Chapter 51
Allison
I work from home tonight so I can look at our financials on the home laptop to see if I can accommodate Finley’s request of a lump-sum settlement.
I sit in the family room, lights dimmed low, the kind of half-light that leaves corners in shadow.
The sectional feels oversized with just me curled in it, my knees tucked under a throw blanket I don’t share anymore.
The coffee table holds nothing but a glass of water and a book, a bio on Clarence Darrow that I’ve barely cracked for months.
No clutter, no shoes kicked off at odd angles, no plates abandoned after late-night snacking.
Through the sliding glass doors, the backyard looks black and skeletal. It’s the last day of March; it should be warmer, brighter, but remnants of snow linger, and the temperatures stay stubbornly below fifty.
I hear the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, the occasional creak of settling wood, but nothing more.
No Finley’s voice booming from the next room, no Grayson clattering in from practice or dropping his backpack in the hall.
Just me. The silence used to feel like an occasional luxury. Now it feels permanent.
In the family room, I pull the blanket tighter and listen to the furnace kick on. This is what I wanted, my choice. But now the house feels like it’s listening, waiting. One day soon, I know, this quiet will become its own kind of noise.
My phone buzzes. Caller ID says Finley.
I don’t have an answer for him, not fully, at least. I’ve spent the last hour going over our holdings, calculating the penalties for early withdrawal, accounting for capital gains taxes.
As far as I can tell, giving Finley his half, the best I could do for a lump-sum payment would fall short of $1 million, not even half of what he demanded.
“Hi, Fin,” I answer.
“Did you enjoy yourself yesterday?” he says, his words slurred from alcohol.
“I wouldn’t call any of this enjoyable.”
“Oh, I think you enjoyed yourself. Lording your money over me? Making me beg? Guilt trips and humiliation, your specialties? I think you fucking loved it.”
“Fin—”
“I want two million dollars. Not a penny less. And you pay for Gray’s education out of your half.”
I pause a beat, to make sure there’s no punch line to follow. “But I already told—”
“I don’t care what you told me,” he says. “I don’t care what you have to liquidate. Liquidate it! Two million or else.”
“Or else? Or else what, Fin?” I don’t hide the exhaustion in my voice.
“Or else that video goes viral,” he says.
I pop off the couch, nearly tangling my foot in the blanket.
“Hello?” he sings. “Still there, wifey? You sure got quiet all of a sudden.”
“What…what video—”
“The ‘school security video’?” he says. “Are you familiar with it? Boy, what a show!”
A slow burn works through my chest. Luke made good on his threat. He showed Finley that video. “Finley, please—”
“Oh, you do know what I’m talking about. So I imagine it’s worth quite a bit to you. Say, two million dollars?”
It was one thing if Luke had these videos. Luke, I could contain; I could hurt him right back with that audio recording. Mutually assured destruction would deter him.
But Finley? He’s a wounded animal, nothing to lose.
My mind racing, trying to imagine every angle, pushing away the panic, I fumble for words. “Finley…”
“Not sounding so confident now, are you? Not so in control?”
“We—we need to discuss this. Let’s talk in person.”
“Oh, she wants to talk in person! Sure, honey, let’s talk! How about tomorrow afternoon at the condo?”
“Um…sure.” I have no idea if I’m free. But I’ll have to make it work.
“Yeah, tomorrow. April Fools’ Day! Only for once, the fool won’t be me, princess.”
“Finley,” I say.
“Yes, sweetheart? Dearest? Yes?”
“If I do this…if I can…get two million—”
“You mean when you get two million.”
“Will we…be done? Will this be the end?”
“You bet, babe.”
“No,” I say, feeling something sink inside me. “How will I know this will really be over? Once and for all?”
“I’ll give you my copies of the video.”
No. He’ll burn extra copies. He’ll always have this to hold over me. Hitting Marlow with my car and driving away? That’s prison time. The end of my legal career. The end of everything.
“You mean can you trust I won’t keep a copy?” Fin says, reading my thoughts. “Hmm. Well, I guess you’ll never be sure, will you?”
The connection goes dead.
I look at the phone, as if there is an answer contained in there. But I already know the answer. Finley now has something on me, and he won’t ever let it go.
I will never be sure, is the answer.
This will never be over.