by Marti Green
“How do you think?”
I wanted to hate her. I’d wanted her to suffer, for taking away from me the one thing I’d wanted most—a sister to love. How could I love someone who chose revenge over sisterhood? I’d taken her place and her money and sent her to jail. And I was miserable.
I made an instant decision. “I’m going to tell the truth. About who you are and who I am.” I think some part of me always knew I wouldn’t go through with my deception. I’d been so angry at Charly that I had been willing to pretend what I was doing was justified. But over the months, as I’d lived out my dream, I knew it was unfair.
She stared at me without saying a word.
For months, I had convinced myself that Charly needed to be punished. Now, sitting across from my sister, I finally acknowledged that Ben wouldn’t have gone through with his scheme if I hadn’t agreed. How could I hold Charly accountable without being answerable myself? “And I’m going to tell them that Ben had the gun.”
At that, tears began to roll down Charly’s cheeks. “Thank you,” she whispered.
I left Riker’s Island and headed to downtown Manhattan, where the New York County District Attorney’s office was located. I went through security and then took the elevator to Elise Goldman’s office. She was ready for me. I sat down. “Before you say anything,” I began, “I need to tell you what really happened.”
When I finished, she sat back in her chair, tapping her pencil on the desk. After a while, she said, “You can be charged with obstruction of justice, you know. On top of charges for conspiracy to commit murder.”
“I know.”
“Why are you changing your story now? Why didn’t you tell the truth from the beginning?”
“I had spent months becoming Charlotte Gordon. When I woke up in the hospital, I was so confused, I believed I was her. And then, when I realized I wasn’t, I wanted to be. I didn’t want to be Mallory Holcolm, who’d been unhappy most of her life. I wanted to live the life Charly had.” I hung my head down and whispered, “I know it was wrong.”
Goldman just shook her head. She stood up, then read me my rights. She called for an officer to take me away. Once again, I was trading places with my sister.
Five days later, we were both released from jail. The district attorney still needed my testimony in Clark’s trial, so he had allowed me to plead guilty to a reduced charge with a recommended sentence of five years’ probation. He could have sent me to jail for a long time, but Charly didn’t want him to press charges against me for my lies that sent her to jail. I think the DA felt sorry for me. After all, I’d been shot. And since I now backed Charly’s version of Ben’s death, he no longer had a case against her.
“We’re even now,” I said to her once we were free from the prison property.
“I suppose so,” she answered, a sad look on her face, before she turned and walked away from me.
Being even didn’t mean we could ever become sisters. Too much had transpired. She returned to her townhouse, to her life of wealth. I knew I couldn’t go back to The Dump.
I called the person who’d been a substitute father for me since I’d met him—Brian. He brought me back to his apartment and installed me in the guest room. I told him and Stan the whole story, including my ignoble part in it. To their credit, they didn’t pass judgment on me. I’d already passed enough on myself.
I felt protected living with Brian and Stan. Each evening, Stan and I would concoct something special for dinner, and Brian would ooh and aah over how delicious it was. Their kitchen wasn’t as grand as Charly’s, but it had room enough for two cooks and was stocked with everything a chef would need.
After a few weeks, I began searching the newspaper ads for waitress jobs and a place to live. When Brian caught me doing that, he pulled the paper from my hands.
“Mallory, you could stay here forever, as far as we’re concerned,” he said. “But from everything you’ve told me, your heart is someplace else.”
He was talking about Jake, and he was right. But I couldn’t imagine ever explaining to Jake what I had agreed to with Ben, what I had done in furtherance of that agreement, what I had done both to, and for, my sister. Night after night, Brian and Stan tried to cajole me into calling him. Night after night, I refused.
And so, they called him on their own. I answered the doorbell one day, and there he was, a bouquet of flowers in his hands. I rushed into his arms, and he held me tight. We took a long walk, and I told him about my pact with Ben, and what had happened since I’d left High Falls. I even told him the truth about who had really shot me, something I’d withheld from Brian and Stan. When I finished, he held me again.
“I can’t imagine what your life had been like growing up. But I know you’re a good person. And you proved that by going to the police. And I know you have a good heart, because you cleared your sister.”
I was so relieved, all I could do was cry.
“Come back to High Falls with me,” Jake said.
Through my tears, I answered, “Yes.”
EPILOGUE
September 2018
I moved in with Jake the day he brought me back to High Falls, and we’ve been together since. It took me a while to tell the rest of his family what I had done, but they, too, welcomed me into their lives.
I became immersed in the extensive art community in Ulster County and have been learning from my fellow artists. Katy Patel, the first artist I’d met when I’d lived in Ben’s parents’ house, offered me space in her shop to hang some of my paintings. Three of them have sold, and I guess that now makes me a professional artist.
Jake introduced me to his friends still living in the Hudson Valley, and they’ve become my friends, too. Of course, they don’t know about my past. Still, I’d grown up as an outsider, and now, for the first time, I feel like part of a group.
One of the gardens Jake designed was written up in Architectural Digest, and they named him one of the top ten landscape architects in the tristate area. Since then, he’s been busier than ever. Now, it wasn’t just clients south to Westchester County and east to Putnam County that tried to commission his services—he fielded calls from Connecticut and New Jersey as well. He’s had to expand his staff for the eight busy months from March through October. It sometimes takes him away from home for days at a time, but that’s okay with me. I’m busy myself.
Today is my birthday, and Jake and I headed to Manhattan to celebrate it with Charly. Although I was the one who should never have forgiven my twin—after all, she’d chosen revenge over me and shot me in the process—it was Charly who had trouble letting go of her anger at me for leaving her in jail for seven months. It hadn’t seemed to matter to her that she belonged in jail for killing her husband and was only free because I’d lied for her. For months she wouldn’t talk to me or answer my e-mails. Then, a few months ago, Charly contacted me. At her grandfather’s insistence, she’d been seeing a therapist three times a week. She asked to see me, and I’d jumped into my car and headed to Manhattan.
As soon as she’d seen me, she’d drawn me into a hug. “I’m so sorry, Mallory. I’ve been horrible to you, and you don’t deserve it.” We’d spent the afternoon together, talking and laughing like I always thought sisters would. Since then, we speak almost daily.
I wondered sometimes whether Charly had planned to kill Ben from the moment I’d told her about his scheme, or she’d just snapped, as Poppy had said. Whether she’d taken the gun to commit murder, or for protection from Ben. I didn’t know the answer, and it didn’t matter to me.
The what-ifs kept swirling around my head so long that I finally had to force myself to stop. I decided I can’t go back, only forward.
I’ve chosen not to condemn Charly, because to do so, I’d have to condemn myself as well. Although I deserve condemnation, Jake’s acceptance has helped me forgive myself.
Charly sold her townhouse—it held too many bad memories for her. Instead, she moved into her father’s apartment. I’ve let
my hair return to its natural color, and it’s back to its original shoulder length, so it wasn’t confusing to Carlos, the doorman, when we all walked in, laden with bags. Charly was waiting at the door for us, and as soon as the elevator opened, she ran and grabbed Susan from my arms. My beautiful daughter, named after our mother, six months old now, was all pudgy legs and arms and constant smiles.
“She looks just like us, don’t you think?” Charly said.
“Actually, I think she looks more like our mother’s baby pictures. Which is good. Two of us is enough.”
Charly laughed and bounced Susan up and down, drawing giggles from her. I introduced her to Jake—it was the first time they’d met. “Man, I know you told me you were identical, but it’s so crazy looking at you two next to each other,” he said.
We walked together into the living room. Herman Jensen was settled comfortably on the couch, but he stood up to kiss me. “Thank you,” he whispered in my ear. I quickly introduced Jake to him as well. Charly and I had talked about how we wanted to celebrate our birthdays, and we’d agreed. We wanted to eat lunch at the Modern, the French/New American restaurant in the Museum of Modern Art, followed by a tour of the museum. I could have left Susan at the apartment with Tatiana, who’d returned to work for Charly. But she was likely to sleep through much of the afternoon and was usually cheerful when she was awake, so we took her with us.
The sun was shining, and an autumn crispness had finally overtaken the summer mugginess, so we walked. Jake pushed Susan’s stroller while Charly and I strolled arm in arm. We reached the restaurant and were seated by a window overlooking the museum’s garden. Once again, Charly and I ordered the same dish. Jake peppered Charly with questions, looking for the similarities between us and cheering when he found differences. When we finished, we sauntered through the museum, taking our time with each painting, discussing what we saw, what we admired, what we didn’t. Susan slept through the two hours we spent there.
As we walked through the museum, Charly asked, “When can we meet the Harrises?”
I’d spoken to my father’s parents many times but had put off meeting them. I wanted to wait for Charly and me to do so together. “They’re just waiting for my call. They’re ready to hop on a plane right away. Especially since Susan was born.”
Before we returned to Ulster County, Tatiana had insisted we come back to the apartment, where she had a cake that she’d baked for our birthday. As soon as we arrived, Charly’s grandfather pulled me off to the side, then withdrew an envelope from his jacket. “This is for you,” he said.
I assumed it was a birthday present and opened it. Inside was a check for $10 million. My eyes widened, and I looked up at him. “I can’t take this,” I said, as I put the check back in the envelope and held it out to him.
He pushed my hand back. “I’ve thought a lot about this, Mallory. If Charly were born first, you would have been my granddaughter. It doesn’t seem fair to me that she has so much, and you so little. I’m an old man with a lot of money. I’d like to do this for you.” He reached out and clasped my hand. “And I wanted to show how grateful I am for what you did for Charly.” He paused for a moment. “Even if it took you a while to get there.”
I touched my hand to my heart. “Herman, I meant it when I said I didn’t want money. All I’ve ever wanted is a family.”
“You have your family now. You have Charly and Jake and Susan. I just want you all to be comfortable.”
“I am comfortable. More than comfortable. I’ve never been so happy in my life. This amount of money will just complicate that.” I slipped the envelope back into his jacket pocket.
He grumbled some words I didn’t hear, then smiled. “I’m going to put it in a trust for Susan. That’s what I’ll do. And if you have more children, I’ll do the same for each one.”
I was okay with Susan having that money, but I wouldn’t take it for myself. I had conspired with a virtual stranger to kill my sister, and taking her grandfather’s money would feel like I was benefiting from that one despicable act in my life. Every dollar I spent would remind me of that time.
Just then, Tatiana entered the room, carrying an elaborately decorated cake, topped with whipped cream and two candles, and inscribed, Birthday #1 for Charly and Mallory together.
I had started a new life with Jake—a life filled with love and art and nature. And, most of all, it was filled with family. I had all the riches I needed.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Although writing is a solitary endeavor, the final product is enriched by the help of others. My thanks to Elaine Haber, an estate-planning and elder-law attorney, who helped me make sense of what happens to one’s money when a billionaire dies; to Sarah Underhill, a hospice nurse, who explained hospice care during the last stages of a person’s life; to Dr. Mark Kessler, who helped me figure out how Mallory should be injured, but not killed, by a bullet wound to her chest; and to Susan Posen, for educating me on the art world in Manhattan. Any mistakes in those areas are purely my own.
I am also deeply grateful to my agent, Adam Chromy, who’s always the first to read the full manuscript and help steer me in the right direction; my developmental editor, Kevin Smith, whose suggestions made for what I hope is a more exciting book; and to my editor at Thomas & Mercer, Liz Pearsons, whose insights brought the story into sharper focus. Also at Thomas & Mercer, many thanks to my copy editor, Valerie Kalfrin, and proofreader, Jill Kramer. Thanks also to the marketing staff at Thomas & Mercer for bringing my book to the attention of readers. It is to the readers of my books that I am especially grateful—your critiques make me a better writer, and your praise fuels my desire to keep writing.
Finally, I want to thank my husband, Lenny Green, for his unwavering faith in me; my sons, Jason and Andy, who have brought me great joy; their wives, Amanda and Jackie, for being the daughters I never had; and my grandchildren—Rachel, Joshua, Jacob, Sienna, and Noah—all of whom I love more than words can express.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2014 Darin Back
Marti Green has a master’s degree in school psychology and a law degree. For twenty-three years she worked as in-house counsel for a major cable-television operator, specializing in contracts, intellectual-property law, and regulatory issues. She is the author of five legal thrillers: The Price of Justice, Presumption of Guilt, Unintended Consequences, First Offense, and Justice Delayed. She is a passionate traveler, the mother of two adult sons, and the proud grandmother of five grandchildren. She lives in central Florida with her husband, Lenny, and her cat, Howie. Please visit her website at: www.martigreen.net.
