Our Wicked Lies by Gledé Kabongo (story read aloud TXT) 📗

she divorced him, she ceased communicating with him altogether.

She moved out of the master suite and took up residence in a guest bedroom. He’d tried to apologize, tell her he didn’t mean it. She’d looked at him as though he was Satan incarnate. He’d begged, cajoled, and pleaded. Nothing worked.

His daughters also avoided him. He was a stranger in his own home, no longer welcome. Marston spent most of her time in her room, writing. Lily, when she wasn’t avoiding him, was out with Jeff or at Colby’s house.

He had no idea what his next move should be. There was a possibility that he wouldn’t return to Tillerson Brenner. If he lost his family, it didn’t matter. He had to salvage his reputation, the damage caused by the media story. Their attorney, Harry Meyers, was supposed to call McBride today and inform him that from now on he and Alicia would communicate with the authorities only through their lawyer. They had nothing left to say to investigators after the way they had been treated.

He picked up his phone and responded to the text.

Eliot: This is growing tiresome. Speak to my attorney from now on.

Eliot was in his home office when the new message appeared on his phone.

Unknown: I’ll take that as a no, that you chickened out, the coward that you are, and did not tell Alicia the truth. Bad move, Eliot. Terrible move.

He contemplated his response.

Eliot: What do you want? Stop with the sanctimonious garbage. You’re using a tragedy for your own personal gain.

Unknown: Okay, tough guy. I’m done playing games with you. I do want something in exchange for my silence. One million dollars. You have 24 hours to make it happen.

Sweat percolated on his lips. Richard couldn’t be behind the texts. Panic rose from the pit of Eliot’s stomach, snaking its way through his insides like a trail of deadly poison. Richard was a founding partner of York Capital Investments, a hedge fund that managed over ten billion dollars in assets. He wasn’t exactly hurting for cash.

This texter was another player hiding in the shadows. Inside knowledge of the affair was an opportunity to exploit him for cash. But who would have such information? Who would have the guts and cunning to run an extortion scheme like this, without fear of retribution? Though his thoughts raced, searching every corner of his mind for an answer, none came.

Eliot: I don’t think so.

He knew a response was inevitable. When it came, it sent him reeling. His legs felt like overcooked noodles, and he reached out to stabilize himself but smacked his toe into the metal base of his swivel chair. Pain shot up his leg like fiery darts. But not even that pain could quell the shock of what he saw on the screen.

It was a photograph of a hand-written page. A diary entry. Katalina’s diary, but one line caused his stomach to plummet. “I believed he would kill me if his wife found out about us.”

Unknown: one million wired into my account tomorrow by 5 pm, or McBride receives this anonymous gift from me.

CHAPTER 56

Alicia looked at the TV screen, dumfounded for the second time in less than a week. A mid-morning press conference was in progress. McBride stood before the cameras and announced the official findings of the investigation into the death of Katalina Torres DeLuca.

“Our investigation concluded that cause of death was blunt-force trauma to the head, a tragic accident. Mrs. DeLuca had alcohol in her system, four times the legal limit. She lost her balance and fell, hitting her head on the marble floor of her kitchen. The impact was severe enough to cause instant death. This concludes our investigation.”

She flopped down on the couch, her legs unable to support her.

As soon as McBride finished, overeager reporters pelted him with questions.

“Are Eliot and Alicia Gray no longer suspects?” A reporter from channel seven asked.

McBride said, “I want to be clear. Mr. and Mrs. Gray were never suspects in Mrs. DeLuca’s death. The Grays cooperated from the beginning. In fact, the Weston Police Department wishes to extend our sincerest apologies to the Grays for any damage to their reputation this investigation may have caused. Unfortunately, the media jumped to its own conclusions without the facts.”

“Are the Grays going to sue the department, Detective?” an off-camera reporter asked.

He didn’t answer, his expression somber. He wrapped up his brief statement and walked off.

It was over. Eliot’s legal strategy had worked out. Eliot, the man she no longer recognized. It was a new low when he’d threatened to leave her with nothing if she insisted on a divorce; so low, in fact, that long after he made the pronouncement and stormed out of the living room, she’d stood rooted to the spot, hanging on by a thread, afraid that if she even so much as sneezed she would shatter into tiny pieces. She didn’t think she had the strength to put the pieces back together again if that happened.

However, it didn’t take long for her to remember that she was a survivor. She had survived childhood tragedy and poverty, depression, betrayal, abandonment, and an abortion that would haunt her into eternity. She would also survive Eliot Gray!

Her cell phone chirped. She extracted it from her pocket. A text message from an unknown sender, an image, someone’s handwriting. She tapped the screen and read the contents and then wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole. On shaking legs, she stood up and barged toward Eliot’s study. She didn’t bother knocking. He was on the phone, and his eyes popped in surprise at her intrusion.

“Hey, Phil, I’ll call you ba—”

“I just received this,” she said, handing him her phone. “What is that about?”

“It’s that anonymous texter I told you about.” He handed her the phone back.

“It’s in Kat’s handwriting. And she’s accusing you of wanting to kill her.”

“It would appear so.”

“Did you threaten her, Eliot?”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know what to