Madeline
“Speak now,” I commanded Anne. I needed her to talk to me. To know she was okay. That she was breathing. And that she would not pull the Kultro chef knife out of the round block on the marble countertop and stab me in the neck.
“What do you want me to say?” Anne twisted her wedding ring on her finger. Four carat solitaire surrounded by another six carats on a platinum band. It was not the first ring I bought for Anne. The first ring I bought Anne was simple. It was a gold band with a small diamond. That first ring cost me $350. That was when I was in medical school and that was all I could afford. It wasn’t about money then.
The ring she now twisted on her finger had three zeros added to the end of that first ring’s figure. It was what she deserved after supporting me for all these years. But now, she was likely going to lose ownership of it.
“Say something. Anything.” I begged her. I was still eyeing the knife. Or more exactly, I was eyeing her not eyeing the knife.
“Well,” she said. “What do you want me to say? You just sprung this on me out of the blue. I need to think about it. I need to digest it.”
“That is completely understandable. I get it. I had to digest it too. I’m still digesting it,” I said. In reality, I digested it months ago. It was just now that I was telling her.
She examined her ring, opening her left hand. She took the ring off with some effort and placed it on the marble countertop between us.
“I do have one question,” she spoke up after what felt like a lifetime.
“Yes, anything. I’ll answer anything,” I begged. I hoped she would just give me a kiss and say, ‘it’s okay, I love you for richer or poorer.’
“Where will we live?” Anne looked at me. The tears were in her blue eyes but not yet down her pink cheeks. Although she still looked like my Anne, all the pricking and tucking and stretching had made her a different version of herself.
I get why she asked this. I had bought the house for its location. A double lot in downtown. The house on the lot was an old farmhouse. Nothing to get excited about. But we remodeled it to Anne’s liking, sparing no expense. They even featured it in Architectural Digest.
I thought through her question. I didn’t even know the answer. I opened my mouth and then shut it. I opened my mouth again.
“I don’t know,” I responded. “We will find an amazing house together. Maybe by the beach.” I knew it was likely going to be in a trailer park. Not by the beach.
“But this is my house!” She demanded. “My Architectural Digest house.”
“I know. We’ll figure it out.” I said. She would be of no help to me figuring it out.
She thought for a moment and then spoke up. “What about my Porsche?” She asked.
“It will need to be sold,” I said. That was true.
I patted Anne’s hand. She pulled it away.
“My Hermes Birkin bags?”
“They will need to be sold.” That also was true.
“What about the life you promised me?”
A single tear streamed down her face. In reality, Anne didn’t know how much her life cost. She had a black American Express she charged everything to. Little did she know, I was paying minimum payments on that black American Express. I had better things to do with the money. Better things that would pay for the Jackson Pollock on the wall. Better things that could buy us another ten Jackson Pollock paintings when I was done.
I looked down at the floor. “Just about everything will need to be sold.” True. True. True.
“What can I keep?” Her eyes were desperate.
I thought for a moment. “You can keep Muffin,” I said, giving a smile to the teacup chihuahua in Anne’s arms.
“Tell me again. What happened?” She looked through my eyes.
“Our financial advisor, Arthur, made some poor decisions. I had nothing to do with it.” I had everything to do with it. I gave him our entire life savings.
“No, like how did it happen? I want the details,” Anne said.
I took a deep breath and I blew it out. It pained me to live through the entire thing again. But Anne needed to know the story. She deserved to know all of it. I took one more breath and out came the story. Or the story that I could say out loud.
“It started five years ago.” It was eighteen months ago.
“I met Arthur at the country club through mutual friends.” I was alone at the bar and sparked up a conversation after three doubles of scotch.
“He told me what he did for a living.” He was a financial advisor. He told me he knew something no one else knew. And he told me he could triple my money in less than a year with no risk.
“The next day I wired him a hundred thousand dollars.” It was ten million.
“When he gave me the statement a year later it had tripled.” That was last March.
“So, I gave him more money.” I got a second mortgage on the house. Maxed out our credit cards on high interest loans. Emptied our retirement, savings, checking, and any other account that had any kind of money in it.
“I tried to ask for my money back and he gave me some.” The one time I tried his phone went straight to voicemail.
“And now he has taken it.” From what I have learned he has fled to Mexico with our money, a NBA basketball player’s money, two tech giants’ money, and a TikTok star’s money. By now he has probably changed his face and lives under an assumed name.
“How much money are we talking about?” Anne asked. Her face was as hard as the marble countertops.
“Ten million.” Thirty million.
Anne’s eyes flicker to the knife block.
