Then
Sunday, June 13
Brooklyn, New York
Willa stared at me, a cool margarita in her hand, willing me to explain what I’d said:
Because of what George did to her.
“George was the one who encouraged me to befriend Cassandra, in the beginning,” I said. “I can’t believe that was already seven years ago.”
“Seven years,” Willa said. “That’s a good chunk of time.”
I nodded. “Our dating anniversary would have been this week, if you can believe it.”
Willa’s eyes narrowed. “Not June fifteenth, is it? That’s the day I met Jack.”
“The seventeenth, actually. George always insisted we re-create our first date. Did it every year, even once Alex was born.” It had been yet another way that my husband had controlled everything, but I’d enjoyed it, I really had. “Anyway, Cassandra was like me. She was from Pennsylvania—Pennsyltucky, she always said. She didn’t belong with the family at all. But she was gorgeous, and Henry fell for her hard when her PR firm organized one of the family benefits. Just a junior PR assistant from nowhere who hooks the eldest son of one of the most well-to-do families in Brooklyn. A fairy tale. And even though she wasn’t raised with money, she was one of those people who could fit in anywhere.”
“A bit opportunistic, then,” Willa said, her mouth set firm. “A social climber.”
“I guess you could say that, but I understood where she was coming from. She was a few years younger than me, and she met Henry much earlier than I met George. I mean, she was living in this shitty apartment in Queens—rats, roaches, the works. She was barely scraping by with her meager salary and she didn’t have a safety net to fall back on. When Henry plucked her from that world, she didn’t want to look back. It was different for me. I met George in my thirties. I had a network, and even if I lost touch with a lot of them, still, it was something.”
Willa nodded me on.
“Cassandra would always get done up, these gorgeous dresses, incredible jewelry, and she looked like she’d been raised that way. We spent so much time together, at the beginning—it always felt like we were two kids who’d hit the jackpot. Two country girls who got to play in the castle, you know? She might have been decked out in Harry Winston, but she still knew how wild all this money really was.”
“So how did Miss Couture lose her footing?” Willa asked. “Obviously things went south.”
I nodded, lifting the margarita to my lips.
“I always thought Henry was a bit of a dick, super entitled, much more classic rich guy than George ever was. He drank too much, he was always planning these stupid ‘boys’ trips’ to Vegas or Ibiza. And I know he cheated on Cassandra—I don’t know if there were ever real relationships or affairs, but I’m sure there were plenty of high-priced hookers and hangers-on. It’s how she got so much expensive jewelry.”
Willa raised an eyebrow. “Maybe that was the trade-off, what she agreed to. She’d look the other way in return for all the spoils.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But I do think it hurt her. Cassandra loved Henry, as unlovable as he could be. But his alcoholism got worse, and I think the cheating did, too. I know she wanted kids with him, but she didn’t feel like she could do it unless things stabilized. I think when she realized they never would, it got to be too much. When you look the other way that many times, you kind of run out of places to look. She decided she’d had enough, and she left.”
“Let me guess,” Willa said. “They took it all. They always do.”
“They haven’t even finished working it out yet,” I said. “It’s not just the prenup, which is bad enough. Henry is trying to get everything. And I mean everything.” I took a last watery sip. “The second Henry found out she was going to leave him, he cleared out all her closets, gave all her stuff to charity. He took her jewelry, too. Some seriously valuable stuff. And it’s not like she wanted to run around town wearing Cartier. She knew that part of her life was over. She was desperate for cash. All she was even going to do was sell it so she could build a new life without him. He made sure she couldn’t.”
“Wow,” Willa said. “I mean, I know rich people can get away with literal murder, but is that even legal? The clothes, fine, but the jewelry. Jewelry is valuable. Shared assets, right?”
I hated to admit the truth, but I had to. “Henry told her she must have misplaced it, which was obviously a horrible, unbelievable bit of gaslighting. Cassandra checked everything they shared—joint deposit boxes, all that—but she couldn’t find it. Then about a month after she left him, she came to me.”
Willa raised an eyebrow.
I bit my lip, forced myself to go on. “She thought Henry had it hidden away somewhere. And she thought maybe George had helped him. She asked me to look for it.”
“Uh-oh,” Willa said, leaning forward now.
“Right. I told her that she shouldn’t make assumptions like that. Yes, George was particular, yes, you could even say controlling, but I really didn’t think he’d stoop so low. Honestly, I walked out on our lunch, I was so pissed.”
Willa nodded me on.
“So I went straight to George, and he acted all shocked and appalled—‘How dare she? Don’t you see what kind of a person she is? Trying to get you and me involved? Making these accusations? It’s way out of line.’ ” I pressed my hands into the table, forcing myself on. “So a couple of days passed, and I called Cassandra. I apologized for running out on her in the café, but told her that she really hurt me, the way she assumed George would do that. I told her I talked to him, and that he swore up and down he wouldn’t do that. And she—” My stomach roiled, reliving the memory. “She said, ‘If you’re so sure, just look. Check. Wherever he keeps valuable things. Just do that for me. Please.’ ”
“So did you?” Willa asked.
“There’s this safe in our bedroom, where we keep our passports and extra cash and stuff. I never really used it much, but I knew the code.” I shrugged. “I really didn’t think it would be there . . .”
“It was, wasn’t it?”
“I couldn’t believe it. It was tucked in the back. I’d spent so long letting him get his way, but I knew I had to confront him now. I went straight to George’s office, waving the jewelry around in his face. He told me it was none of my business. That we shouldn’t get involved.”
“Kind of rich,” Willa said. “Coming from a man actively hiding assets during his brother’s contentious divorce.”
“I know,” I said. “Believe me. I told him all of that. I said that I trusted him with a lot of things—our money, our plans, hiring nannies, the works—but this was too much. That he couldn’t get his way this time.”
“What did George do?” Willa asked.
“He said what he always said—‘Enough, Mary. Just leave it’—like I was a dog, not his partner. But I didn’t leave it, not this time. I kept bringing it up, and that’s when . . .”
“That’s when what?”
I caught Willa’s eyes, willing her to understand.
“That’s when the punishments started.”