Chapter 9 Post & Delete
Post the less she said, the better. At this point, she knew he was just toying with her.
When he didn’t receive a response, he turned around and stared at her with his glacial blue eyes, cocking his head to the side. “Did you know your husband called me and asked if I could recommend any divorce lawyers?”
Laila’s eyes widened in surprise before she looked down at her folders, unsure what to say. “I’m surprised he reached out to you,” she said, her voice low and uneven.
“Why?” Alex’s eyes swept over her face. “We were all friends once.”
That was a lie. Alex and Jay had been friends in college, and Laila had teetered on the periphery of their friendship.
Laila cleared her throat. “I’m sorry you two drifted apart.”
Alex snorted. “Is that what he told you?” He perched on the edge of the desk and folded his arms across his chest.
Laila shook her head. “I didn’t really ask.”
Alex nodded slowly and looked up at the ceiling. “Why am I not surprised? You never really did question him on anything. You let him get away with bloody murder; I couldn’t stand by and watch the way—” Alex gritted his teeth and stopped speaking.
Laila glanced up, surprised. She had always assumed she had been invisible to Alex. He had been two years ahead of her and had been ambitious and focused in a way that bordered on neurotic. Every minute of his day held a specific purpose. Just watching him churn through overlapping classes, clubs, activities, internships, and fraternity events left her exhausted.
“Yes, we went to Jamaica. We got robbed. We then decided to get divorced. You’re completely up to speed now,” Laila was shocked to realize her voice was devoid of emotion. Her marriage was ending, and she felt nothing. “I just want to go find whoever did this and get my mother’s rings back. That’s what’s important to me.”
Was it her imagination, or did Alex’s eyes soften slightly? He gave a curt nod. “Understandable. Leave the caseloads with Esme. She’s a newer paralegal we just brought on. You can’t miss her; she has, ah... multiple nose rings and, um, facial jewelry enhancements.”
Laila hid a smile; Alex was always awkward with people outside of his comfort zone.
Laila stood up to leave. As she walked by Alex, he grabbed her elbow. Her eyes widened in surprise; he removed his hand quickly as if singed and muttered an apology. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. I wanted to say I’m sorry for what you’re going through. I didn’t give Jay a reference; I stated conflict of interest, which isn’t a lie—technically. But if you need assistance on the legal side of things, I’m here. And if you wanted to talk outside of work, I wanted you to know that I can be available.”
She stood in front of him with her mouth agape. He had spoken more words to her in the last eleven minutes than he had in the last eleven years. With a stiff nod, she left his office, completely confused by the interaction.
Turning the corner, she walked toward the open workspace where all the paralegals gathered when they weren’t running back and forth to court. Spotting Esme at the espresso machine, she walked over prepared to introduce herself, but Esme beat her to it.
“Oh my gosh, hi Laila Malik! So nice to meet you,” Esme enthusiastically shook her hand, causing Laila to awkwardly shuffle the folders around.
“Esme, hi. I was told by Alex to reach out to you. Do you have a second?” Laila asked, finally putting down the folders on the communal worktable before going to make herself an espresso as well.
“Yes, absolutely! I just started three weeks ago, and can I say what an honor it is to meet you? I actually wrote a paper on your trial about the Amouzgaar case five years ago—the Iranian girl who faced persecution if she returned to her homeland. Your defense was chef’s kiss,” Esme demonstrated with a quick smack of her lips.
Laila looked on bemused. “Yes, I remember Afareen. I hope ‘chef’s kiss’ is a good thing?”
Esme nodded enthusiastically, her nose, eyebrow, and lip rings jiggling in unison.
“When I come back, I’d be happy to talk through that case with you or any other cases I’ve worked on—”
“I would love that,” Esme squealed and then toned down her voice as people looked over. “I just think you’re immaculate. I’ve seen you on the news from time to time. The hair, the suit, the jewelry—it’s such an old-money look, and it is to die for.”
Laila smiled and nodded, not truly understanding all of the words coming out of Esme’s mouth. “I really appreciate you reviewing these two depositions for me. I’ve marked my notes. I just need you to double check the timestamps and dates, please. There’s also another case: the Santos case. I couldn’t find the file—”
“Oh yeah, Carol sent me the info last week to verify the family background and documentation.” Esme quickly pulled up the information on her laptop.
Laila breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh good. I’m afraid I need to transfer that file to another colleague of mine. I need to chat about it with Alex—”
“Yeah, so your client mentioned that his two sons are living with their grandmother, but when I called to verify the information, it turns out they’re actually living with a woman named Maria Angelica, who is in her mid-thirties. So definitely not grandma.” Esme looked up from reading her notes.
Maria? Maria? Laila sat down hard on a nearby barstool and pulled out her small notebook—the one where she had jotted down the few notes from her conversation with Gabriel. There it was in black and white: Maria Santos—first wife, love of his life. Her voice sounded shakier than she intended. “Are you sure the name is Maria? Did she have breast cancer? Did she recover?”
Esme gave her a strange look. “Mmm. We don’t have access to her medical history. But Maria was the one who ended up sending over the sons’ birth certificates, school records, and passport info. She’s been super helpful, so the documentation on the two boys is up to date and ready to be filed.”
Feeling slightly sick, Laila flashed her a weak smile. “Amazing. I’ll get on that right away.” Her hands were jittery as she went to pick up the espresso cup. It was just the caffeine, she told herself. It had nothing to do with the awful pit in her stomach that insisted that Gabriel had been married this entire time.
July 18
Los Angeles
Kat Kar
Kat tossed and turned all night. Christian had betrayed her. She didn’t trust Joseph. She had no social media presence. She had essentially been rendered invisible. Who was she without Kat_Kares ?
For the past three years, every interaction with the world had been through the lens of how to share it with her followers. A beautiful sunset meant setting up a yoga mat and doing a downward dog pose while the sky exploded in a golden-hued rainbow behind her. A tasty meal wouldn’t be complete without first snapping a picture and then tagging the restaurant for a possible free dessert. Her brain had been hardwired to maximize every image and activity into consumable content for the masses.
And now there was nothing. A black void where she once resided. She was a nobody. And if she was being honest with herself, she had always been a nobody, but the clothes, the lip gloss, and the likes made her feel like a somebody for a little bit.
As the light of dawn slowly crept into the apartment, enhancing all the shadowy corners, Kat’s phone rang. She glanced at it, surprised; she couldn’t remember the last time she had actually used her phone to talk to someone.
“Assalum Alaikum, can you hear me? Khatira? Khatira?” her mother shouted at her.
“Walaikam Salam, Ammu,” Kat winced at the volume.
“You know I woke up to pray Fajr, and all of a sudden my heart started hurting and I pictured your face. Are you okay, Khatira?”
The concern in her mother’s voice caught her off guard. “I’m okay, Ammu, don’t worry,” Kat managed to say.
“You didn’t even call to say that you landed. What is this? I know you live far away. But you should still have some manners towards your parents from time to time, no?” Her mother then launched into scolding her, but this time underneath the scolding, Kat could hear the concern, which caused an unintended sob to break free.
“Khatira? Khatira? Are you crying? What happened?” Her mother’s voice immediately turned to a hushed tone.
“Ammu, I did something bad, and now I don’t know what to do,” Kat sobbed into the phone, longing for her mother to reassure her and tell her that everything would be all right.
“You killed someone,” her mother said matter-of-factly. “I watch Dateline; you shouldn’t say you killed someone over the phone, they’ll tap it somehow.”
Kat’s tears immediately dried up. “No! I didn’t kill anyone. How could you even think that?”
“Obviously an accident. Maybe you ran him over with your car or pushed him over a cliff. Los Angeles is very hilly, nah? People die every day, some with the help of others.”
“Ammu, I’m not a murderer. Okay? I just did something I shouldn’t have, and now I’m confused about what to do next.” Kat turned over and slammed her face into her pillow, deeply regretting picking up the phone.
“Okay, if no one is dead, then everything is fixable, nah? I was born in Bangladesh during the 1970s. If I can survive that, then you can survive anything. Arreeyyy, you girls are so weak these days—”
“Okay, Ammu, I think I hear the tea kettle boiling. I’ll call you back, ya? Okay, bye.” Kat hung up the phone abruptly, unable to continue the conversation.
As Kat stretched and tried to figure out what to do with her morning, her phone pinged with a text from her mother. She took a deep breath before proceeding to read it: “Sometimes we make mistakes. But we can fix our mistakes. If it’s very bad, just come home. Also, make sure you eat something; you’re too skinny. No food empties out the brain.”
That brought a small smile to Kat’s face. She knew her mother was trying. She supposed she could try a little, too. Texting back a heart emoji, she decided to go for a run and make her usual morning smoothie.
But her body refused to move toward her workout clothes. Instead, her stomach growled loudly. Her mother’s text echoed in her mind, and, if she was being honest, potato pancakes with a side of eggs, chicken sausage, and a large latte sounded perfect.
She cautiously made her way to the kitchenette, peering toward the bedroom to make sure the lovebirds hadn’t emerged yet. She then rummaged through the mini fridge, happy to see that Joseph was keeping it stocked. There was also a 20-pound bag of potatoes from two months ago that miraculously hadn’t gotten moldy.
She was so busy with her kitchen prep, humming to herself, dicing her onions, green peppers, and mushrooms, and ensuring the skillet sizzled just so, that she failed to notice Joseph and Christian cautiously poking their heads out of the bedroom.
“What is she doing?” Joseph asked furtively to Christian.
“I think it’s called cooking,” Christian whispered back in awe.
Kat looked up with a big smile, scaring both of them slightly. “Good morning, guys! I thought I would make us all something to eat—potato pancakes, all right?”
Christian tilted her head to the side. “Um... Kat, when was the last time you ate complex carbs drenched in vegetable oil?”
“I don’t remember. Probably three years ago. But sometimes our bodies need what they need, and sometimes our minds need a cleanse from social media. And sometimes we think we’ve stolen about $80,000 worth of goods only to turn around and find it all gone missing.” A manic laugh escaped Kat’s throat, causing Joseph and Christian to stiffen slightly. “But it’s fine! We’re a team,” and if Kat’s voice went up several octaves trying to finish that sentence, no one had the intestinal fortitude to correct her.
As Kat started fixing their plates and placing them on the breakfast bar for them to grab, she casually asked, “So what’s the plan now?” Kat reached for her phone, casually setting it faced down on the counter.
Joseph dug into the potatoes and eggs appreciatively. “Well, I was thinking we divide everything up into thirds and hit up the pawn shops in Gardena, Lawndale, and Inglewood. We pool together our funds afterward. And then I’m meeting up with Smoke in Long Beach this weekend to pay him back. Settle all debts.”
Kat choked on her latte, not sure what to digest first. “Okay, cool. So glad you’ve taken over the entire operation, Joseph, because we really needed the mansplaining.” The sarcasm wasn’t lost on Christian, who rolled her eyes. “But um, to be clear—you’re going to meet ‘Smoke,’ who happens to be a part of the Haitian militia in broad daylight, and you think you’re going to make it out alive?”
Joseph looked irritated. “Why wouldn’t I? He’ll get his money. We’ll get our church back. Everyone’s happy.”
“And that’s the absolute truth?” Kat egged Joseph on. “Because between the website scam, the so-called charity, the back taxes, and now the Haitian militia strolling into our backyard, forgive me for being a little skeptical at how the story keeps shifting.”
“Kat!” Christian warned in a low tone.
“Christian, your boy toy shows up unannounced and then somehow gets 30% of everything we scored. Doesn’t that seem a little presumptuous?”
She could see Christian begin to falter slightly. “So, what do you suggest we do?”
Kat smiled. “We should just do everything together. Make sure we collect the money together, meet Smoke together. The Three Amigos. Where one goes, the other two shall follow.”
Joseph protested, “That’s ridiculous! It will take us longer this way—”
“I agree with Kat,” Christian interrupted, surprising both of them into silence. “I think we should finish what we started.”
Kat hid her smile, covertly slipped the phone into the sleeve of her pajamas, and pressed the ‘stop record’ button on her phone.
July 19
Chicago
Laila Malik
Laila walked back into the lobby in the wee hours of the morning, her eyes glued to her phone as she scrolled through the barrage of missed calls and texts from Gabriel. She had been too distraught to answer. What if he was married? Why had he lied? And who was this woman that had sent all those documents?
In order to avoid him and their inevitable conversation, she had slept on the sofa of her office. If she could, she would have taken a flight directly to LA and avoided him altogether. But unfortunately, she had left her suitcase in his apartment.
As she waited for the elevator to make its way down, she heard someone else stumble in through the revolving doors.
“Laila Malik. Oh wait, it’s gonna be Laila Zaldi soon, isn’t it?” her drunk soon-to-be ex-husband came stumbling toward her.
Laila grimaced in response.
“What are you doing back so soon? I thought I had kicked you out,” he smirked.
Laila felt herself bristle with anger. Now that she was no longer blinded with the desire to make their relationship work, she saw what a spoiled, petulant overgrown child he was.
As they stepped into the elevator, Laila coolly responded, “Legally, I have every right to that condo, and you know it. But I’m not here for you.” She jabbed the third-floor button with more force than necessary.
He regarded her through narrowed eyes. “So, you were sleeping with the neighbor this whole time,” he let out a snort of disgust. “I knew it.”
The last ten years exploded before Laila’s eyes. Jay’s constant travel, smelling the perfume on his ties, fighting over their finances. Jay shrinking away from her touch, making her feel needy for wanting to be held.
Before Laila could stop herself, she slapped Jay across the face. The sound echoed throughout the elevator. She recoiled in horror. There was a red welt across his cheek, and although she wanted to back down, something in her told her to stand tall.
She took a deep breath, her voice low and laced with pain, years of neglect woven into each word. “You killed our marriage. And I let you. I was so blinded by gratitude that I didn’t realize you were using it against me all these years. Making me smaller and smaller until I became nothing but a speck of dirt under your shoe. I’m done shrinking. What I do—or don’t do—from here on out is none of your business.”
As the elevator doors opened, she swept out without a backward glance. He stared at her slack-jawed, slightly in shock.
Laila walked slowly toward Gabriel’s door, shaking with disbelief. Had she really said those things? Had she really felt that way? Standing in front of Gabriel’s door, she wasn’t sure what to do or where to go.
As she stood there, she heard the door click open. Gabriel stood on the other side, his face shadowed by faint stubble, his eyes bleary, and his hair a tousled mess. She had never seen anything more beautiful in her life. He gestured for her to enter, and she did so with hesitation.
“You didn’t come back,” he said, his voice still gravelly from sleep.
“I think I should go to Los Angeles on my own,” she began.
He cocked an eyebrow in confusion. “Why? It could be dangerous.”
She walked toward her suitcase with the intention of taking it and leaving. The room was dark, the curtains drawn, and she spotted a glass of whiskey abandoned on the coffee table.
“If I feel out of my element, I can always contact the police,” she proceeded to leave his apartment, but Gabriel held out a hand to stop her.
“Laila, stop. Sit down. We had a plan yesterday. What happened?” He slumped into his sofa and picked up the glass of whiskey, eyeing her warily.
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him everything. That she knew about his wife and his lies. But something held her back. If she confronted him, she knew this bubble of sweetness between them would dissipate. And in that moment, with her marriage crumbling and her career feeling slightly fragile, she needed the delusion that maybe Gabriel was hers for a little while. A small, stolen moment in time.
She chose her words carefully. “You don’t need to be involved. You have your job that you need to get back to, and I feel terrible that you got involved in the first place... and then hurt. I’m perfectly capable of handling this.”
“Something happened that you’re not telling me. Less than twenty-four hours ago, you were naked on my kitchen counter.” Laila stiffened in protest. “And now you’re running away. Well, I’m not going to let you. I’m going with you. Class is on summer break. So, you don’t have to pretend to worry about my job—”
“I wasn’t pretending,” Laila protested.
He slammed down his glass of whiskey. “Dammit, Laila, this isn’t your decision to make—they hurt me too!”
Laila jumped, taken aback by his vehemence. “I know you’re married,” she blurted.
Gabriel went still, his gaze hardening. “I think you’re confused,” he said slowly, “because last I recall, you’re the one who is married. Who has been married this entire time.”
Laila swayed slightly against the suitcase, feeling the icy chill emanating from Gabriel. She had never seen him like this, but she was determined to state her case. Her tone became clipped and cool. “We received an email from Maria Angelica Santos with all of the documents regarding your two sons. When you first came into my office and issued the sob story about losing the love of your life to breast cancer, the name you gave was also Maria Santos.”
“Maria Sofia Santos,” Gabriel corrected softly, looking into his whiskey glass. “My wife’s name was Maria Sofia Santos, and she never questioned my honesty or insulted my integrity.”
Laila blinked, confused. “So, who is Maria Angelica Santos?”
Gabriel looked up at the ceiling before crossing his arms over his chest, his tattoos also flexing in frustration. “What a fantastic question, Laila. How lovely it would have been if you had asked me that instead of assuming the worst about me. But I suppose a lawyer of your caliber is used to people lying.”
Laila cleared her throat uncomfortably. “I just want to know the truth. I’m owed that if you and I are going to—”
Gabriel raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to finish, but she looked away instead. “Angelica is what the family calls her. Maria Angelica Suarez is my sister-in-law. She helps my mother with things like sending emails and paying the utilities, while also being a fantastic aunt to her nephews.” Gabriel took a deep breath and sighed. “I booked us two tickets on the ten o’clock flight to Los Angeles today. I’m going to lie down.” He glanced at her, his face unreadable. “You can go wherever you want.”
As he walked toward the bedroom, Laila glanced down at her hands; they were curled into fists, the nails digging into her palm. Why had she jumped to conclusions about him being married? She ground her teeth in frustration—because he was everything she had always wanted but was too scared to believe in.
Turning around, she tripped over a shoebox which caused her heel to fly off. Kicking the shoebox in frustration, she unbuttoned her coat. She was done being scared. She wanted Gabriel. And up until five minutes ago, he had wanted her too. Maybe she could change his mind and turn this whole thing around. Shrugging off her blazer while kicking off her other shoe, she slowly crept toward his bedroom door. Before she could turn the handle, she heard him snoring softly from the other side.
Losing her nerve, she turned around and went back to the sofa and lay on her side. Cursing herself for her own ineptitude, she vowed to make it up to him tomorrow. She would earn back his trust.