Chapter 42
Ava appears uncharacteristically small standing in the doorway, all color drained from her cheeks, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Preston, what the hell are you doing?” she asks. “Stop pointing that at her!”
He puts the gun behind his back, but beyond that, he’s unable to deliver a response right away. His hesitation allows me the chance to get Ava on my side, before he clouds her mind with more lies.
“Damien isn’t the blackmailer,” I say. “Preston is.”
At first, she scoffs, the idea too bizarre to be believed. She studies her husband with shimmering eyes as if she’s seeing him—the real him—for the first time. I remember having that experience with Oliver in this very room.
Ava’s voice wavers when she speaks. “Is that true?”
“Tippi is delusional.” It’s unnerving how calm Preston sounds, how he’s been able to harness his ability to manipulate over the years, his confidence that anything can be spun in his favor.
“She’s not the one holding a gun,” she says, plainly, her response equally chilling.
“Tippi has been lying to you. She’s been lying to all of us. She—”
“Ava knows I killed Oliver,” I tell him, pleased that whatever speech he’s been improvising has been cut short.
Preston’s pupils dilate with surprise. “You told her?”
“She found your card upstairs,” I say. “The one with the picture.”
Ava’s expression shifts as she no doubt recalls the shock of finding the photograph and hearing my confession. The pause gives Preston time to recover.
“Then you understand. She’s a murderer, Ava.”
“Tippi told me why she killed Oliver,” she says. “She said he was stealing from her. That he killed his first wife. He even threatened to kill Marmee.”
“She’s lying. She—”
“Everything I told you was true, Ava,” I plead with her. “Preston was working with him and splitting the profits.”
“Were you?” she asks, voice cracking.
Before he can answer, I rip the bag from his hands and toss it onto the marble island. “That’s why we’re in here. He’s forcing me to steal Marmee’s jewelry. Finish what Oliver started.”
Ava’s eyes dazzle when she looks at the jewels in the bag, but the look of confusion on her features remains.
“This was their plan all along. Preston is the one who introduced Oliver to me,” I say. “He saw how easy it was for him to outsmart his first wife, and they thought they could do the same to me. Sell Marmee’s jewels. Con me out of my inheritance when she died.”
“Preston wouldn’t do that.”
The certainty in her voice pains me. This is a man she’s loved for over a decade. She doesn’t want to believe he’d be capable of any of this. Cheating on her. Impregnating Constance. Stealing from me.
Her eyes plead with him. “Please, tell me the truth.”
“We’re hurting for money, babe. I’ve made some bad investments. There are gambling debts you don’t even know about,” he says. “I’m trying to erase all of that. I want to take care of us.”
“By stealing from my best friend?”
He turns his anger on me, as if it’s my fault an argument with his wife is stalling his plans. I leer back at him, curious as to how he can justify his actions to anyone, even himself.
“You know we’ve been growing apart for a long time,” he says, rubbing his brow with the grip of the gun. “I have to think about my future.”
“Growing apart? I’ve been there for you through everything. Whatever hole you put us in, I’ve been fighting to get us out.”
“You shouldn’t have to work this hard,” he says.
“Stop doing that!” Ava shouts. “Stop making it sound like you’re doing me a favor by lying to me. Cheating on me. Divorcing me.”
It’s painful watching the conversation unfold, witnessing Preston’s gaslighting in real time.
Through the lens of an outsider, his manipulation is obvious, but it’s different when you’re in the middle of it, blinded by love and hope.
The way I was with Oliver. But I recognize it now, and I’m grateful Ava is able to see through his deception.
“Fine,” he says, his tone changing. “Our relationship is done. I need money to start over.”
“And then what?” she says. “You think you can just steal Tippi’s money and start fresh with Constance? Have the family you’ve always wanted? Away from me?”
Preston laughs. “I’m not going to be with Constance. She has nothing to do with this.”
“What about the baby?” I interject.
“She might have a chance at suing for child support,” he says. “If she can prove it’s mine.”
My anger multiplies. “Constance thinks you’re going to raise the baby together.”
“That’s just Constance being Constance. You know how she is,” he says. “Living in a fantasy world.”
“A fantasy you gave her,” Ava adds. “The same fantasy you gave me years ago.”
Preston howls. “I’m sick of this! I’ve spent my whole life being what others want me to be. The good son. The ballplayer. The husband. For once in my life, I’m putting myself first.”
“To hell with the women in your life,” I say. “Your child.”
“This is how things will go.” He ignores me, the gun moving closer to my face. “When the police arrive, we’ll blame everything on Damien. You’ll stick with me until you transfer the funds, and we’ll go on about our lives.”
“And if I don’t?”
Preston fixes me with a cruel stare. “Then I’m going to tell the police they need to dig up the fountain out front.”
“You’re a monster,” Ava says, stare seething with hate.
“I’m sorry for the way everything unfolded between us. I am. This could be good for both of us. I don’t want my problems holding you back anymore.”
“Stop talking to me like that! Like you can control how I react!” she shouts. “There’s no justification for what you’re doing. Running away from your problems, hurting all of us in the process.”
“I’m not—”
“When the police arrive, I’m telling them everything. You can’t stop me.” She spins around, rushing into the hallway.
“Ava, wait!” Preston grabs the bag of jewelry and chases after her, jerking on my wrist for me to follow. We thunder down the grand staircase, Ava leading the way. She almost makes it to the front door.
A cracking boom forces us all to freeze. A gunshot. The bullet zips past us, shattering the mirror in the foyer. Shards of glass shower around us as someone yells, “Stop!”
But it isn’t Preston. He cowers behind me, the weapon still at his side.
It’s Constance I see guarding the front door, the barrel of her gun pointed right at us.