The Perfect Ruin

by Shanora Williams

  There’s something different about her now, though. Her hair has been straightened and is now glossy and cut in a bob. There are diamond earrings in her ears and she has on makeup, which I’ve never seen her wear before. Her brows have been plucked, and expensive rings are on her fingers.

  There’s a familiar Cartier rose-gold watch on her wrist and I instantly recognize it. It was Lola’s. She wore it the first day of Passion Camp.

  Georgia picks up the phone, still holding my eyes. I snatch the phone off the hook and press the receiver to my ear.

  “Oh, Miss Hill. I have to say, you’ve had better days.”

  “Fuck you,” I hiss at her from my side of the glass. “What the hell are you doing here? I can’t believe you have the fucking nerve.”

  “I’m here for a brief visit. I figured someone should see you after everything you’ve been through.”

  I narrow my eyes at her. “How could you do this to me? I know it was you!”

  “How could I do what?”

  “You know what you did! You set me up!” I hiss into the black phone.

  Georgia says nothing for a while, and then she finally sighs and smiles. “I think you and I can both agree the world is a better place now.”

  I stare her in the eye. “Rat poison? I never bought rat poison. You dumped it in their drinks with those antidepressants, not me. You’re fucking insane.”

  Still, Georgia says nothing, and now I’m getting pissed. “Why did you do it? I—I get Lola, I guess, but why Corey?”

  “Most would say loose ends are . . . deadly.”

  Great choice of words. Cunt. I grit my teeth. “Why haven’t I seen Marriott? Have you done something to her too?”

  “Other than give her forty grand so she could tell you Lola’s name during one of your therapy sessions? No. And you really shouldn’t have stopped seeing her. She was good for you.”

  My eyes stretch and my heart sinks. So that’s why Marriot hasn’t responded or shown up. She was bought . . . just like everyone else. Marriott didn’t show up to my trial to speak up for me when I requested it—didn’t even so much as check in on me. Now I knew why. I knew she was too good to be true. And all this time I thought Georgia had killed her too. I was worried.

  “Let’s not pretend you had a conscience when it came to ruining Lola’s life, Ivy. You wanted her dead. She took your parents from you.”

  “Why would you do something like this? I barely even knew you and now I’m in here for life! And for what?” I look her over in her fancy attire. “So you could get some of Lola’s money? Wasn’t she paying you enough?”

  “Lola ruined my goddamn life, the same way she did yours. But unlike you, I took some initiative.”

  “By framing me?”

  She makes a tsk-tsk noise through her teeth. “The people in this world can make it a selfish place, Ivy. I thought you’d have figured that out by now. Believe me, you would have ended up in here one way or another. I just did you a favor and got it over with.”

  “Why?” I ask, my voice breaking. “Why did you do it? Why me? Don’t you think I’ve lost enough?” I want to cry.

  Georgia studies the ring on her middle finger, a red ruby on a thin gold band. “Because, just like me, you were angry. You wanted revenge, but you got stupid and lazy with it. You fell for a man who wasn’t going to love you back. I had to make my move before you got carried away with your own plan to run off with him and the money owed to me. I know girls like you. You don’t share. You think the world owes you. You would have gotten all that money through Corey if he and Lola had divorced and run off with it. You would have left me in a pit—with nothing. I couldn’t have that. Not after all I’d been through.”

  It feels as if something has been lodged in my throat. “What are you even talking about?”

  “Oh, what the hell? It isn’t like anyone is listening on these crappy two-way phones anyway. I dealt with the Maxwells for fourteen years,” Georgia whispers into the receiver. “I was the one who cleaned up their shit, planned their dinners, and made sure their house was an actual home, but they never appreciated that. Rich people never appreciate anything.” She studies her manicured cuticles. “To put it simply, I asked Lola to rewrite my contract as her household manager and told her I wanted ten million dollars at the end of my ten-year term. I knew her dirty little secret about your parents that she so sloppily covered up and tried to blackmail her with it for the ten million, but it backfired on me. She rewrote the contract and gave me a nondisclosure to sign, but she wasn’t fair with it. In order for me to receive the ten million she knew I deserved, I had to work for her for another ten years. That would have been twenty years too long working for Lola and I just couldn’t do it. After everything she’d put me through, I simply refused, and hell, going four years into the second term was brutal.

  “But one thing Lola always did was underestimate me, and we all know with every contract, there has to be some kind of way out, even if it’s nearly impossible to make happen.” Her throat bobs. “There was a clause in my new contract. It stated that if, in the unlikely event something was to happen to both Lola and Corey, my contract would be null and I’d receive my ten million dollars immediately. An executor handled their will and all of their assets. I ran my contract by him and the money was deposited into my account. But you have to realize that in order for that to happen, both of them had to be gone so I could get the money right away or I had to wait the ten more years and continue dealing with her shit. I wasn’t about to wait.”

  I draw in a breath. This couldn’t be real. What I was hearing couldn’t be true.

  “So . . . anyway, I did some digging. Sought you out. Spoke with Marriott about two years ago to get the ball rolling. . . and from there, everything just sort of pieced itself together. Lola had ruined my life, so I ruined hers.” She pauses, inhales, and then exhales and looks me in the eye. She really has the nerve to pretend to be sympathetic. “I feel bad for you, I really do, but I couldn’t have any of this circling back to me. Lola and Corey needed to go, and you had the perfect motive I could use. Kill the woman who’d taken everything from you. Then kill the man who’d broken your heart. Technically, he was never supposed to break your heart because you were never supposed to fall for him. An affair? Yes, but not fall in love. But it worked out. In all reality, you brought this upon yourself, Ivy.”

  “But I didn’t do this! I loved Corey!”

  “I see you’re still a fool.”

  I slam down the phone on the short table in front of me, pushing myself off the stool. “You’re fucking demented!” I shout at her. I know there’s soundproof glass between us, but I’m sure she can read my lips. I know she can hear every word. I lean forward and slam two fists on the glass. She doesn’t flinch, as if expecting me to react this way. She came here to torment me—to let me suffer from these truths. “You set me up, you selfish bitch!” I scream, and I can’t believe it, but she smiles.

  “All right, Hill! That’s it!” the guard shouts from behind me. “You had one chance and you just fucked it up!”

  “This is her fault!” I scream as the guard grips my arm and tows me back. “She set me up! She just confessed to it! She framed me!”

  Georgia casually hangs up the phone and stands, watching as the guard wraps an arm around my middle and drags me back. “You must be off your fucking meds!” the guard grunts.

  “You’re a fucking bitch, Georgia!” I scream, pointing a finger at her, blinded by tears. By rage. “You’ll get what’s coming to you! I promise you, you will!”

  It doesn’t matter what I say, though. My words hold no weight, and they don’t faze her. She steps away from the glass with a subtle smirk, and when she turns away, I realize it.

  She wins . . . and I am going to live the rest of my life in this shithole. And she doesn’t care. Of course she doesn’t. The ten million in her pocket is all she needs to start a new life.

  She’s gotten away with everything without so much as a do
uble check and I got pinned.

  Who was going to believe a young black woman who’s been convicted of murder? A girl who lost her parents at fourteen? A girl who was known to be mentally unstable? A woman who grew up to stalk another woman, fuck her husband, and supposedly drown him because her heart was broken? No one, that’s who. And that bitch Georgia knew it.

  That was why she was smirking.

  That was why she was here, because she knew no matter how much I say she framed me, no matter how hard I try to convince anyone of the truth, no one will ever believe me.

  I said it before, and I’ll say it again.

  I never should have told Marriott to give me that fucking name.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  GEORGIA

  Seeing Ivy locked up with my own two eyes gave me satisfaction. I needed to see for myself, up close and personal, that she couldn’t get out. The poor girl is miserable, but I’m sure she’s used to misery by now. She’ll be okay.

  I’ve never felt like I belonged in Miami. I grew up in this city, which is notorious for its night life and beach parties . . . and the high crime rate.

  I’d spent many years in Wynwood, witnessing many of my friends and family turn to drugs. It was a bad place. I knew I deserved better, so I sought better for myself.

  I must part ways with this city—this city that has not always been so kind to me. I’ve had lots of time to think about where to run off to. There are many places I’d like to see and things I’d like to do, like get full on pasta and wine in Italy, or ride on a camel in the Red Dunes and then make my way to Dubai.

  But for now, I just need to get away. I waited until things blew over with the murder trial. I’ve paid my visit to Ivy like I told myself I would, just to confirm. Now, it’s time to start anew.

  I’ll begin again in London first, a city I’ve wanted to visit since I was a little girl. My grandmother used to tell me stories about how she’d dated a man from London for two years. It didn’t work out because she was too hotheaded and he was too sensitive, but she said he was romantic. Sweet. Loved to feed her.

  Perhaps I’ll find a man who will love to feed me. Be romantic with me. A man who will never, ever know my background or where I’ve come from. A man who won’t abandon me like Dion.

  I will start over. I will start now.

  I packed my suitcases last night and am now printing off my schedule. My flight leaves in three hours. After picking up the paper, I head for the kitchen of the condo I’d bought, which faces the ocean, preparing my final cup of caramel tea in Miami.

  I do it with diligence, starting up my kettle, letting the water boil, and then dumping two tea bags into a bone-china teacup on a saucer. I pour the water carefully, allow the tea to steep, and then remove the tea bags, giving them a light squeeze with my fingertips before discarding them in the waste bin.

  Then I take my tea on the saucer to the living room and sip as I watch the ocean. It is peaceful doing this. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been so relaxed.

  But my peace doesn’t last for long. There’s a knock at my door. I have no idea who it can be. Probably my neighbor, Pete. He’s been interested in me, and though he is quite handsome, I can’t afford to get mixed up with him. I’m leaving Miami and all it entails behind, and I refuse to fall for another Florida man.

  Placing my saucer and teacup down on the white porcelain counter, I make my way to the door in brand-new red stilettos and open it.

  I’m ready to greet Pete, tell him that it was nice knowing him . . . but this isn’t Pete.

  In fact, it’s no man at all.

  “Hi, Georgia,” Faith says. A wide smile is on her lips, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Her eyes are intense, her lashes clumpy from too much mascara. She’s dressed well, but then, so am I.

  When you are well off, it’s better to play the part. You receive more double takes and get seated faster at restaurants when you look rich. I can see now why Lola was always so eager to dress up to go out on one of her lunch or dinner dates.

  “Faith,” I say, and there is curiosity burning in my voice. “Hi—what are you doing here? How do you know where I live?”

  “Lola’s lawyer told me.” Her smile slowly fades, but her eyes remain the same. Intense. Dark.

  “Lola’s lawyer?”

  “Yes. May I come in?”

  “I was actually just about to leave. I have a flight to catch and have to be gone within the hour if I want to beat traffic.”

  “This won’t take but a minute.” I grit my teeth as she saunters past me and into the condo. “Beautiful place. How much does it cost you?” I can’t help sensing an underlying accusation in her tone.

  I close the door, realizing this is not a sweet meet and greet.

  “I know everything, Georgia. You might want to cancel that flight.”

  Oh. I see.

  The script has flipped.

  You, Faith. You are here for deeper reasons.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  “Excuse me?” I ask.

  “I wanted to wait until Ivy’s case blew over before I came to see you.”

  I remain standing by the door as you look around my apartment. It’s fully decorated. I told my landlord he could keep it all and charge more for the next tenant if he wants to. I wasn’t going to need any of it where I was going.

  “Okay . . .”

  “Do you remember when you asked Lola to rewrite your contract, and how she guaranteed you ten million after you fulfilled a twenty-year term with her?”

  My heart beats faster. “How the hell do you know about that?”

  “She told me, Georgia. She met me for brunch the day after you asked and told me everything, and I recall her specifically mentioning that you blackmailed her and that she was making some arrangements. Then, the week before she passed away, she told me something felt off with you, and with Ivy, and mentioned that if anything happened to her, I should look to you for answers. She didn’t go into details about anything, but she made it very clear that she didn’t trust you.”

  I clench one of my fists. I want to punch you. Strangle you.

  “So . . . I went to Lola’s lawyer, asked him for a favor, and he showed me the new contract Lola had come up with for you.” You slide your purse down to your forearm and open it, pulling out a folded packet of paper. Unfolding it carefully, you clear your throat and say, “I have it highlighted here. ‘In the unlikely event that something should happen to the employer (i.e.: loss of memory, diagnosis of incurable disease, or death), the household manager will receive the agreed amount of ten million dollars at once and the contract and all responsibilities of the employee shall be null and void.’” You lower the paper and give me a smug smile. “So, tell me, household manager . . . were you involved in the killing of Lola and Corey too? I mean, I know Ivy was in on it . . . but you helped her, right?”

  No. Nah-uh. There is no way I am letting another ignorant rich bitch ruin my damn life. I have had enough of Lola and her demons. Her lies. She won’t haunt me like this and you will not take advantage of me. I deserved this money and she knew it.

  “She told you about my contract?” I breathed. “And who else?”

  “Just me. Lola trusted me more than any of her friends.” You seem so sure about that, but from what I remember, Lola liked Arabel the most.

  I rub my nose, forcing myself to summon tears. You need to see that I am distraught by this news—this accusation. “Did she tell you what she did? Why I blackmailed her?”

  “Not exactly. I asked, but she said she didn’t want to talk about it, just that I needed to believe her about you. Now that I’ve had time to think, I’m sure it was about that wreck.”

  “Right—exactly so. Then you have to know the whole story, Faith. Don’t accuse me of things I didn’t do until you listen, okay? I loved Lola, but she wasn’t perfect, and she hated me because I could see all her flaws.”

  “Why do you think I came here? I could have gone to the police and told
them what Lola told me, especially after getting hold of this contract, but I came here. I’m giving you a chance because I know Lola wasn’t perfect, and I know she liked to lie and play the victim. But that doesn’t mean I can’t use this contract to my own advantage.”

  You maneuver through the furniture and pass my three-thousand-dollar, bamboo coffee table to get to the sofa.

  “So, I’m all ears. Convince me that you had nothing to do with what happened, get me to believe you, and then we can discuss how to split the ten million dollars so I can keep my mouth shut about it.” You grin.

  I fight a grimace.

  This is interesting. See, I’d heard from Lola while eavesdropping on one of her phone calls with Arabel that you, Faith, were on the brink of a divorce and were lashing out at your friends because of it.

  What is it now? Is your husband getting tired of you? Did you catch him in an affair? Are you bored now, and looking for ways to keep money in your pocket when he leaves you?

  It explains your behavior during the dinner Lola set up, when she announced the location of the gala and invited you and the others to join her for the event. You lashed out at Ivy, accused Lola of moving too fast with her, and you were drinking too much. Yes, I saw and heard it all.

  I assumed the divorce thing was a rumor because Lola never spoke of it again, but now I see. It wasn’t a rumor. Your husband is about to leave you, and now you want to lash out on someone else.

  Well, not today. Not with me, bitch.

  I am going to London and no one is going to stop me, especially not you.

  I make my way to the kitchen and pull down a box of tea, my back to you, and then I open my purse, which is right below the tea cabinet. I have several prescription bottles inside. Antidepressants. Opioids. Take too many at once and they’ll likely kill you, you know?

  The antidepressants were prescribed for me by a therapist I forced myself to see, just to cover my tracks. People needed to know I was deeply affected by Lola’s death. They had to know that despite inheriting ten million dollars, my heart was broken. You can understand that, I’m sure.