Top Producer

by Laura Wolfe

  “I already told Damon about the guy at the bar,” I said, reciting the lie I’d rehearsed. “You’ve got nothing on me.”

  “Oh, really? How did you get the listing at 1907 N. Mohawk?” She crossed her arms in front of her and leaned back in her chair.

  My stomach rolled backward. I glanced down at my feet. “A family friend referred it to me. I told you that.”

  “Or did you get that lead through my website?” The corners of her mouth bent into a curve.

  “What? No!” Beads of sweat formed on my forehead.

  “The owner of 1907 N. Mohawk tried to contact me through my website, Mara. I went back and reviewed my old online inquiries. Betty Lewis. That was her name, right? You expect me to believe it was just a coincidence that you listed the very same property?”

  “What do you care?” I asked, inching forward. “You brought in the buyer anyway.”

  “So, let me get this straight…I organized a charity run to benefit your sister, and you repay me by stealing a listing from my website?” Jacqueline shook her head.

  My hands balled into fists as I remembered the T-shirts and water bottles promoting Jacqueline’s website. “You turned the charity run into a giant ad for yourself. And don’t try to compare stealing a listing with committing murder!”

  “Keep your voice down!” Jacqueline looked over her shoulder, but only an empty table sat behind us. She swiveled back toward me, the muscles in her jaw pulsing. “So, Grace is one of your good friends, huh?”

  I stared at her, not sure what she was getting at.

  “How do you think Grace would feel if she found out her best friend lied to her about the condo rules? She’d probably be devastated to realize you tricked her into moving out just to get a sale.”

  My stomach plummeted to the floor. “That was your idea.”

  “I told you to get the rules changed. You took a shortcut and changed them yourself. That’s even worse. Isn’t it?”

  My fingers clutched the edges of my chair as I tried to steady myself.

  Grace could never know I’d lied to her, especially after she’d been such a loyal friend. She’d saved me from losing my condo after Nate dumped me. She never thought twice about lending me her clothes, including me in her nights out, or driving me to that horrible underground tow lot.

  “Grace will forgive me. I’ll explain everything.” I gulped, hoping Jacqueline didn’t detect the quiver in my voice.

  “I don’t think that’s true, but let’s say you’re right. Maybe what you did to Grace wasn’t so bad.” She looked up and grimaced. “Robbery’s pretty bad, though. You could get jail time for that.” She scrolled through her phone and slid it across the table toward me.

  A rush of panic surged through me. I had no idea what she wanted to show me, but I sensed it wouldn’t be good. My finger shook as if I were about to detonate a bomb. I forced myself to push the arrow to play the video on the screen.

  The camera panned across the outside of a familiar red brick building, dwarfed by two taller loft buildings on either side. I recognized the building as Julia’s former condo near the South Loop. I struggled to breathe, but all the oxygen had disappeared from my lungs. I knew what was coming next. Sure enough, the camera’s slow pan stopped cold as the front door of the condo building flung open. I watched myself barge through the door, the early-summer sun illuminating me as I walked toward the camera. Something bright and shiny and white stood out against the cement-colored background. In my hands, I clutched the white metal box filled with Julia’s grandmother’s jewelry.

  The movie stopped abruptly, blurring to a halt as my former self approached the car.

  My fingernails dug into the edge of the table. The memory of the ruby earrings and necklace dangling from Damon’s hand flashed in my mind, causing me to double-over. The truth behind his discovery was obvious now, the fresh trail through the layer of dust on my mantel suddenly making sense. It wasn’t Natalia or Peter or the electrician who’d moved my family photo. Grace hadn’t left the jewelry behind. Jacqueline had been inside my condo. She’d recorded me stealing Julia’s box, and then broken into my home to plant evidence. It would have been impossible for her to leave without inspecting the framed photo of my smiling family, as desperate as she was for attention from her own parents. She’d planned this all along, holding on to her fake evidence until she needed to use it against me.

  “You might want to think twice about voicing your suspicions.” Jacqueline stared me square in the eyes and smiled. “And you will continue working for me until I win the Top Producer Award at the end of the year. Non-negotiable.” She took a long, slow sip from her cup.

  “Non-negotiable?” I slammed my hand on the table. “This isn’t a dictatorship. I’m not your slave.”

  A hint of a smile crept over Jacqueline’s face. “You’re right. You’re not a slave. You’re getting paid way too much for that.”

  My face burned, my heart hammering. The damn broke, a tirade of profanities spewing from my mouth as I told Jacqueline what I thought of her. When my stream of insults trickled out, I crossed my arms, my throat constricting with hatred.

  Jacqueline rolled her eyes. “Calm down, Mara. January first, when my face is on the billboard, we can go our separate ways. All sins forgiven. This is the deal—we keep each other’s secrets, or you go down with me.”

  Hot liquid rolled over my thumb, and I pulled my hand away from my coffee cup, realizing I’d crushed it.

  Jacqueline pushed a napkin toward me. Nothing fazed her. She was ten moves ahead of me. I had no hard evidence against her, only my suspicions. She, on the other hand, could destroy my entire life with that video. Returning the jewelry to Julia was an option, but Damon had already discovered the earrings and necklace hidden in my condo. What would he think if he saw the recording?

  Even if Damon believed me, he’d never get over me kissing the guy at Drumbar. I’d been set up, but I’d also betrayed his trust. Jacqueline could undermine my friendship with Grace, too. All she’d have to do is pull up my condo board’s rules and show Grace they’d never been changed, that dogs over thirty pounds were perfectly fine to live in my building. Jacqueline could end my career by filing a complaint about 1907 N. Mohawk with Greystone or the Board of Realtors. Even if I could explain what really happened at Julia’s condo, or at Drumbar, who would believe my version of events over hers? There was no way to defend myself as far as Mohawk went. She was right. I had stolen the lead from her website.

  We walked back to the office to fill out the paperwork, choosing opposite sides of the street. Tony slumped on the edge of the sidewalk near the stone wall of a building. His face was sunburned and peeling, and he’d collected two more layers of coats since the last time I’d seen him.

  “Hey, Mara. Hey, Mara. Trouble in paradise?” He nodded toward Jacqueline, laughter coughing from his lungs.

  “Hi, Tony.” I pulled out my wallet and dropped a five-dollar bill into his cup, ignoring his comment.

  “She’s a bitch. A bitch,” he repeated.

  Jacqueline strutted down the south side of North Avenue as if she owned the city. I hugged my bag to my chest, lowering myself next to Tony on the dirty, cement sidewalk.

  “You’re right, Tony. She is.”

  A large banner hung in front of a restaurant across the street and rippled in the wind. Spooktacular Halloween Bash! Live Music! Half off pitchers! I’d completely forgotten that Halloween was only a few days away. It didn’t seem like Halloween. It didn’t seem like any season or any holiday. My life had become nothing more than a bottomless, shifting sinkhole trying to swallow me.

  If only I could go back in time. Regret flooded my chest as I wished I could return to my childhood home in Hoffman Estates, where another Halloween ten years earlier reeled through my mind. I’d been fourteen, so Emma must have been six. Three of my friends had met up in our living room before heading out for trick-or-treating. We’d dressed in the kind of lame costumes that fourteen-year-old gir
ls who knew they were too old for trick-or-treating dressed in—jeans and simple headbands with cat ears propped on our heads. We carried white pillowcases for our candy.

  Emma jumped up and down next to us, dressed as a butterfly. Her wings flapped, and her sparkly antennas bounced each time she leaped into the air. She gripped an orange plastic bucket shaped like a jack-o-lantern in her hand.

  “Can I go with you guys, Mara?” she asked, her pudgy fingers tugging at my shirt.

  “No, Em,” I said. “You won’t be able to keep up.”

  “Come on! Please!” She jumped higher now.

  “Just let her go around the block with you, Mara,” Mom said, poking her head into the room. “She won’t hurt anything.”

  “Mom!” I said, my voice ripe with teenage angst. “I just want to be with my friends.”

  “I’ll take you, Em.” Dad stepped toward Emma and lifted her off the ground.

  “But why can’t we all go together?” Emma’s lower lip stuck out, a signal that she was about to cry.

  “Because!” I turned to my friends. “Come on, guys. Let’s go!” We rushed out the door yelling and laughing, leaving Emma sobbing in Dad’s arms.

  What an ass I’d been. What kind of person ruins Halloween for her six-year-old sister? I’d done that to Emma. I’d caused her that pain. If only I could go back in time and let her come with us. I’d let her glittery butterfly wings lead the pack. Then I’d give her all my candy, even the Reese’s. But I couldn’t go back in time. I could only face reality. I was slumped next to a homeless guy on the side of North Avenue. Emma was battling cancer that had been diagnosed months too late. And now I had to fight off Jacqueline, too. She was like a disease on my life, infecting everything she touched. I lifted myself off the sidewalk, unable to shake the memory of Emma crying in her butterfly costume.

  “See you around, Tony.”

  “Bye, Mara. Bye.”

  I wouldn’t let a narcissistic, power-hungry realtor destroy my life, and I wouldn’t let Emma down again. I’d pay for her treatment, even if it meant keeping Jacqueline’s secrets.

  ◆◆◆

  I balanced on the edge of my chair while Jacqueline called Roger and explained how she wanted to bring me in on Arlington on the Park as her assistant.

  “There’s no need to hire anyone to replace Kevin. I can handle the sales, especially with Mara helping me.” I could hear some grumbling through the phone. “Mara was a friend of Kevin’s.” More mumbling. “Yes. She was named one of the ‘Thirty Under Thirty.’ A real rising star.” There was a pause followed by muffled talking. “Great, Roger. I’ll have Mara send you the sales report at the end of the week.” She gave me a thumbs-up as if she hadn’t threatened to destroy my life minutes earlier.

  Next, we hovered in Maeve’s office, where Jacqueline handed the revised Arlington on the Park contract over to her. In a hushed voice, Jacqueline requested Maeve to sign off on our new commission agreement. The office manager lowered her eyes through the bifocals resting on the tip of her nose. She scrawled her name across the bottom of the page. I couldn’t tell if Maeve suspected foul play on Jacqueline’s part, but she didn’t say anything. Like the rest of us, she had no proof. And from what I knew of Maeve, she wouldn’t do anything to mess with the success of her cash cow.

  41

  I cracked open the driver’s side window, gulping in the crisp October air to fuel my sleep-deprived body. I hunched down, relieved to have found a parking spot on the crowded residential street but too nervous to move from the cover of my car. My fingers gripped the copied page of the Protective Order Jacqueline had filed on my behalf against Peter Zinsky five months earlier. I scanned over the address again, confirming I was parked directly outside Peter’s last-known address on Cornelia. A desolate vibe radiated from the stark, red brick three-flat that loomed on the other side of the sidewalk. The building lacked the pumpkins, political signs, and Cubs paraphernalia decorating the surrounding homes.

  Closing my eyes, I counted to ten and gathered my courage. The last time I’d seen Peter, he’d held a knife to my stomach, and I wondered if seeking him out was proof I’d gone crazy. My eyelids weighed heavily from my sleepless night. Jacqueline’s threats had left me anxious and scared. She’d backed me into a corner. I’d lain awake until early morning, thankful that Damon hadn’t been with me. His upcoming exams had limited his overnight stays. As I tossed and turned, my mind kept wandering back to the erratic behavior of Jacqueline’s previous assistant.

  Peter had been so patient and helpful with my closing, explaining contract terms, and providing the riders I’d been missing with my offer. Now that I understood what Jacqueline was capable of, it seemed unlikely Peter had suddenly transformed from a soft-spoken professional into a violent, paranoid, drug addict. She must have set him up, too.

  Promise me you’ll stay away from her! She’s not who you think she is! His warnings had been screaming through my mind all night. I’d witnessed the way his eyes had stretched with fear, his lip quivering in desperation. I’d been so blinded by the promise of working with one of Chicago’s top realtors that I hadn’t bothered to listen to him. Hopefully, Peter would forgive me for not keeping my word, for ratting him out to Jacqueline and calling the police, instead of finding a new position as I’d promised. I hoped I could still convince him to tell me what he knew. We needed to join forces and share whatever dirt we had on Jacqueline with each other. Two victims were more believable than one.

  With another deep breath, I emerged from my car and smoothed down my pants. I crept up the cement steps looking over my shoulder to make sure Jacqueline hadn’t tailed me. The street lay quiet behind me. My finger pressed the buzzer for unit 2.

  “Who is it?” A woman’s tight voice crackled through the speaker.

  “Hi. I’m looking for Peter Zinsky.” I crossed my arms in front of me, shifting my weight. “Is he home?”

  The static of the speaker cut out, replaced by silence. I was about to push the doorbell again when the door creaked open.

  A woman with shoulder-length white hair and washed out features poked her head through the opening. Her baggy eyes narrowed at me. “Can I help you?”

  “Hi. Yes. I’m a friend of Peter’s. He helped me buy my condo a while back. I was hoping to talk to him.”

  The woman pulled her chin into her chest, her eyes drooping in the corners.

  I swallowed and stepped to the side. “I can come back later if this isn’t a good time.”

  She shook her head as she bit her lip and blinked. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this. Peter passed away a few months ago.”

  I lurched backward, feeling like she’d whacked me in the gut with a sledgehammer. The woman reached toward me, placing a steady hand on my arm.

  “Are you sure?” I asked, struggling to keep my balance.

  “I’m afraid so,” she said, her voice splintering. “I’m Denise. Peter’s wife.”

  I shuffled my feet to the side, glancing toward the street to hide my despair. “I’m so sorry. Was he sick?”

  She swallowed and stared up at the sky. “No. I’m afraid he took his own life.”

  “What?” The cement steps spun beneath me.

  “He became very depressed after losing his job. I still can’t believe it.”

  My hand grasped for the door frame. Peter had committed suicide? Had it been my fault for blowing him off? For not listening to him? Jacqueline’s sinister grin flashed in my mind.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said again. “This is such a shock.”

  “It still is for me, too.”

  “Do you mind if I ask…” I swallowed against my parched throat, not sure how to dig for the information I needed. “Did he say why?”

  The woman shook her head, lips quivering. “There was no note. Only the gun in his hand.”

  “Gun?”

  “I know. It doesn’t make sense.” Her eyes dropped to the floor. “He always hated guns. We both did. But I guess when depression tak
es hold of someone, they just want the pain to end. That’s what my therapist has been telling me, anyway.”

  “You said he was depressed about not working at Greystone anymore?”

  Peter’s wife stepped further into the entryway, the door creaking shut behind her. “Well, yes. The woman he worked for was extremely demanding. She blamed him for everything that went wrong.” She blinked several times, a sheen of liquid pooling in the corners of her eyes. “Looking back, that’s when Peter’s downward spiral began. After Jacqueline fired him, no other real estate office in the city would return his calls. It was almost as if she’d sabotaged him.”

  I nodded, a pool of unease rising inside me.

  Peter’s wife continued. “He got into some legal trouble. It was so unlike him, but he promised me that would be the end of it.” She rubbed her arm with her opposite hand, eyes drifting into space.

  Bile rose in my throat. She must have been referring to the assault and battery against me.

  “It will never make sense to me.” The woman shook her head. “I don’t know where he got the gun. They couldn’t find any records.”

  I laced my fingers together in front of me, my knuckles turning white as I kept my eyes focused on the row of metal mailboxes in the entryway. “I’m sorry.”

  The woman pressed her colorless lips together. “I don’t understand why he didn’t talk to me.”

  Because he was protecting you, I wanted to scream as a sickening dread tunneled through me. My knees weakened, a thousand questions spiraling through my mind. What had Jacqueline been holding over him? Why hadn’t anyone at Greystone heard about Peter’s death? He’d been a loner, but someone must have notified Jacqueline. A lawyer at her former law firm had filed the paperwork for the protective order. Wouldn’t they have a duty to inform her that Peter had died?

  A dark space expanded in my gut as a new understanding formed. Maybe Jacqueline had never filed a protective order. I’d given a written statement to Jacqueline after the altercation with Peter. But I’d never been required to appear before a judge. The document in my car was unstamped. The protective order was probably a forgery she’d printed for my benefit. She hadn’t needed to file it because she’d already killed him. And why hadn’t Peter left a note? Surely, he would have wanted to explain his last drastic action to his wife. Would a guy who hated guns use a gun to end his own life? It was more likely that Jacqueline had let herself into Peter’s condo and shot him, staging the scene to make it appear like a suicide, just like she’d made Kevin’s death look like an allergic reaction. A chill traveled through my body, causing my teeth to click. She’d let herself into my condo, too.