Chapter 43
IMOGEN
The daiquiri was too sweet. The fake strawberry slurry disguised the drink’s stealthy strength, and Imogen could feel the rum flushing her cheeks.
She scanned briefly for the waiter, then changed her mind and decided to wait until they were at Marta’s hotel to get another drink.
She knew she’d feel so much better when she got her hands on that briefcase, her golden ticket to a new life in a non-extradition country.
The last couple of weeks had been a cocktail of acidic stress mixed with an unexpected shot of boredom.
Who knew that fleeing the country could be so dull?
Imogen needed to keep a low profile, of course, so she couldn’t go out or socialize, and she never left her accommodations without her oversized sunglasses and sun hat.
She hadn’t even been to the beach once. Instead, she spent her days holed up in her cheap hotel room, ducking out only to buy food and wine from the nearby grocery store.
Imogen knew she was probably being paranoid—who wouldn’t be in her position?
—but she felt as though she was being watched.
When she’d gone out to pick up yogurt and bananas a few days ago, she left the store without buying anything because there was a man lingering in the produce aisle who looked up at her twice.
Maybe he was checking her out, or maybe it was something else.
Yesterday, she finally let her nerves win a round against vanity and purchased a box dye to cover up her blond hair.
It made her crazy to think she was ruining her salon colour with a cheap muddy brown, but she told herself that soon she’d be able to afford the best colourists and stylists to fix her slapdash job.
Funds wouldn’t be a problem once she had her crypto cold wallet (a flash drive she kept in her safety deposit box) and the papers she needed to access her offshore accounts in Saint Kitts.
The safety deposit box also contained fifty thousand dollars in cash, which would come in very handy in the short term.
A pesky gnat of guilt flitted through Imogen at her decision not to give Marta some of the money, but she mentally flicked it away.
Imogen couldn’t wait to not be poor again; she was sick of rationing her prepaid Visa cards (which she’d largely exhausted on flights and accommodations).
She told herself that everything was going to work out.
Marta had come through for her, as she always knew she would.
“Why won’t you admit it?” Marta looked pained. “Why won’t you tell me that you don’t have my money and that you never did? I know you’re lying to me, Imogen. If you ever cared about me as a friend, tell me now. You’re sitting there pretending like everything is fine, but—Everything. Is. Not. Fine.”
She’d pushed Marta too far, Imogen realized, kicking herself for not seeing it sooner.
Focus. Imogen drew a deep breath and exhaled as she hung her head in a contrite pose, placing her hands on the table, palms up.
“You’re right. You’re right. Everything is not fine.
It’s been a total mess, and I’ve been so ashamed and embarrassed that I haven’t been able to be vulnerable with you.
I’ve been worried I’ll lose your friendship on top of everything else and .
. . Marty, you need to know that it’s one of the only things that keeps me going.
” Imogen thought that this declaration (not her most eloquent charm offensive, but Marta’s bar was pretty low) would have gotten her a satisfied smile, or at the very least a little nod, but Marta’s face was surprisingly stony, giving her nothing.
Imogen needed to convince her that she was going to get her money back, needed her to believe the lie for as long as it took to get her hands on that briefcase and get the hell off this island.
“There is no world where I don’t make you whole.
And I’ll pay back every cent of the expenses for your travel.
But this whole thing is more complex than you can imagine and it’ll take time to sort everything out.
You’ll have the money in your account by the end of day tomorrow.
I swear on Ari’s life.” Her daughter’s name was heavy on her tongue, but she told herself it didn’t matter what she said—it was all in the service of salvaging her future, and wouldn’t Ari ultimately benefit from that?
Imogen fingered the beaded bracelet Ari had gifted her last Christmas.
Marta’s expression shifted and her features were now arranged in a confusing contrast: Her mouth was hanging open like she was about to laugh, but her eyes were sad and her brows squinched together in a way that deepened her frown lines.
Imogen reflexively touched her own forehead and was relieved at the Botoxed smoothness; thankfully, she’d gotten touched up right before the cottage trip.
“Okay, Imm. I get it. Let’s head back to my hotel.”
The afternoon sun glistened off the water as they made their way to the Royal White Sands, but Imogen barely noticed the beauty of her surroundings anymore.
She was itching to make a fresh start elsewhere, possibly in her new country of citizenship.
Acquiring an extra passport had been one of her brighter ideas when the ITFF really started picking up.
It had been shockingly straightforward: a cash investment for citizenship in Vanuatu.
The same night she was released from police custody, Imogen had retrieved her secret salvation from the picture frame in her bedroom, and left the house with little more than the clothes on her back and the prepaid credit cards she’d kept clipped inside the green-and-gold passport.
At the airport, she’d purchased a direct flight to Trinidad and, from there, the next available flight to Saint Kitts.
The lobby of the Royal White Sands was all shiny white-and-pink marble, accented by bursting arrangements of sunset-coloured local flowers.
Imogen’s flip-flops slap-slap-slapped as she walked—it was so quiet in here, no phones ringing or guests loitering by the check-in desk—and she was suddenly self-conscious of the sound and her casual beach dress.
Even inside, she didn’t remove her sunglasses.
Before they got to the elevators, Marta stopped and looked at Imogen with wide eyes, then pulled her into an almost violent hug and whispered in her ear, “If you tell them about the missing cash, I’ll make sure they know you killed Celeste.
” Marta released her shoulders, spun around, and walked away.
Then the lobby exploded into action.