Chapter Fifty-Two
THEY HAVE ALL been waiting.
Nadya is nervous about what’s going to happen next.
Peter has told her that the estate has finally been settled and that the Westcotts have the money – he and Konstantin had watched them celebrate with champagne.
Nadya knows that Konstantin is going to tell them to pay.
Something to do with Bitcoin. She doesn’t understand it, but Peter has explained that it’s what criminals use because it’s untraceable.
She certainly doesn’t want the Westcotts to find out who is behind this.
Konstantin said they didn’t need to know the details, but that she and Peter would get their share. She hopes she can trust him.
Nadya has continued to clean the Westcotts’ brownstone every Wednesday over these last many months – even after learning that they were murderers.
She considered giving notice but decided against it.
Every time she goes there, she hopes that neither of them will be home.
Occasionally she finds Ted in and does her best to avoid him.
He does his best to avoid her too, and it’s a large house, so they have not seen much of each other.
Which is a good thing, because she’s not sure she could behave normally in front of him.
He makes her nervous – he deliberately killed someone.
And she’s afraid she’ll somehow give herself away.
But she likes being in their house when they’re not there, knowing what she knows about them. Knowing that they have no idea what she knows. What she’s part of. It gives her a feeling of power. Every once in a while, she replaces the batteries in the hidden cameras the way Konstantin showed her.
Since her meeting with Konstantin all those months ago she’s felt like she’s on a roller coaster, experiencing dizzying highs and desperate lows one after the other.
She would be rich; she would be found out.
She would be free; she would be in jail.
She tells herself she must not lose courage.
It won’t be long now. She’s just a bit player, no one important.
And whenever her conscience starts to bother her, she reminds herself that other people do far worse things. The Westcotts, for example.
Her relationship with Peter has shifted, seemingly for the better.
He seems to respect her, to look up to her, the way he did when he was a child.
She has reestablished some of her authority over him.
He listens to her, doesn’t talk back. It’s a nice change, but it’s sad too, that it took her becoming a criminal.
Sometimes Peter comes home and tells her what he sees on the camera feeds, and she listens with interest. It’s strange, hearing from her son what is going on inside the house she cleans every week.
That’s how they knew the money had finally come through.
He says they don’t talk much any more, that Jill Westcott wanders around the house like the walking dead.
Now Nadya is a blackmailer and a voyeur, with a son who respects her. Life can certainly veer off in unexpected directions, she tells herself.
Soon she will be the one sipping champagne.
John Burnley, unable to discover who the blackmailer is, had given up the idea of finding the files and stealing them for himself some time ago. He has accepted that he will never have that kind of leverage over Ted.
While disappointing, it’s not the end of the world. He knows the truth, and perhaps he will get something for that, once the money comes in. Perhaps not, though, given what happened to Ben Donleavy.
He’s casting around for his next opportunity. Maybe it’s time to move on to someplace else. He loves New York, but he’s getting restless.
Lara misses Ben more than she ever knew was possible. The days and nights are unbearably lonely.
To her surprise, she did conceive in Venice, and it breaks her heart that Ben died before he even knew.
Now she is almost at term. Ben has left her comfortably well off.
She is not rich, but his grief-stricken parents have recently indicated that they will treat her as their own daughter, that she and the baby will be well taken care of.
She has sold her brownstone and moved to a smaller place on the Upper West Side, unable to bear living in the house where Ben was killed, or even in the same neighbourhood.
She was terrified that the intruder might come back.
She had stayed with Ben’s parents in the interim, and never spent another night in the brownstone.
She blames Jill and Ted – but mostly Ted – for her husband’s death. It wasn’t Ted who pushed Ben over the railing, but she still thinks he was behind it.
They owe her.
Konstantin is at home, alone, in front of his laptop on Saturday morning.
He has just used his burner phone to send his payment instructions to the Westcotts.
Very soon, the money will be sent to his untraceable account in Bitcoin.
And this is just the beginning. The Westcotts are now loaded.
He smiles to himself. His patience is about to pay off.
He waits.
And waits.
It’s taking a long time. He sends another text. IS THERE A PROBLEM?
Jill’s phone pings. Heads together, she and Ted read the text.
Jill can’t breathe. They’re standing in the kitchen.
She feels like she’s standing on the edge of a very high tower, about to take a terrifying plunge.
This must be what vertigo is like. She can feel herself swaying.
Ted reaches out to steady her. They have talked about this.
He has persuaded her, finally, that this is the right decision, the only possible decision.
Ted reaches for her phone and turns it off.