Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
PHIL
Phil lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.
What happened at the dinner replayed in his mind, over and over.
One of them had lied to him. One of them sent the notes. But, which one? Alex. He was crafty and manipulative. He was an opportunist, always looking for a chance to make a buck. Phil recalled the first time he met Alex, in an economics class. He was tall, good-looking, and had an athletic build, but didn’t play sports. Alex sat at the front and regularly engaged in discourse with the professor. He had dreams of being a hedge fund manager. Or a wealth fund manager. He couldn’t make up his mind. Basically, he wanted a job in finance. Wanted to work on Wall Street. Wanted to make a lot of money and screw a lot of different women. Somehow, he’d ended up becoming a lawyer, chasing ambulances. He had a cheesy commercial advertising his services for people involved in serious car accidents.
But Phil didn’t think he sent it because the message on the note wasn’t Alex’s style.
Mia might have sent it. Although, Phil wasn’t sure because, since he’d first met her, when they were in college, he’d never known Mia to do anything against Alex’s wishes. He could imagine Alex telling Mia to send the note, but she wouldn’t think of doing it on her own. She wouldn’t want to risk her position in Alex’s life, as his adoring wife. She’d worked hard to get what she wanted, a ring on her left hand. She’d put up with a lot. Mainly Alex’s cheating on her with dozens of girls.
Mia was a beautiful girl, petite and sexy, with a slutty innocence that made her seem like a baby doll and a sex toy. She was gorgeous and insecure. Alex got off on exploiting her lack of self-confidence, making her feel less than, not good enough. Their relationship was toxic. Alex was controlling and emotionally abusive. Mia was an enabler, and apologist for Alex’s bad behavior, and was a bit unhinged. But she was determined to get her “mrs.” degree, which she had, but only because she’d worn Alex down, and as a scholarship student, she was his best choice. The oil heiresses might sleep with him but they weren’t taking him home to meet big daddy.
Phil’s thoughts shifted to Jason. They’d met in English lit class. Quiet and studious, Jason kept to himself. He couldn’t believe Jason was friends with Alex until he’d learned Jason was at the school on scholarship, as well. But, also, a narcissist like Alex needed a pacifist like Jason. Someone with ethics and morals to balance out his debauchery. Together, Jason and Alex pulled an enviable number of girls when they went out. Alex due to his sheer force of will. He knew how to make a girl think that she couldn’t say no to him. Jason, on the other hand, presented himself as compassionate and sensitive.
Still, he doubted Jason would send him notes.
Which brought him to Chris.
Alex, Jason, and Chris never seemed like a trio to Phil. It was more like Chris was the third wheel to their duo. The odd man out. Another guy on scholarship Alex had taken under his wing, mainly because he was a villain, and needed a loyal sycophant. Could Chris have sent the notes? Phil wasn’t sure. His first inclination was to think, no, but the most loyal servants sometimes betrayed their masters. Maybe Chris had grown tired of Alex telling him what to do.
Somehow, Phil didn’t think so.
Grace could have done it, Phil supposed. She was sly and crafty. Someone who played chess. Who kept her cards close to the vest, moving in silence. A mystery. An enigma. She was hard to figure out. Phil had always felt unsure around Grace because she was a chameleon. A shapeshifter. The person who became what she needed to be depending on the situation she found herself in. Phil didn’t trust Grace. Never had. But, was she capable of sending him notes about the night of the party? He didn’t know.
Phil rubbed his eyes.
He had to consider Sarah, even though he didn’t want to. She might have sent him the notes to get back at him. Maybe for revenge. Maybe she wanted to fuck with him. But why? Maybe just because she could. Because she wanted to. Because she’d been through so much, because of him.
Sighing, he sat up, reached into his pocket, and pulled out the note. Read it again.
Since he’d received the notes, three months ago, he’d been consumed, obsessed with figuring out who could have sent them. He’d chronicled his life, thinking of the milestones and disappointments, the momentous events and trying times. He thought of the people he knew, all the people he’d met at various times during his existence, and he’d known that whoever had sent the notes was somehow connected to the party he’d thrown fifteen years ago.
When the first note arrived, nondescript and anonymous, a thin strip of paper inside an envelope, Phil had assumed it was a prank. Or maybe some weird type of direct mail marketing. Possibly some company wanting to sell him insurance or internet service or an extended warranty on his car.
You should know the truth.
He’d stared at the words, laughing to himself. He agreed that the truth was good to know, but the truth about what? The envelope had no return address. He had no idea who’d sent the note, and when he questioned the staff—the servants who’d been loyal to his father until the day he’d died and were now forced to work for the wayward, undeserving son they secretly despised or risk unemployment—they were curt, and decidedly unconcerned, in their denials of knowledge.
Phil had tossed the note, forgetting the message before he’d ripped the paper to shreds and dropped it into the trash.
Two weeks later, another note arrived on the large, orangewood desk in his father’s study, where he spent most of the day perusing reports about oil leases and potential drilling sites, which was one of his duties as a vice president in the company his grandfather had founded decades earlier.
He didn’t think the second note was a prank. And yet he was hesitant to believe it had been written for him, even though the envelope bore his name and address. The note was a cipher, a phrase presenting itself as a clue. It revealed that lies had been told but didn’t specify which lies. Or why the lies had been told? And there was no mention of who had told the lies. As Phil ruminated on the note, despite wanting to ignore it, he couldn’t help but wonder if it had something to do with his past.
A certain moment in his past.
An incident he regretted. The main cause of the guilt and shame he’d lived with for the past fifteen years.
The third note increased his suspicions.
The fourth note confirmed his worst fears, which had increased in severity because of the previous notes.
Together, the four strips of paper were a chilling indictment. Proof of a diabolical treachery inflicted upon him. The last note gave the first note frightening clarity.
The first note had been a harbinger, a warning.
The last note was a revelation .
The last note was the truth.
But knowing the truth hadn’t set him free. If anything, the truth made him feel shackled, determined, and obsessed with discovering why Alex betrayed and lied to him.
Phil started thinking about how he would find Alex and demand an explanation. But part of him didn’t want to know. The truth was ugly and sordid. He wanted to put the truth behind him, but how could he? If the notes were true, and he had no reason to believe they weren’t, how could he let Alex get away with what he’d done?
Men had been killed for lesser offenses.
But then Mia’s invitation came.
Phil took it as some kind of sign. Permission to proceed. The invitation to an island getaway with old friends was the confirmation he needed to find out what happened the night of his party.
On a random Thursday in September, he’d opened his father’s thirty-room summer chalet to hundreds of college coeds, most of whom he knew, and had invited and lots more who were strangers to him, friends of friends and tagalongs and people who’d found out about the party and decided to show up.
Phil hadn’t cared. The more the merrier. He’d set out to host an epic event. Philtastic’s Philapalooza. He wanted the party to be epic. Legendary. Something the campus and surrounding communities would be talking about months later. A party people would kill themselves for not attending. If you hadn’t been at Phil’s party, you would be shunned, treated like a leper, marked by your inability to get into the party, either by invitation or ingenuity. You’d be judged as less than, someone to be avoided, and even worse, you would become someone who would not be invited to parties in the future. The party would become a social badge of honor.
It was supposed to be all that and so much more.
Turned out to be nothing like he’d imagined.
He’d started the night laughing and drinking, the life of the party, the man of the hour, constantly surrounded by the lively, boisterous crowd of revelers, indulging in riotous debauchery, feeling as though he owned the town and everyone in it.
He ended the night confused and disoriented, covered in blood.