I barely remembered getting home.
I spent the rest of the evening on the phone with my bank, having the most unpleasant conversation.
The bartender at Unicorn Candy was right to cut my card. It was maxed out. But it wasn’t my doing.
I hadn’t checked my online activity since before Saturday, and apparently, nothing in the list of recent purchases indicated to the bank that my card’s information may have been stolen. A bunch of clothes, shoes, and accessories were purchased over the course of Sunday, when I was home, incapacitated by the hangover.
Whoever hacked into my line of credit had expensive taste. The things they bought were from posh boutiques. At my request, the bank emailed me the list of purchases, and damn, I wished it was me who’d gone on this shopping spree. I even gasped in shock at one particular item: a Balmain tweed jacket in fuchsia pink. It was worth just a few bucks short of seven thousand. And it wasn’t even the most expensive item. The winning spot was claimed by an Oscar de la Renta sundress. When I searched for this dress online, the image of this gorgeous pink-and-gold masterpiece nearly stole my breath. Holy hell. It was like the credit card thief knew my soul.
I managed to convince the bank’s service representative that it wasn’t me who’d bought these clothes. The bank was going to investigate the fraudulent activity, but in the meantime, I was to be reimbursed for all these extravagant purchases. My new card would arrive in the mail.
I should’ve been happy with the outcome, if only my brain didn’t keep replaying my earlier conversation with Radha. Was what happened at the school today somehow connected to my credit card’s information being stolen? Was someone targeting me? But why? I broke out in cold sweat as I looked over the list of fraudulent purchases again, zeroing in on the bright fuchsia Balmain jacket. Didn’t Radha say I wore a pink jacket today?
My phone, still in hand, started ringing. Thinking it was the bank again, I answered, only to be greeted by breathy silence, same kind as yesterday.
“Who is this?” I spoke sternly and waited for a reply that never came. “I’ll report you to the cops,” I added, but my voice was shaking.
My caller hung up, leaving me bereft and disoriented.