by Sara Shepard
There was a pause. “Huh?”
Jerry sounded old. Tired. He was retired, more or less. Andrea felt terrible dragging him into this. He’d left New York to escape trouble, not wade back into it. And also, admitting what she was looking at, right now, meant admitting she’d been in Piper’s office.
“I can’t say how I know this,” she said. “But does the school have a right to have our bank information?”
“Did you give it to them? Maybe for an ACH withdrawal? How are your payments structured?”
“Oh.” Andrea felt like a dummy. After Arthur was accepted into the program last spring, Silver Swans sent out forms about automatic withdrawals. Of course Andrea filled them out—the more automated the bills, the better. “Right. Sorry. That’s totally it.”
But then Jerry said, “That doesn’t mean they haven’t abused their power.”
Andrea frowned. “I’m sorry?”
“We’re talking about Silver Swans, right?”
“Of course we are. That’s where Arthur goes to school.”
Silence followed. Out the window, several birds flew to her feeder. Jerry had given her that bird feeder, actually; he and Susan, avid bird watchers, had the same one at their house. Andrea could picture Jerry sitting on the glider on the front porch, watching the birds fight for seed. She could also picture him in her family’s town house twenty years ago, smoking cigars with her father, slipping into a back room to talk and not coming out for hours.
“Jerry?” she croaked. “What are you saying?”
“I should go,” he said. He sounded hurried. More lucid, too. “Susan needs me. I’ll be in touch, okay? I’m still trying to figure out who called your mother.”
He disconnected. What on earth did Jerry know about Silver Swans?
Andrea peeked back in on Arthur and was pleased to see he’d fallen back to sleep. It gave her extra time. She drifted to her computer again, waving the mouse to wake up the screen, then navigated to her banking portal.
Admittedly, she didn’t track her bank account very carefully. She had never been taught to be fiscally responsible on her own. By the time she was seven or eight, she’d known there’d been a man in a tall office building who managed her money—not even her family’s money but her money, her trust. Back then, she’d pictured her money in a giant piggy bank. She’d never held a paying job in high school. In college, money just appeared in a bank account; she was always one of those people who could take unpaid internships, if she so chose, because she didn’t have to worry about paying rent. It was only after she was married that she learned to write a check, and when she bought this home, she’d been able to pay cash—she didn’t even have to juggle a mortgage. And she wouldn’t have to, unless her father decided to disown her.
Now, it occurred to her how unrealistic her life was. Did she want Arthur being so cavalier about finances? She made a mental note to think more about how to talk to Arthur about money, and then figured out the correct password and was into her bank details. As she started to scroll through the transactions, everything looked pretty normal: there were charges for bills, purchases, and transfers to investments that had been automatically put in place by that same financial guy who guarded her piggy bank. There was also a sizable sum of money to Silver Swans on the second of September. This was the payment for the first month of school, presumably; the ACH withdrawals would happen monthly. Tomorrow was October 2, when the next withdrawal was due.
But when Andrea scrolled back, she noticed a charge for $540 on August 15 that she couldn’t place. She clicked on the details, figuring it was probably clothes or a day trip she and Arthur had taken, but only a jumble of numbers came up. She frowned and then, thinking about what Jerry had just said, clicked on the September Silver Swans charge once more.
The money in that charge had gone to a bank account in Silver Swans’ name. The money in the $540 charge had gone into a different account number . . . but only slightly different, she noticed. The routing number was the same. The account number was only different by a few digits, as though the two accounts might have been set up within days or even hours of each other.
Two weeks earlier in August, there was a charge for $680—this also went to the mysterious account. Andrea found three more charges dating back to June. Then they stopped. Together, it totaled nearly $3,000.
She sat back, making the chair creak. First, she was disgusted with herself that she hadn’t noticed $3,000 missing. And then a different kind of anger followed.
Andrea dialed Ronnie. No answer. Then she dialed Lauren. No answer there, either. Frustrated, she pulled out Miss Barnes’s class list, which she’d stashed next to the computer, and scanned the names. Most of these people she hadn’t even spoken to, but there was one name that stuck out: Jane Russell, King’s mom. Aka the owner of the huge house at the top of the Raisin Beach cliffs. If there was one person who maybe didn’t notice if some money was missing in her account, it was Jane.
The phone rang once, then twice, then a silvery voice answered. “Uh, Jane?” Andrea said, and introduced herself, laying it on thick that she was Arthur’s mom from the fours class.
“Oh, yes, Arthur!” Jane said. “King liked playing with him!” But then: “Wait, you’re Arthur’s mom?”
“Yes,” Andrea said, hurriedly. “So . . . I need you to do me a favor. I need you to look at your bank account.”
“My . . . what?” Now Jane was more guarded. “Why?”
“Please tell me if you see a charge, and then I’ll explain.”
Andrea waited, holding her breath. And then Jane told her to hold on.
* * *
• • •
Midday on Tuesday at Silver Swans was quiet; the only sounds were the joyful shrieks from kids playing on the jungle gym in the back. Andrea’s heart hammered as she parked, pocketed her keys, and got out of the car. Her ankles wobbled in the high heels she’d chosen to wear, and she almost considered kicking them off, but she glanced at her reflection in the car window. She’d always felt powerful in these shoes. She needed them now.
There was a buzzer to get into the offices. Andrea pressed it; she had a speech prepared in case Carson wanted an explanation for why she was here, but to her surprise, he buzzed her in right away. That was strange.
The office hallway was dark. Sun streamed down from the stairwell to the loft just as it had five days before, when she’d last been in here. For a moment, Andrea felt woozy with the memory. The neurons in her brain rearranged, and she could smell that day: that rose candle, dust, blood. She shut her eyes, putting herself in the moment, trying to figure out who was in the hallway with them.
She turned toward the end of the hall. The big camera brought in for the documentary was no longer there. She wondered where it had gone.
Carson’s door was ajar. Andrea gathered her courage and walked into the doorway where he could see her. Carson was on the phone, talking quietly, but when he noticed her, he got a strange smile on his face, murmured something into the receiver, and hung up.
“Oh!” he said—so he was expecting someone else. “Ms. Vaughan, right?” He gestured her inside. “What can I do for you?”
Andrea could barely breathe. A huge part of her wanted to turn and bolt. But instead, she said quietly, “What you did to the parents isn’t right.”
Carson tipped back in his chair. His blink was as slow as a turtle’s, and that strange smile was still on his face. “What did I do?”
She flashed the list Ronnie swiped. “How many of these parents had little increments removed from their bank accounts? Ten? Twenty? Everyone?” This was a tiny bit of a bluff: she wasn’t 100 percent sure that second account was Silver Swans’. Jane had read out the account number on her illicit transactions, though, and they’d matched Andrea’s exactly. What else could it be?
A bloom of red was creeping up Carson’s neck. “Where did y
ou get that?”
“Did Piper know? Or was this your little endeavor?”
Now Carson was getting up and walking around his desk. “That’s property of the school. I could have you arrested.”
As if on cue, a police siren rang out down the street, and Carson froze. Andrea straightened. “I called them. You can’t steal, Carson. A lot of these people lost their jobs this past year. A lot of people are making serious sacrifices to send their kids to this place. Do you realize how up in arms the parents are going to be when they find out?”
Carson burst out laughing. “Oh, come on. You didn’t even know that money was missing.” Andrea looked away. “And for the record, we didn’t take from people who were hurting. Only those who could afford it.”
“And you think that gives you the right?” Andrea said carefully. “You don’t know people’s financial situations. It might seem like they’re doing okay, but maybe they aren’t.”
Carson sighed. “Do you know what we do for your kids? Do you know how hard we work?”
“Everyone struggled.” She pushed the list of account numbers into her back pocket and listened. The sirens didn’t sound much closer. “So, did Piper find out about what you were doing? And, what, she asked you to stop it? But you didn’t want it to end, did you? I’ve seen your Facebook posts—your fancy car, your messenger bag, your dinners out. It’s nice to have money, isn’t it, when you grew up with nothing?”
Carson crossed his arms. “You don’t know me.”
“So you had to take matters into your own hands? But then we come along, and it’s so convenient! But what’s going to happen when Piper wakes up?”
Carson’s eyes popped wide. “You think I hurt her?” He let out an incredulous laugh. “You sound like you’re on fucking Law & Order. Piper was in on the scam. She approved the idea.”
Carson strolled around his desk, opened a drawer, and riffled through some file folders. He located what he was looking for and thrust it in her direction. “It’s her name on the account. She knows everything. See?”
He handed her a sign-up sheet for a local bank. The account’s digits looked familiar—perhaps the second account where the money was being siphoned. Andrea didn’t trust it, though. “You could have Photoshopped these, after the fact.”
“I didn’t. This was all her idea. Besides, Nancy Drew, the police already questioned me about an alibi. I was out back, behind the school, planting a fucking garden when it happened.” Then he cocked his head. “Okay, yes, I did leak that information about you guys to the press, the police, your mother. But it was only so you would keep your mouths shut.”
Andrea frowned. “How did you know we’d figure this out? Because we were in her office?”
Carson looked at her like she was nuts. “You already knew. You and that . . . that stripper girl. She told both of you.”
“Who’s she?”
He put his hands on his hips, looking flustered. “Flora. The . . . the bracelets. She told you to wear them, didn’t she?”
“The . . . bracelets? Flora?” Andrea looked down at her wrist. The only bracelet she was wearing was the stretchy yellow one Jerry had given her. “This?” She held up her wrist.
“Yes!” Carson said, exasperated.
Andrea laughed. “I haven’t spoken to Flora about anything.” But as she said this, the back of her neck began to prickle. Jerry had told her—without telling her—that something strange was going on in this office.
“Come on. Flora’s kid went here last year.” Carson was saying this like she should know. “She was the only one who noticed the increments of money missing. She confronted Piper. We had to pay her off, but I always worried she’d tell people anyway.” He slapped his sides. “We got rid of all the parents who knew her. Came up with bullshit excuses of why we couldn’t welcome them back after Silver Swans reopened its doors. Made this school even more exclusive. But then you and Veronica whatever-her-name-is came along wearing her stupid bracelets.” He stared at her. “She didn’t talk to you?”
“I know Flora’s father,” Andrea said slowly. “I don’t know Flora.” She was so dazed she took a step back, bumping into a low credenza on the far wall. “Wait, so you sent those notes then, too. The ones to our kids. You pretended to draw like a kindergartener to . . . to mess with our heads. To make us withdraw. Do you realize how sick that is?”
“Wasn’t my idea.” Carson sighed. “Look, Piper was paranoid. She didn’t want anyone to find out what we’d done. This school is her life. She figured, Even if Flora didn’t tell them, she might. We need to nip it in the bud.” He raised his palms. “I’m just her errand boy. And look, I’m sorry, especially if you didn’t know. Hell, I guess this makes you look a little less guilty—though, I mean, I could still see you wanting to bust open Piper’s head after getting those notes.”
“And how do I know you’re telling the truth? Maybe Piper had regrets at scamming the parents. Maybe she has a heart—unlike yourself.”
“I have an alibi, remember?” Carson sighed heavily, as though this were all so tiresome.
“Well, you’ve still done something wrong. And I didn’t hurt Piper, either. So stop threatening me. Stop threatening my friends.”
Carson’s brow was furrowed. He seemed just as blindsided by this as Andrea was. “Huh,” he said. “So you weren’t lurking around her house, either?”
“What?” Andrea put a hand to her chest. “Why would I lurk around her house?”
“Because you wanted to scare her.” Carson searched her face like he didn’t believe her. Andrea shook her head vehemently. “Well, someone was! She was really freaked out about it!”
“Someone was stalking her?” Andrea repeated. “Another parent who found out?” she volunteered.
Carson gave her an exasperated look. “I don’t know. If she told me that, we would have already solved this, wouldn’t we?”
Andrea pressed her fingers to her temples. This all sounded too convenient. Carson was sending her off in a crazy direction to deflect guilt. He was trying to minimize the fact that he’d committed a huge crime. Andrea straightened, regaining her focus.
The sirens finally grew closer. Andrea grabbed the folder Carson had handed over—stupid, stupid man!—and pressed it to her chest. “You really think parents—even wealthy ones—are going to allow this? I have evidence now.”
“You’re not going to say anything.” That eerie smile on his face again. “Or else I’ll tell them about you.” Carson put his hands on his hips. “Who you really are. And then your father will know.”
His pupils were huge. A tiny ping sounded on Carson’s computer, but they both ignored it. Andrea could feel the heat rising up her neck, the abject embarrassment and humiliation of being so, so wrong about this situation. Of course Carson knew who she really was. He’d been the one who called her mother, posing as a reporter.
Carson shrugged. “Your family history has been in your file this whole time. I just chose not to share that with the cops. It felt . . . cruel, I guess? But don’t point fingers at me for stealing. You’re stealing, too—in a way. Stealing from your bigot of a father. Lying about who you really are. What do you think that guy will do when he learns the truth about you?”
The way the light hit his face, he looked almost angelic. He had chubby cheeks and dimples and wore a nice dress shirt in a delicate check pattern. The more Andrea stared, the more she realized she had owned a very similar shirt, back in the day. Christine had bought it for her.
“And that’s not all I’ll talk about,” Carson added. “Your old lawyer friend? Jerry? I have a list a mile long of shit he’s done. Bribery. Insider trading. There’s even a hint he put a hit out on a guy.”
“Wait, what?” Andrea’s throat was almost too dry to speak.
“It’s why we got Flora for so cheap. We found out a lot of it shortly after she came to us.”
Andrea shut her eyes. “Jerry’s a good person, all said and done. His wife is sick. Don’t do that to him.”
Carson shrugged. “I’m not the one making that choice.”
Andrea considered taking the folder and running with it, waving it to the cops like a white flag. But then she thought about the retaliation. How fast the press would swarm in. And Jerry. Oh, Jerry, she thought. If he’d just said something to her earlier. Maybe this could all have been avoided.
The sirens were in the parking lot now. Carson tipped his chin toward the window, as if to say, Well, what’s it going to be? Reluctantly, hating herself, Andrea placed the folder of information back on his desk and walked away.
Piper
September
Carson calls when you are in your kitchen, packing up things to head off to work. “I’d have to think they’ve seen the messages by now.”
“And?” you ask.
“They’ll be out of here soon.”
You pace the house. North has already gone off to school; a spare hoodie hangs on a hook by the door, unworn. You focus on it a moment, noting how new it still looks. North keeps his things so nice.
You want to feel calm. You want to feel like this is under control. But something feels off. You feel followed. Watched. You want to think you’re just paranoid—you’ve been paranoid for months, ever since Flora Haines came to you, having figured it all out and expecting some sort of medal for her efforts.
You think of Flora and her pinched little face when she rang your doorbell in late spring, not long after you’d begun the withdrawals. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Piper?” she’d demanded. “Why am I getting charged random amounts from you people when my kid isn’t even in school?”
You smiled in mock surprise. Told her you had no idea what she was talking about. It was a shame, really—you’d considered Flora a friend. She was one of those mothers who took it upon herself to make the school better, looping in special guests to visit and donating art supplies and even hooking you up with a playground equipment supplier that was eco-friendly and BPA-free.
