Delaney—
So running away didn’t work. Which you told me would happen, but since you’re insufferable when you’re right, that’s all I’m gonna say about it.
I wasn’t even looking, that’s the stupid part. I hadn’t for years, ever since I renounced our family “tradition” after my come-to-Jesus moment with Rake Tarbell in fucking Venice, of all places.
And it wasn’t too bad, me and Lillith pretending to be citizens. After a while, it didn’t feel like we were pretending. But then I smelled a fat rat and it was like when we were kids and we just had to snoop.
I volunteered. That’s it. That’s why I’m in this mess—except I was always going to be in this mess, it just took me the better part of a decade to fall. There was a major fire at the church and they were running fund-raisers to fix the nave and the meeting house and I was helping out the office gals, all that filing and refiling and asking for new financial statements to replace what they lost, pretty boring shit, and then I thought some of the statements looked … off. So I poked. And then I asked. And the church ladies were all “Oh, no worries, Mr. Kovac takes care of that and he’s a brilliant investor who’s always moving money around and we don’t really understand it but he gets results,” and I don’t have to tell you how many alarm bells that set off in my brain.
Old habits die never, which is why I didn’t call a cop. And tell you what, kiddo, you coulda cracked this guy’s files with your eyes closed and your thumbs broken. That’s how easy it was. He is into a ton of shit and I think he got overconfident. Scratch that—I know he did. This isn’t even the first church he scammed—he got his start in Europe. In fact, he’s going back to Italy in the next few months.
I didn’t squeeze him.
I thought about it, and if I was still living for myself, I probably would have, just for the pure joy of fucking with a scammer, but I’m out of practice and there was Lillith to think of. I put the bomb back in the box and got the hell out of there—how’s that for a what do you call it, a metaphor? Except I’m worried snooping sped up the countdown. And that it’ll blow before I can get us clear.
So I didn’t squeeze him, but I did make copies—like Ellen says, a little CYA goes a long way. Something like that, I dunno, ’cause when Ellen starts with the acronyms, I tune out.
Anyway. We’re going. No idea if this guy’s got software on his system that’ll tell him if someone’s been peeking, and I won’t take a chance. Not with Lillith to think of. I’m setting up a fail-safe if, God forbid, something happens to me, I’ve got the drive in a safe space, I’ve pulled my savings, which are also in a safe space, and I’m sending you all the info I pulled on the Tarbell family back in the day when the plan was to scam and leave town, not get knocked up with a baby and leave town. My advice, start with the grandmother. She’ll be all in once she knows there’s a new Tarbell in the mix.
Lillith doesn’t know who her dad is, but she knows who you are. I’ve told her that if you ever show up, she’s to drop everything and go with you straightaway and no questions asked and that you’ll explain everything.
She’s amazing, Delaney. Brilliant and beautiful and about a thousand times nicer on her worst day than I am on my best. If I mysteriously vanish like in a bad police procedural, I want you to grab her, find out which Tarbell is her dad, and keep them both safe until the shitstorm’s passed. After that—well, fuck if I know. Live happily ever after? Y’know what—I’ll be happy if you guys just live.
It’s a lot to ask, I know. And I hate asking, which you know. I’m sorry we couldn’t stay close. I should have kept in touch and I’m paying for that now. Don’t make Lillith take the weight of my bad decision(s).
Love my girl. And give my best to the rest.
Better luck next life,
Nedra