Pretty Revenge (ARC)

by Emily Liebert

  Then I turned my attention to the chores that confronted me. And forgot all about it.

  Four hours later, Jordana called to say that she wouldn’t be returning to the office, that she had too many things to deal with. So once I’d tied up every loose end, I shut down my computer, turned off the lights, and locked the door behind me. There was one more thing I had to do before heading home. One last favor for William.

  40KERRIE

  I didn’t sleep last night. Not a wink. I couldn’t. Once Sara told me what she’d unearthed in John’s files, I knew that today would be the day.

  A day Jordana will never forget, because the world as she knows it will be demolished, the same way mine was eighteen years ago.

  It’s a lot to digest, especially when I look back on everything that’s transpired over the last few months. I’m exhausted, physically and emotionally. And I miss William. I was an idiot to think there could ever be something real between us, romantically speaking, but that doesn’t alleviate the pain. If this is what heartbreak feels like, then maybe love isn’t worth it.

  Still, despite my anguish, this morning a lengthy piece will run on the front page of the The Wall Street Journal, outlining just what Arthur Doonan is capable of, especially with the assistance of his cohort John Pierson (the best surprise of all!). It turns out that CD, the name of John’s elusive folder, stood for Camp David, where he and Arthur have been holing up most weekends for the last six months, pulling off the money-making scheme they’ve been cooking up for quite some time.

  It’s pretty amazing that a financial giant like Arthur, who’s managed to skirt any sort of censure for his entire career, will be taken down over John Pierson’s sophomoric mistake. It’s even more amazing that the proof was right there in front of me all along. Regardless, it feels like a hollow victory.

  I’m not going to lie, there were moments, as I tossed and turned in bed, when I doubted myself. When I thought about Jordana’s pitiful marriage. The loss of her father. The fact that she doesn’t know what it feels like to love or be loved. But as soon as I let myself feel a modicum of sympathy or compassion, I took out an old photo album of Nana’s and reminded myself that Jordana was the reason her life was cut short.

  Once the sun had risen, I dressed myself in a slim black pencil skirt and the same red blouse I wore to my interview with Jordana. The one she didn’t approve of. The one I haven’t worn since. It turns out she was wrong, and Sara was right. Red is my color. It’s the color of power, which is what I hold. Jordana will never see me coming.

  Sara did ask if I wanted her to join me. I’m not sure whether it was a show of solidarity or because she was worried I wouldn’t be able to hold my own against Jordana. Either way, I knew I didn’t need her there. If there’s one thing I’m ready for, it’s this.

  I arrived at the library by 7:00 a.m.—I wanted to be there before she was. I once read that the element of surprise is the most challenging art of war. I look forward to witnessing that firsthand.

  I sat on the steps waiting for her with a copy of the newspaper in hand, counting on the fact that she hadn’t seen it yet. She arrived minutes later wearing a tailored white pants suit, with her hair pulled back into a tight chignon. Her expression was concentrated, not concerned. I took a long, deep breath. I didn’t exhale until she approached.

  “You’re here early.” She clearly wasn’t expecting me.

  “Early bird gets the worm.” Jordana doesn’t know she’s the worm. Not yet.

  “Excellent.” She smiled proudly. I savored her praise one last time. “Let’s get inside.” I followed her toward the entrance, where there was a guard waiting for us.

  “Jordana Pierson, here for the Doonan-Blum wedding.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Pierson. We can’t let you in.”

  “Oh, no, we’re not here as guests right now.” She laughed nonchalantly. “I’m the wedding planner.” I’ve never heard her use the word planner before.

  “I know who you are.” His face remained stern. “I’ve been given express orders not to allow you in.”

  “What are you talking about?” I looked down at my feet and took another deep breath. It was go time. The moment I’ve been waiting on for months. Maybe even for the last eighteen years.

  “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” His tone was unyielding.

  “To leave? This is preposterous.” She looked past him for someone else to appeal to. There was no one.

  “I don’t want to have to do it by force. And I’m sure you don’t want that either.”

  “No, of course not.” She shook her head in disbelief as we retreated down the steps onto the sidewalk, which was vacant, save for a few passing joggers. “I have no idea what’s going on here,” she said to herself more than me. “What the fuck am I supposed to do now? I can’t call anyone at this hour on a Saturday.”

  “I don’t think you’ll need to bother,” I said, as my heartbeat trotted to a sprint and my armpits flooded with perspiration.

  “What do you mean? We have to get in there. There’s still a lot to be done.” Her eyes darted around in search of anyone who could help her.

  “It’s over, Jordana.”

  “What’s over? What are you talking about?” I handed her the newspaper with the headline, A DARK DAY ON WALLSTREET, with photos of Arthur and John beneath it, and watched as the realization seized her. Her mouth dropped open, but no words came out.

  “I’d say I’m sorry but—”

  “But what?” She looked at me with a ferocity in her eyes.

  “But I’m the one responsible for it. Although, come to think of it, I really have you to thank. All of the information I needed was right there on your desktop.” I smiled smugly. “Oh, and I may have messengered a letter to Ethel Doonan last night saying that you were The Wall Street Journal’s source. I’m guessing that’s why they didn’t let us in.”

  “Olivia. You better tell me exactly what’s going on here.”

  “You should really be nicer to me. You once told me I saved your life. Don’t you remember that?”

  “This makes no sense.” She shook her head. “I never said that to you.”

  “Sure you did. Eighteen years ago. When I invited you into my home, and you stole everything from me.”

  “Oh my God.” She looked at me with widened eyes, as she studied my features one by one. “You’re . . .?”

  “Kerrie. O’Malley. That’s me.”

  “All this time . . .” She reached around for something to steady her, but there was nothing to hold on to.

  “Yup. Surprise!”

  “I’ve always thought there was something so familiar about you, but I could never put my finger on it.” I watched her expression mutate from shock to fear, as everything began to fall into place. “You’re a liar.”

  “You’re catching on now.”

  “But, why? Why this?” She held up the newspaper. “It doesn’t—”

  “Add up?” I finished her sentence for her. “Sure it does. You ruined my life and now I’m going to ruin yours. Tit for tat.”

  “What the fuck?” I could see she was trying to calculate her next move. “What do you want from me?”

  “I want you to pay for what you did to me. And for what you did to my nana.”

  “Which was what, exactly? What did I do to you that would warrant this?” I’d expected a bigger reaction. More drama.

  “You stole from me!” I accused, hoping to rile her. I’d had enough of her demureness.

  “I was desperate.” Her voice remained even, which provoked me even more.

  “That’s it!?” I cried, as a young mother pushing a double stroller crossed the street to avoid us. “Desperate? That’s your excuse?”

  “I took a piece of jewelry and some cash when I was a teenager, so you went and destroyed my husband’s career and
probably mine, too? What the hell, Olivia? Or Kerrie. Whatever your name is.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me? You stole my life! You completely screwed my whole fucking existence!” I gasped for air and kept going. “Oh, and that piece of jewelry you’re referring to? That was the only thing I had left of my dead mother. Do you have any idea what that means to a twelve-year-old girl? You may have been desperate, but you were also a selfish bitch. You didn’t give a shit about anyone but yourself!”

  “You think I wanted to take your mother’s ring and your nana’s money?” Her lips were quivering as she spoke. She tried to still them. Because weakness is an admission of guilt.

  “Yes! I do! Why else would you have done it?”

  “Well, let’s see, maybe because I had a father who abused the crap out of my mother. And I knew when I left it would only get worse for her. I knew that if she stayed, there would be times when there wouldn’t be enough food to eat because he’d spent his paycheck on booze and bullets. I knew that if she stayed, she’d keep crying herself to sleep at night, because she was that lonely. Or battered. Or sick. I knew that if she stayed, one day he might beat her so hard that she wouldn’t recover. That’s the way it was for us. I wanted to give her an insurance plan. I had to. What’s so wrong with that?”

  “Everything!” I had to stop myself from lunging at her. “Everything is wrong with that.”

  “That’s easy for you to say.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You had security.”

  “Plenty of people grow up in horrible circumstances, Jordana. You’re not the only one. But not everyone does what you did. At least you had parents. I never even knew mine.”

  “You were lucky.”

  “What?” My head jerked back.

  “I said, you were fucking lucky! Okay? Is that what you want to hear?” Her voice was suddenly loud and urgent. And then she whispered, “I was jealous.”

  “Jealous of me?” I almost laughed at the absurdity.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s ludicrous.”

  “Is it? You had a grandmother who loved you. A nicer house than mine to live in. You never had to worry that if you said one false word, your father might give you a black eye.”

  “That doesn’t mean it’s okay to rob someone. I helped you that night. I saved your ass. You don’t remember that?”

  “I do.”

  “And here you were living this big fancy life in New York City.”

  “Kerrie—”

  “No, shut up,” I interrupted. “Believe me, I know it was tough, because I saw some of what went on in your house. And I still wanted to be just like you. I idolized you.”

  “I still don’t understand why you came here and made up a new name. You could have just asked me for the money and the ring back and been done with it.”

  “Done with it?” I balked. “You killed my nana!”

  “Killed your nana?” She took two steps backward. “What are you talking about? Are you out of your mind?”

  “You left the gas on.”

  “What?”

  “When you lit your cigarette. You didn’t turn the gas all the way off. There was a fire. My nana died from smoke inhalation.” I held her gaze, challenging her to deny it. “You did that to her. You are responsible.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “And now you’re going to suffer the way we did. I applied for this job so I could sabotage your life, the way you did mine. When I saw you on Access New York, it sparked something inside me. I knew that if I wanted to set myself on a better path, that I had to get back at you before I could move forward. I also knew that I had to honor my nana and all that you took from her.”

  “I . . .I don’t . . .” she stammered.

  “Don’t say anything.”

  “Kerrie . . .”

  “No.” I held up my hand. “I don’t want to hear another word out of your mouth.” I thought I would. I thought I’d want her to grovel. But I didn’t. I’d finally satisfied my objective and that was enough. Well, except for one more little thing. “I also had a letter messengered to your husband. It explains who you really are, where you really came from, and what you did to me that night. He should be receiving it”—I checked my watch—“right about now.” I waited a beat as she processed this new information. “I wonder how long it will take for such explosive secrets to reach the rest of the Richie-Riches. What do you think? An hour, tops?”

  “I . . .” She started to speak again, but I cut her off a second time.

  “Good-bye, Jordana. I truly hope you get everything you deserve,” I said.

  And then I turned my back on her and walked away.

  41JORDANA

  As I boarded the plane, I thought about what I’d done to Kerrie all those years ago. And what kind of person that makes me. I also thought about John, what he’d done, and the litany of lies that had been sustaining us for too long.

  My husband isn’t just a philanderer.

  He’s a thief.

  And with that realization, the storm subsided and the future became cloudless.

  John’s files revealed dozens of spreadsheets exposing that he’d helped Arthur defraud customers on bond prices by altering electronic chats to make it appear he’d paid more for bonds than he actually did. It sounds complicated, which it is, but the bottom line is that he and Arthur generated fifteen million dollars in illegal profit for A. Doonan, LLC. I guess he really was with Arthur all those work weekends.

  It’s one thing to be blind to the faceless. To deafen yourself to the voices you can’t hear. His personal affairs were inconsequential. But this is different. My husband is a crook.

  I knew immediately what I had to do.

  It turned out that the things that seemed the most important were precisely the things that weren’t important at all. And that the determination that once impelled me forward was actually hindering me from attaining true happiness.

  I found my seat in first class, by the window, and relaxed into it.

  “Can I offer you a glass of white wine?” the stewardess asked.

  “That would be nice, thank you,” I answered softly. “Do you want one too, Mom?”

  She turned toward me. “Oh, I don’t know.”

  “Live it up a little.” I smiled at her. “And don’t worry, it comes with the ticket.”

  “Okay, then.” She smiled back.

  “Two glasses of white wine coming up.” The stewardess walked away. She didn’t recognize me, thank God. She probably doesn’t read The Wall Street Journal.

  It may be hard to believe, but in a way, I have Kerrie to thank. Her revelation was the final push I needed, although I would have preferred it to be on my own terms. John doesn’t love me. He doesn’t know how to love. Neither do I.

  John isn’t a cruel man. Nor is he an exceptionally kind one. We served a purpose in each other’s lives. He’ll miss the me he thought I was. For a little while. Then he’ll find a replacement. Someone younger and more submissive.

  Being Jordana Pierson has wearied me. And now things must change. They will change. But only if I’m the one to make that change. There’s no turning back and there’s no standing still. I scrambled to get where I am. I convinced myself that it would be sunny at the top. Only it isn’t. It’s fucking freezing. And I’m alone.

  Once upon a time I was the girl who ran. Of course, I thought I was chasing something bigger. Something better. And I thought that bigger, better life would finally make me happy. I was wrong.

  I won’t make the same mistakes again.

  “Passengers, please turn off all electronic devices and fasten your seat belts,” the pilot’s voice said over the loudspeaker. “Flight attendants, prepare for departure.”

  I closed my eyes and took my mother’s hand in mine. “This time we’re running
together,” I said to her. “The next chapter in our lives begins now.”

  42KERRIE

  A few days after the wedding—yes, William did go through with marrying Tatiana—I sat on my couch, staring at the headline on the front page of the New York Post, which declared: DOONAN IS DOOMED. The photo below it was of Arthur being hauled off in handcuffs with Ethel, venomous as always, in tow.

  Behind them was John Pierson. Shackled as well. And all alone.

  The article explained that they’d been charged with ten counts of securities fraud and six counts of relaying untrue statements to multiple clients, including large institutional investors. It said that the case was precedential because they’d been prosecuted for falsifying their own prior purchase price. Very clever. Until it wasn’t.

  On the next page, there was another snapshot. It pictured Tatiana and William, beneath a banner that read: BLUM BLUSHING BRIDE ANNULLED.

  I couldn’t believe it. But before I had the chance to read the full story, my phone vibrated with a text message from Sara, who ended up receiving over a dozen lucrative job offers as soon as the news about Arthur and John broke. Unexpectedly, she’s back on the fence about leaving Dante to work full-time.

  Meet me downstairs in five. Joel is home early. Let’s grab a drink.

  Just as I was about to write back, my buzzer rang. I walked over to the intercom and pressed the button. “Hello?”

  “Is this Kerrie O’Malley?”

  “Who’s this?”

  “My name is Cathy Paulson. I’m an old friend of Jordana’s. I have some things she left for you.”

  “Sorry, but I don’t I need anything from her.”

  “It’ll only take a minute. I come in peace. I really think you’ll want this stuff.”

  “I highly doubt it.”

  “Please. Nothing fishy, I swear.”

  “Okay. I guess,” I relented, and reluctantly let her in. A minute later she was at my door.