Chapter Thirty-Two
Anna and I break up about sixteen hours before a fifteen-hour flight. Which, I’m sure I don’t need to say, is pretty fucking awful. I’ve been seated beside strangers on a plane dozens of times, but never has that stranger been someone I shared a bed with. Never has that stranger been someone who looked at me and saw all of the good things I want to embody. Never has that stranger been someone I thought was on the way to being the most important person in my life.
We land in Los Angeles, and once we’re off the plane, I can tell Anna is dead set on getting the hell away from me, but we still do have some business to wrap up.
“Anna, wait,” I say, catching her wrist just before she manages to get on the escalator down to baggage claim. We step out of the stream of traffic, walking to the side of the no-man’s-land area of LAX customs where she stares up at me with red, blank eyes.
Had she been crying the entire flight?
“We have the issue of the wire transfer to settle.”
She blinks away, and for a beat I fear she’ll tell me she doesn’t want my dirty money after all, that she can’t stomach taking it. But then she inhales a steadying breath, and nods. “What information do you need?”
“Your routing number,” I tell her. “And your account number.”
“I can text it?”
“I think it’s better to write it down.”
Of all of the painful moments in the past twenty-four hours, this is the worst, I think. Both of us awkwardly searching for a pen, for a scrap of paper to write on. Anna shifts her purse onto her knee, digging around. “I got it,” she says, pulling out a pen from the Crowne Plaza Hotel at Changi Airport and a receipt for something she must have bought to eat after she left me alone in the hotel room. I stare helplessly as she swipes her phone awake, opens her banking app. I stare down at the screen, blankness washing through me as I realize her checking account has about twenty dollars in it. She’s already used the ten thousand dollars I sent her to pay her father’s medical bills.
Anna writes down her account number, the routing number. She straightens and hands it to me, not meeting my eyes.
I glance down and my chest twists as I realize it’s on the back of a receipt for a cheap hot dog. “I’ll send it tonight.”
“Don’t send more than we agreed on,” she says.
“Anna—”
“I know you, Liam. I don’t want you to send more.”
I nod, miserable. At this moment, I truly hate my father. I also hate myself. I hate the mess this has made, and how many lives will be affected if I don’t figure this out. Not just my family, all of them. I realize she’s waiting for me to break the tension, release us both; that it probably feels impolite to just turn and walk away after someone has assured you that they’ll be sending ninety thousand dollars to your bank account. So I gesture for her to lead us back to the escalator, where Anna collects her bags and wordlessly disappears into the crowd headed to the taxi line. I watch her until I can’t even see the pink of her hair anymore, knowing it’s entirely possible I will never see my wife again.
I MAY NOT SEEher again, but she’ll still be everywhere I look; while I was away, her three paintings were delivered to my house. I avoid unpacking clothes that likely smell of Anna by meticulously hanging her paintings instead. Freesia 2 goes on a wall in my living room, a blast of cardinal, coral, and a yellow so electric it seems to vibrate. Dahlia 4 goes on the wall in my study: concentric rings of soothing puffs of pinkish-white petals with a shock of pink in the center set against a delicate green backdrop; individual petals look nearly conical, their tender centers hiding a thousand shadows that reveal the true magic of the painting. And Three Zinnias goes in my bedroom, on the wall opposite my bed. When I first see it, it takes my breath away—a meticulous close-up of three overlapping flowers I assume are zinnias, one a brilliant green, one a shocking tangerine, and one a scarlet so vivid it seems three-dimensional. The energy, the colors, and the sequence of them reminds me so acutely of the dress Anna wore to the wedding that for a few minutes I can only stare at the painting, barely able to breathe. The paintings I’d assumed were her hobby in college were good, but now I see those were simple tunes, “Chopsticks” played on the piano with novice fingers. These pieces are her symphony, the result of natural talent and years of honing her craft.
Truthfully, all three are amazing. I wish I had seen them before buying them, only so she would have seen the honesty in my expression when I told her I loved them, that I believe in her talent.
I’m drained, but I can’t sleep. Haven’t eaten all day, but I’m not hungry. Collapsing on the couch, I stare at Freesia 2 until my eyes lose focus and I have no more mental defenses left. Thoughts pummel me.
I have to agree to my father’s demands. I’ll have to let go of my faculty position. I’ll have to let go of Anna. My brain makes these depressing rounds over and over.
My phone buzzes on the couch beside me and I pick it up, staring at Jake’s profile photo. For a few rings, I consider letting it go. I’m pretty sure Blaire and the kids left early, but the others have just left the island for Singapore, which means Jake is with Dad. Maybe—just maybe—something has happened to get me out of this.
“Jake.”
“Hey.”
The second I hear the frustration in his single syllable, I know nothing has changed.
I press the heel of my free hand to my eye. “What’s up.”
“Was just calling to check on you. You and Anna get back safely?”
“Yeah. She left for her place straight from LAX. I caught a flight to San Jose. Just got home.”
He pauses. “You guys leave things in a good place?”
“Not particularly.”
“Dad wants to destroy her.”
“She’s your friend,” I remind him with a trace of sarcasm. “I’m sure you’ve been defending her.”
He’s quiet on the other end. “You know I don’t fucking bother getting into it with him, Liam. I know it isn’t your way, but we all do what we have to do. Don’t start with me right now.”
“Yeah, well,” I say with a sigh, “it doesn’t matter anyway. I’ll give him what he wants.”
My brother falls quiet again for a few seconds. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’ll come on board.”
“Does he know that?”
“I haven’t officially confirmed it yet.” I frown down at my watch, trying to do the time zone math. “Where are you?”
“Singapore. In the lounge. He and Mom went to get a drink. I’m sure he’ll call soon.”
I close my eyes. Talk to Dad, make him a deal; my freedom for theirs. “Okay. I’ll be here.”
Jake blows out a breath. “Liam. I really don’t want you to have to do this.”
“I know.”
Jake swears quietly. “So just say no.”
“I can’t.”
“You can, though. You’ve said no to him a hundred times. What’s he gonna do? Yell?”
I send a hand into my hair. “If I say no, it fucks us all, Jake.”
The line goes quiet, and then he carefully asks, “What does that mean?”
I take a deep breath, resigned to doing this now. “It means that in Grandpa’s trust, we’re all linked. If one marriage is fraudulent, we all lose our inheritance.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”my brother seethes, voice strained.
“I wish. And Dad knows. He and I haven’t solidified an agreement, but it’s clear to me from my chat with Peter back on the island that if I come on board, Dad won’t enforce it. If I say no to him, I get the sense that he’ll challenge the trust in probate.”
Anna was right. It’s so manipulative. My stomach rolls, nausea washing me out.
“He really wants you that fucking bad.”
“More likely he wants to win the battle,” I say, exhausted. “Wants to prove to me that no matter what he put me through with PISA, I can’t just walk away from him without screwing my family out of money.”
Jake exhales a long, shocked breath, and in the silence that follows, my thoughts turn down a different path. When I say it out loud, it sounds insane. It sounds pathological. Maybe I should have told my siblings earlier. Maybe I should have looped them into the conversation.
Because maybe Anna was wrong. Maybe this is where Jake puts his foot down and comes to my defense. Instead of panicking, maybe this is where my little brother tells me to tell Dad to go to hell.
Maybe this is where Jake finally stands for something.
“Man,” Jake says quietly. “That sucks but… I get it. If we’d all lose the money, I guess it makes sense. Thanks for taking one for the team, Liam.”
I squint at the wall across the room as his words land.
Thanks for taking one for the team, Liam.
And this, right here, is why I didn’t tell Jake. This is why I didn’t tell any of them. Because I didn’t want confirmation of that crystalline truth Anna articulated so easily:
They love you, but they’re broken. They will choose money every time.
There’s shuffling on the other end of the line; Jake’s voice is muffled, almost like he’s holding his phone against his chest. But I hear him say my name, and then “yeah,” and then he’s back. “Liam? Dad’s here. Okay if I put him on?”
I sigh, leaning my head back against the couch. I thought I had another day or two before doing this but fuck it. “Why not.”
“What time is it there?” Dad asks, no greeting.
“Around one in the morning.”
“Well, it’s four p.m. tomorrow here, and I gotta tell you: The future’s pretty bright, kid.”
I squint into the darkness of my living room. Is he… making a joke right now? “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he says. “We take off in a couple hours. Are you going to give me an answer before I come home?”
“I want you to promise me something first.”
“I’m not sure you’re in a position to make any demands. But shoot your shot, kid.”
“I want you to step down immediately.”
His laughter carries over the line. “That’s not happening. There will be a three-year transition period.”
“You’d force me to do this?”
“I’m offering you the company on a platter, and you call it forcing you. Unbelievable.”
“Unbelievable? You’re blackmailing me with my siblings’ inheritance.”
“Leverage, Liam. It’s an important distinction.” He laughs again. “And how’s this: I’ll put in writing that I won’t release the remaining PISA documents in return.”
My thoughts stutter. The remaining PISA documents?
The ones that leaked years ago tell a story of a teenage boy building a technology for his family company and ostensibly using it to spy on employees. The remaining, confidential documents tell a story that is much, much worse. “What are you talking about?”
Dad laughs once, delighted. “I had you either way, kiddo.”
I stare, unseeing, at Anna’s painting as it all sinks in. If Alex hadn’t melted down in public and revealed that my marriage to Anna was bullshit—conveniently taking himself out of contention for the CEO position at the same time—then Dad would have threatened to release more PISA documents, knowing I’d lose my faculty position, knowing I’d struggle to find a job anywhere.
He would have used leverage no matter what. He had me completely cornered, and he knew it this whole time.
“Do you even want me in the role?” I ask him. “Or did you just not want to lose?”
“Come on. Don’t be dramatic.”
“Dramatic?” I ask. “If you pin the full truth of PISA on me, I’ll be ruined.”
“At worst you’d have to do some damage control.”
“At worst? At best I do damage control. At worst I’m destroyed, Dad.”
“What the fuck does it matter, Liam? I’m not releasing PISA because you’re going to be the good brother and protect the trust. You’ve already said yes.”
I blink into focus, looking up at Freesia 2. I see Anna in every single stroke of the paintbrush, every wild, vibrant streak of color. When I close my eyes, I hear her infectious giggle, remembering the way her eyes shone with victory every time she made me laugh….
Is your name really West Weston?
That diamond is the size of my nipple.
I swear I blacked out after one particularly delicate part of the Brazilian. At one point they had me get on my hands and knees…
I let my mind wander away from my father and back to that moment of unbridled joy when Anna slapped her silicone bra onto the shoulder of my jacket. When she looked me in the eye and told me our night in the pavilion kitchen had been the best night of her life. When she stared up at me with infatuation and lust in our bed, as the hours blurred past…
And I remember how she looked answering the door that morning barely two weeks ago. Pantsless, baked, a rumpled mess. She was stressed, but she was glowing. She was unemployed, but she was still fighting. She was penniless, but she was living.
She wasn’t ever afraid to start over, again and again.
I’m your ride-or-die, West Weston.
I am the only one here offering you unconditional support and love—and I’m not even asking you to choose me.
She wanted me to choose myself. Because we both knew—and I did know, deep down, no matter how hard I’d deny it—that no one else in my family would put me first.
I open my eyes, electricity shivers through me, and I find myself saying aloud, “My answer is no.”
There’s a shocked pause. “What did you say?”
“I said no. Unless you resign immediately, I’m not coming on.”
“You’re choosing this path? You’re choosing to be obliterated?”
“If you genuinely wanted me as CEO for your father’s company and not for some power porn bullshit, then you wouldn’t obliterate me.”
He laughs once, knife-sharp. “This is the biggest mistake of your life.”
For a reverberating second, terror washes me out, makes me feel lightheaded. But whatever instinct kicked the words out of me takes over again. “Do your worst, Dad. It won’t change my mind.”