Then
Wednesday, July 8
Brooklyn, New York
It was hot as all get-out in Brooklyn, but today was the day. Only forty-eight hours since I’d seen George open the safe, but no time like the present, right?
My heart drummed. My fingers tingled. I stood on the brownstone steps, sweat beading on the back of my neck. I’d chosen my accoutrements carefully:
Small tote, slung across my shoulder. Brown paper bag, smelling strongly of garlic, sesame, and yeast. An act, but a good one. George had a meeting in the city, and I’d waited around the corner to make sure the town car came and got him, but if someone should come by for whatever reason, I’d say I wanted to surprise George with breakfast.
I scaled the steps with purpose, like I belonged. It was amazing what you could get away with when everyone saw you a certain way. Chloe flats. Tailored black romper. God damn if I didn’t look the part. Here I was, a well-to-do trustworthy woman. The kind you could hand the keys to an unoccupied apartment. Who you didn’t even ask to leave the room when you popped open your safe. Who you laughed with about the absurdity of a private soccer tutor. Oh, New York City, never stop being you. This world was wild. No matter how long I’d played inside it, I’d never quite get used to it.
I set the bagels down and knelt to the Master Lock. Pulled out my phone, like I was checking the code for an Airbnb or rental.
Like I said, when you look the part, no one questions a thing.
I was moving fast, but also taking a well-timed opportunity. See, I had to do it on a Wednesday. Between George and Mary, I’d put together most of the schedule. The cleaning service, the name of which Mary had given me over a month ago, came on Tuesdays and Fridays, something I’d confirmed over the phone. It wasn’t hard to call them up, say I was George’s new assistant, that I was merging his home and work calendars and wanted to get everything in one place. Tell the girl on the other end of the line that he actually had mentioned the schedule to me, but I’d forgotten to write it down and didn’t want to ask him again. I could practically hear the smile in her voice, the recognition. “Oh, I’m sure you don’t,” she said with a laugh. “No problem. I’ve got it right here.”
Working-class solidarity. Another tool in my toolbox.
And then Thursday, the landscapers came. Why they needed landscaping for a few hedges and a rosebush was beyond me, but hey, it wasn’t on me to question the schedule.
No, Wednesday was the day. The nanny, Genevieve, wouldn’t be a problem, since Mary had Alex during the week, picked him up from the soccer teacher on Monday and kept him until Friday.
Fingers shaking slightly, Master Lock secure in my hand, I tried George’s birthday first, narcissist I knew him to be.
One. Zero. Two. Three.
It took me a moment to get the silver numbers just right. Then I pulled at the black tab, the one that would open if I had it right.
Nothing.
A deep breath. Another try. Mary’s birthday next.
Click. Zero. Click, click. Two. Click. One. Click, click, click, click, click. Eight.
A shuffling behind me. I turned, but it was only a mother, pushing a stroller, completely wrapped up in her baby’s needs. I pivoted back to the Master Lock, pulled the tab. Nothing.
Please, I thought. Please let the next one work.
Alex’s birthday.
George didn’t really care about his son, at least according to Mary. Still, the date was logical, right? For all I knew, Mary had set the combo to this lock. She was the one who’d interfaced with the nannies in the past—George’s frantic unprepared search for cash to pay the soccer teacher made that clear. Besides, it was the sort of unpaid labor that always fell to a woman. The kind of thing I specialized in.
I stared at the lock again. Stand here much longer, and I might look suspicious to a neighbor. I had to be right. Mary probably set this up herself, and Alex’s birthday would be an easy one for the nanny to remember. It’s the kind of thing I would have chosen if I were taking charge of things.
I said a quick little prayer and got to it.
Zero stayed. Click, click, click, click, click to the seven. One stayed, too. Click, click, click to the five.
I pulled.
Relief swam through me. The box came open.
Two keys, one gold, one silver, on a ring, there for the taking.
I snatched them quickly, stood, and slipped the gold into the lock. It stuck a minute, and I switched to the silver. It stuck, too.
I felt the sun on my back. Sweat migrating to the pits of my arms now. Smelled the yeast of the bagels.
Focus, I thought. Just focus.
I returned to the gold key, then pulled the handle forward, just slightly, as I’d once seen George do.
Just like that, the door opened.
God damn, I was in.