by Dawn Edwards
In the spare room, I was looking at different ways to turn it into my own home office, while taking the final measurements in the condo. Matt had a dresser in here and some clothes in the closet. The room was basically a storage room for his things at the moment. There was an electric fireplace that he’d had in the living room of his last apartment, as he said the heat wasn’t always reliable. It was big, ugly, and I hated the thing. I told him to sell it or toss it, but in the end, he had moved it. At least he listened to me, and it wasn’t in the living room. So long as it remained hidden away in the hodgepodge of a mess that was the spare room. It really was a great metaphor for our relationship, we had so many issues, but the ugliness stayed hidden away.
I had been standing on one of the dining room chairs to get the proper height of the window. I was in flip-flops, a bad choice, seeing as I tripped on them stepping down from the chair and caught myself on the fireplace. Hindsight really is twenty-twenty.
I scraped my arm and elbow on the corner. Hopping around cursing, I gave the ugly fireplace a slight kick—I’d always hated that thing—and dropped my measurements to get a Band-Aid.
After cursing and cleaning myself up, I went back to pick up my measurements before heading out to Home Depot to place my order. Bending down to pick up my paper, measuring tape and pen, I noticed I cracked the side of the fireplace. But when I bent to look at the damage, I noticed it wasn’t cracked at all, it was ajar, and I saw that there appeared to be something inside. Thinking that I broke the side paneling off, I touched the side and it swung open easily, as it was on an internal hinge; there was a secret hidden panel on the side I kicked, and I discovered, on the other side also.
What the hell is he hiding from me?
I was curious and a bit pissed that he felt he needed to hide things from me.
I reached in and pulled out the first Ziploc bag, which contained piles and piles of cash; American, Canadian, Australian, Euros and British Pounds. This should have set off alarm bells, but instead, I just thought, why not use a bank? The next bag contained passports. I could tell they were not all American by the various colors; there was a mixture of American, Canadian, South African, Bermudian, Australian, New Zealander and Irish.
The alarm bells were starting.
So many countries, all English speaking I noticed. I opened them up to find there were at least two of each, and all had different names. The pictures…half of them had mine, the other half had Matt’s.
Now, the alarm bells were blasting.
Shocked, I dropped the bag to the floor, and I nearly fell off the chair I didn’t even know I was sitting on. As a precaution, I slid off and sat on the floor of the room, shuffling back to the wall. I needed to ensure I wasn’t going to fall over; I used the wall to ground me. Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled out my phone about to call Matt.
I took a few deep breaths to calm myself. I didn’t want my panic to come through in my voice.
‘Hey, hun, when will you be home?’ I managed to say with as much sincerity as possible while concentrating on my breathing.
‘Not sure, why?’ he asked, unassuming.
‘Just wondering, I’m just going out now to Home Depot and might be late getting back to cook dinner,’ I lied. I really wanted to know how much time I had to look at the documents.
‘Oh, that's no problem, I can pick up a pizza,’ he offered, and I scrunched up my face.
He knew I couldn’t eat that now, as much as I wanted to, I had another dress fitting coming up. But seeing as this really could be an out for me, I just said, ‘Maybe I’ll just order one and have it delivered.’
‘But don’t wait on my account, if you’re hungry, just eat. I might be late.’ He sounded annoyed that he had to explain himself. He was the one who proposed, I constantly tried to remind myself. He was the one who initiated this, he was the one who first shared our private news publicly on social media. He was the one who had the power to destroy me and humiliate my family, I also reminded myself.
‘Ok,’ I told him, trying to sound a bit disappointed, and ended the call.
I took out all the documents; there were many different bank accounts, Bermuda, Cayman Island, and a few Swiss accounts. There were also stocks, bonds, and other investment paperwork and documents that didn’t mean that much to me without looking into them in depth.
I was about to take pictures of everything with the camera on my phone but then worried about it being traced digitally. I made photocopies of everything on the scanner printer he had on the floor next to his desk. Next, there was only one thing I could do: arrange a sit down with the one person I knew I could trust.
My cousin Breton.
I counted out exactly one hundred thousand of each of the four currencies.
I had multiple identities, all born in the same year as myself, all using slightly different pictures, which I had no idea how he got. Many of the identities had either government-issued identification numbers, and even the Canadian and British identity had a driver’s license.
My Bermudian identity even had a bank account set up. The other documents I found in the folders, I understood were bank accounts, numbered accounts not registered to any one person. There were three different offshore accounts with a lot of money in each of them. Two had 6 figures, the other had seven figures. Why did Matt have access to these accounts, and why were there other files with personal information for three other people, clearly all with multiple aliases as well, but with the pictures missing from the information pages, blank passports or driver licence templates.
After an hour of taking notes and making copies, I carefully placed everything back in the fireplace’s secret hiding place, placed all the copies in a black shopping bag, then in my purse. Never in my life had I been so grateful for my obsession with large oversized purses.
I went to the kitchen, pouring myself a glass of wine, totally forgetting about Home Depot. Fuck the blinds, I wasn’t planning on ever staying here again if I could help it. If that scheming asshole wanted blinds, he could bloody well order his own. Fuck knows he had the money for it.
I was fuming as I picked up my phone, calling my cousin.
‘Breton, pick up your phone,’ I yelled at his voicemail. ‘Put down the fucking bottle and call me back ASAP.’
I ordered a pizza, but I was too pissed to eat more than a slice. It was nine thirty before Matt was home. I pretended I had no clue about the passports or the bank accounts. As I warmed the pizza in the microwave for Matt, I sent Breton a text message.
JESSA: Don’t call back tonight. Meet me at the office tomorrow for lunch. URGENT and VERY IMPORTANT!!!
I faked not feeling well and went to bed early.
‘I have a golf game scheduled for tomorrow with a client,’ Matt advised me after I brushed my teeth.
‘That’s fine, I’m heading in early for a full day at the office, then having lunch with Breton,’ I told him casually. He seemed relieved and surprised. ‘I was going to ask you, Breton just messaged me tonight, you are welcome to join us,’ I encouraged, knowing that he would say no, but I always suggested; I didn’t want to change my routine now.
‘I have a load of work,’ he told me, looking smug as if he were getting out of it.
‘Fine,’ I said, giving up and dropping it. ‘I’m too tired to argue tonight.’ I leaned in and kissed him good night, feeling ill at his touch. I should have run away. It was what my gut had been telling me for months now. After finding the proof, I should have left. But he had me trapped—I couldn’t run, we both knew it.
But there was something bigger here than me pitching a fit and risking him lying to me again to cover it up. Staying silent and playing along was what I needed to do. If he was planning on hurting me physically, he’d had plenty of opportunities, and it hadn’t happened yet.
He was playing the long game, clearly a seasoned con artist, or being coached by one. Why else would he stay with me, have the incessant need to control me and accept all my parent
s’ rules?
It wasn’t because he loved me, it was because I was his mark, or I was the bait for the big prize, my father, his money, our company, or all of the above.
I had thought his sick little insurance policy was control, but it was more than that. It was blackmail and ensured he had the time to carry his con through to completion.
I must have played right into his hands. Had he been playing me from the get-go, or since he discovered my family's wealth?
For a year, warning bells have been ringing. I had been hesitant to marry him, to go through with the planning, but not just because of his blackmail. My intuition had always told me something was off, and I should have listened, because now I didn’t even know my fiancé’s real identity.
Things were starting to make sense to me. Once upon a time, I had wanted to spend time with Matt and always questioned why he discouraged us to hang out at his house; things were all becoming very clear. Thankfully, my parents were due home tomorrow, and I would hightail it out of this condo and back to my safe space.
My family.
I was going to get to the bottom of this, and Breton was going to help me.
As I laid awake in bed, I thought of the situation that had been thrust upon me. Secrets were normal, but these documents went far beyond a simple secret that two people in a relationship kept from one another.
I was under no illusion that every family had secrets. Secrets they kept from the world and secrets they kept from each other. My family was no different. We were powerful and influential, but at the core, we were a family. We loved and protected each other. The only thing that set us apart was my cousin Breton. He was one of my best friends and was as close as a son to my parents, even more so since my brother’s death.
While most looked at Breton as an average-looking rich kid at MIT, few really understood that his place at the prestigious school wasn’t bought, he had earned it. He didn’t get his spot because he was the admired nephew of Steven Cahill, founder, president and CEO of Cahill Global, an industry leader in private and charter air travel.
Through his exceptional computer skills, Breton had developed a special skill set as a purveyor of secrets, answers and sources. Breton wasn’t athletic, hacking was his sport of choice, one he excelled at, one he could be a world champion of; Michael Phelps medal-wearing, dominating, endorsement-deals kind of level.
But simply finding secrets wasn’t a challenge. No, he preferred to take it to a whole other level, finding things that others didn’t know about, and sitting on them until the right time to expose a scandal, leak corporate secrets or just pad his offshore bank account. His rainy-day fund had no limits.
He was a listener and observer.
He had an uncanny know-how to read people, spot trends, and anticipate others’ next moves. He referred to it as his bullshit meter. He was a secret weapon, but he only contracted himself out to those he trusted, or whom weren’t a threat to the Cahill family. To hell with anyone else, all was fair game in cyber-land. If you had a shit firewall or dumb-as-shit Chief Technology Officer, that wasn’t his fault, that was your liability. It wasn’t his problem you couldn’t explain to your board why internal documents were being leaked.
His philosophy was, “Not my pig. Not my farm.”
Our family was his only worry, and he was fiercely protective of us.
Those who were invited into the inner circle of our family, or the family business, had discreet background checks carried out, which he personally oversaw. We couldn’t afford any scandal. My father had risen too high to fall from a blindsided attack.
I was sure Breton knew things about our family that he had taken great measures to hide from the public, and likely he knew the secrets we hid from each other. But if he had dirt on us, he was never spiteful or vengeful with the information. He didn’t use it against us, or even brought it up.
But his skills didn’t come without consequences. In his freshman year of university at MIT, he was nearly expelled for hacking into the system. He didn’t have malicious intent, he was just bored and wanted to see what he could do. His defence was that a school with some of the brightest minds really should have a better system. Thanks to Breton, they now did.
Because of my father, Breton was surrounded by some of the wealthiest and best-connected people on the east coast, possibly the country. He attended one of the best schools in the world, drove an Audi, had a wide group of friends—from his lot at MIT and those from our social circle—and beautiful women at his disposal. It’s amazing what the right clothes, cars, connections and black credit cards can attract.
But all of those were only perks; Breton really did love us, and it was obvious he was very possessive of us—now more than ever. It had been a tragic incident that brought us all tighter over the past few years, and in that time, we all found out that the money, the cars, the jets, privilege and social status meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.
Family was irreplaceable, and losing Josh was the wakeup call we all needed to realize it.
We had always been a close family. But after Josh’s death, family time had become a valued commodity. My mother wanted to make family time a priority and started with weekly family dinners. It wasn’t spoken about, but we all just started showing up, week after week. Life didn’t stop for Thursday dinners, but it slowed down to accommodate them.
Breton took Josh’s death particularly hard. Not that it wasn't hard on all of us, but those two were close, they were cousins and best friends. Josh and Breton grew up like brothers. With only six months between them, they were close in age, spending every summer and school holiday together. When Josh went off to private boarding school in grade 10, my father sent Breton with him—much to my aunt’s unrest at the time. My brother wanted to attend Yale as a legacy, as our cousin Abby was doing, but they didn’t have the programs Breton wanted to pursue, so they went their separate ways but often spent weekends together. Either Breton would head down to New Haven, or Josh would come home.
With the discovery of the documents, I needed Breton like I never had before. So many times I wanted to ask for his help, but never had the courage. Could I muster the strength now to get him to sort out the blackmail and be done with Matt for good? Or, like I had over the past few months, would I once again chicken out due to fear, embarrassment and shame?
Chapter 7
JESSA
I COULDN’T CONCENTRATE AT WORK. My mind was running wild, and anytime my phone buzzed or beeped, I jumped, totally on edge. I couldn’t sleep last night, so not only was I approaching my breaking point, I was also exhausted.
Drew and his team were already at the lot and working when I parked nearby and walked over.
He saw me when I was halfway to the building, giving me a wave and going back to work, looking up every so often with a smile on his face when he noticed that I had been watching him work the entire time. I hadn’t spoken to or texted him at all since he left the house Thursday evening, but I’d be lying if I said he hadn’t been on my mind the entire time.
When I was almost at the entrance, he took a broom and made his way to the door, clearly pretending to sweep to be near me. ‘Good morning.’ He gave me his sexy smile.
It was the only bright part of my morning—of my world, at the moment—and I had to hold on to it.
‘Hey,’ I managed to get out, feeling my heart pounding through my chest.
‘How was your weekend?’ And there it was, the pounding nearly turned into a panic attack. His warmth and safety were overpowered by the anxiety of my situation. He must have seen it on my face, I was shit at hiding my emotions. ‘Hey,’ he reached out, not caring who saw. ‘Are you ok?’
‘Yeah, I’m just really tired, I didn’t have a good sleep.’
‘Remember, I’m here if you need to talk,’ he reminded me. ‘I’m here for anything.’
I nodded. ‘Thanks.’ I reached for the door, and he put his hand over mine, helping me to pull it open. ‘Have a good day.’<
br />
‘You too, cupcake.’ He smiled and winked at me.
The morning dragged on forever. As I read and re-read the same email for about the ninth time that morning, trying to make out what was being asked and formulate a response, I heard footsteps approach our office.
‘Well, there’s the drama queen,’ Breton said. I looked up to see him standing in the doorway of the small office, just off the lobby of the building. Cahill Global headquarters wasn’t a huge building, we had a few hangars where the aircraft were built, stored and maintained. While the office building was two floors. Dad’s office was upstairs with the other heads of departments and the important people. Downstairs, there were three offices of sorts, mainly larger rooms made up of cubicles. I shared the smallest one with Amber, Zoe and usually one other intern. Breton looked around, nodding to both Zoe and Amber, whom he knew well, then giving an acknowledging smile to Logan, the guy working with us for the summer. I was sure Breton knew exactly who he was but didn’t make any effort to talk to him.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ I asked, annoyed beyond reason that I hadn’t heard back from him at all and didn’t even know if he was planning to meet up with me today. Amber and Zoe both gave me a look. I rarely lost my cool, but they knew Breton and knew he could piss me off like no other. ‘Let's go outside to chat.’ I stood, taking my purse with me as I led him out of the office and through the lobby to the parking lot. ‘I’ve been trying to get a hold of you.’
It was then that I saw Drew looking up at us. I smiled at him and went to sit in Breton’s car at the far end of the parking lot, the end that was still open at the moment due to renovations.
‘When I call, like, a hundred times, it’s because there’s an emergency.’ I was on a roll.
