

  Amanda entered Prospect Park near Garfield Place and headed south. She and Carolyn always met on the far side of the park, near the skating rink. Close by was the most convenient subway stop from Carolyn’s work, and Amanda liked walking through the center of the park, across the long meadow where the dogs could play off-leash before 9:00 a.m. and after 5:00 p.m. The sun was low as Amanda crossed the meadow, the late summer light bathing everything in a buttery gold.

  When she finally arrived at the entrance to the rink, Carolyn was nowhere in sight. But she was never late. Was Amanda early? She didn’t know what time it was. She never brought her phone. She hated jogging with the huge thing strapped to her arm.

  Amanda looked up and down Prospect Park’s East Drive, then across to the Flatbush Avenue side. No Carolyn.

  “Excuse me,” Amanda asked a determined-looking woman with a stroller who was speed-walking her way. “Could you tell me what time it is?”

  “Oh, sure,” the woman said as she whipped past. “Eight oh five p.m.”

  Carolyn was only five minutes late, though the light was rapidly thinning back there in all those trees and Amanda was beginning to feel nervous standing there all alone. But she needed to be patient. Carolyn worked long hours. She was entitled to be a few minutes late. Besides, Amanda could use the time to decide exactly how she wanted Carolyn to help her.

  Because aside from confronting Zach in Amanda’s place, it wasn’t obvious what Carolyn could do. Surely she would tell Amanda she needed to speak up with Zach. But that was easy for Carolyn to say. It came as second nature to her. Without specifics, it would be useless advice for Amanda. All she really knew how to do was run. As far and as fast as she possibly could. She’d been doing it for years. It had a way of steadying her, even when she felt most lost. That was probably why she was doing it now, even in her dreams.

  It was six months after her mom died that Daddy came for Amanda in the dark for the first time. After that, she knew exactly why her mom had said “You run if you have to. You run as fast as you can.” Though where Amanda was supposed to go remained a mystery. After all, she was only twelve years old. And so Amanda had started running everywhere she could: to the bus stop and back, to the library, out to Route 24, and around and around the Walmart parking lot. She ran in the flat, uncushioned Keds she wore to school and the one pair of sweatpants she owned, so bulky her knees brushed together. Soon she could run nearly ten miles without much effort, and she was fast. So fast it seemed there might actually be a chance she’d get away, just as soon as she figured out where to go.

  Amanda looked around again. Still, no Carolyn. The crowds of bikers and runners were sparser now that twilight had started to sink its long fingers into the sky.

  This time, Amanda asked an older man the time. He was wearing headphones, so she had to shout at him twice.

  “Eight twenty-one,” he finally shouted back.

  Sixteen minutes gone. Had she really been standing there that long? What if something had happened to Carolyn? The subway was incredibly safe—or so Amanda had been told—but people were mugged, they got pushed. And Carolyn could be overconfident.

  Or there was that other, much more obvious explanation: her dad. He could have followed Amanda to the park and somehow found a way to head Carolyn off. He was clever that way. What if he’d made it so that Carolyn could never meet Amanda again? A flash of him came at her from the dream, so large and strong, looming in the doorway. All she could think about was him cornering her best friend in some desolate section of the park. Amanda felt light-headed, and then sick. Like she might pass out. She hung her head between her knees until the feeling passed. No, no, no. Her dad had not hurt Carolyn. She was—that was a crazy, crazy thought. Amanda’s nerves had her inventing things. How could her dad possibly follow her and get to Carolyn? Even he could not do that. It was nonsense. A subway delay was so much more likely.

  Of all the times for Amanda not to have her phone. Maybe she should go home. If she ran at her usual pace, she could be there within ten minutes, hopefully to a message waiting from Carolyn.

  The quickest way was down Center Drive and then up the stairs that cut through the woods. Much faster than heading back up the busier outer loop. Of course, the first rule of city living was that safety lay with the crowd. Even Amanda knew that. But the shortcut would save so much time.

  Amanda eyed the quiet trees one last time before spinning toward the woods. She jogged quickly past a series of dark-green dumpsters along the desolate Center Drive, hulking like monsters in the shadows. Between them, the perfect place for someone to hide.

  Soon Amanda was at the tall wooden steps, though, rising crooked and steep through the trees—so many trees—running faster than her daddy ever could. She was breathing hard, but feeling strong as she raced up the stairs, two at a time. Even if he was there, he’d never be able to catch her.

  Halfway to the top there was a sound to the side, rustling in the trees. Amanda stumbled.

  But she sped right back up. Calm down. Keep going. Calm down. Keep going. Just a squirrel, a bird, or one of those sickly raccoons. Go, Amanda commanded herself. It’s nothing. Get home.

  But she’d only gone a few more steps when she heard the voice. A man’s voice. Deep and gruff, shredded from a lifetime of Marlboro Reds. Unforgettable. Daddy growling: Amanda. From the same direction as the rustling. He was right there. Close enough to grab hold.

  Faster. Faster.

  Amanda sprinted up the rest of the steps, away from the voice. Away from the rustling. Her father had left the flowers. He knew where she lived. He’d followed her out there tonight. When Carolyn hadn’t shown up, he’d decided to seize the opportunity.

  Amanda could outrun him, though. She was older now. Stronger.

  She was almost at the top of the staircase. After that there was only a short stretch of trees before the path opened up to the meadow alongside the baseball fields. There were always people there. Her daddy wouldn’t try to grab her in front of them. He’d always been a coward.

  “Amanda!” Louder. She could feel the threat in it.

  She sprang forward from the last step toward the opening in the distance. Feet pounding against the pavement. Teeth rattling.

  Then out of the corner of her right eye: movement. A body hurtling toward her.

  Amanda screamed. Raw and earsplitting. Not a word, just a sound. Like an animal. And then she dropped to the ground. You were harder to drag that way. She waited to feel Daddy’s rough hands. Got ready to kick.

  “Whoa! Hey!” A different voice. “Are you okay?”

  Amanda scrambled backward and looked up. There was a very muscular, bare-chested man in running shorts, headphones dangling from his neck, headband pulling back his black curls. His hands were raised, mouth open, hazel eyes bulging. Amanda knew him, and didn’t know him. She couldn’t make out the details of his face. Definitely not her dad, though.

  “Amanda, are you all right?” The man had an accent. French. “Did I—I’m so sorry. I called out when I saw you. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Maude is always telling me that men don’t think.”

  Maude. Sebe. Of course that was him. As she caught her breath, his face came into view.

  “Oh, yes, I’m sorry,” Amanda breathed. “I’m okay … I don’t know what happened. I heard a noise. I thought somebody was following me. I guess I panicked. I shouldn’t have taken that shortcut.”r />
  Sebe reached down a gallant hand. “Let’s get you up at least.”

  “Thanks,” Amanda said, letting him tug her to her feet. Her knees felt weak from the adrenaline.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Sebe asked, looking down at her leg. Amanda really wished he had a shirt on. “The way you fell was so sudden—did your ankle give way or something? Orthopedics isn’t my area, but I have people I could call.”

  Amanda felt her cheeks flush. An ankle giving way would certainly be better than the truth: that she’d freaked out because her monster of a dad was stalking her.

  “No, no. It was silly, really.”

  “I think there’s a food vendor still up on the hill,” Sebe said, calm and in charge despite being half naked. “Let’s walk up and get you some water at least. Could be dehydration. You’d be shocked, the havoc it can wreak.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Amanda said. The knee she’d fallen on had begun to throb, but she wasn’t about to mention it. “Really, I’m fi—”

  “Arguing is futile,” Sebe said with a definitive shake of his head. “I am a doctor. I have an ethical obligation. Besides, Maude is angry enough at me already. If I leave you, she might kill me in my sleep.” He smiled warmly. It made Amanda’s chest burn. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

  “Okay,” she said finally.

  They walked on slowly up the hill, Amanda doing her best to hide the pain jabbing her knee with each step.

  “There was somebody behind you?” Sebe asked, turning back toward the trees.

  “I’m sure it was in my head,” she said. “I have a really active imagination.”

  “I could walk you home? As a precaution. That will be Maude’s first question: Did you walk her home?”

  It might not be the worst idea. Sebe was so tall and athletic. His mere presence would scare her daddy away at least for the time being. But she didn’t want to put him out.

  “I’ll be fine,” Amanda said. “Really.”

  “This park is usually safe,” Sebe said as they walked on. He was breathing quickly. “But then a city is a city. One should never get too comfortable.”