“What you gon’ do all day?” Heavy asked when the elevator landed in the lobby and the doors opened.
“Smoke more weed and get drunk.” Horace chuckled with Heavy at his side. “You muhfuckas need to start having kids. I’m surprised Viggo ain’t got a litter as much sticking and moving he be doing. I wouldn’t be bored if I had some kids to play with.”
“I’ll have Pri bring Pierre over more. You know he loves it at your spot.”
“That’s because Petal be spoiling that boy. He a little soft,” Horace noted. “Likes to spend all his time in the kitchen instead of watching sports with me.”
“You one shit talking ass old man, you know that?”
“And is!” Horace agreed. “The fuck I’m biting my tongue for? I say what I mean and mean what I say.”
Henna whipped Heavy’s car up to the front entrance, and he opened the back door for his grandpa to climb inside. Once he was settled, he dropped his bags in the back of his whip and opened the driver’s door.
“I can’t even drive us home?” his twin prodded.
“Hell no, gon’ have me back in the damn hospital!” Horace complained. “Heavy, where the weed at? I know you got some in here. Had me high off them narcotics all them days. I need the bud!”
Henna got out and walked around the front of the wagon to the passenger seat while Heavy took his driver’s position behind the wheel. He grabbed the blunt from the ashtray and brought it to his lips to spark with his BIC lighter. After a few puffs, he passed it over the seat to Horace, and they sped out of the hospital parking lot.
The wine bottle was half gone when Giselle’s phone rang against the granite countertop later that day. She’d been spiraling and trying to reach Alonzo, but his line was going right to voicemail. She didn’t know how many ways she could tell him to call her back, so she stopped leaving messages. Picking up the iPhone, she swiped to answer, putting her lawyer on speaker.
“Talk to me, Malcolm. What the hell is going on?” She tipped the glass to her lips and swallowed the last of the wine.
“Giselle, I’ve looked. He’s moved everything. Every joint account, even the trust payouts that were in both names. It’s all gone.”
Lungs restricted, she rested her hand against her chest.
“Is that even legal?”
“Technically, it is. You gave him power of attorney for business disbursements last year, remember?” Malcolm reminded her.
The memory hit like a bad montage. Her signing a stack of papers in Alonzo’s office while he mumbled some shit about ‘streamlining taxes’. Sinking to the marble floor with her back against the counter and her glass still in hand, she stared ahead.
“I’ll do what I can, but you need to prepare yourself for a lot of scrutiny.” When the call ended, she stared into the wine glass.
The hum of the fridge was now the only sound in the room. Reaching above her, she grabbed the wine bottle. There was a faint click of the bottle hitting the glass during her refill. At that moment, it was the only thing she had any control over. This couldn’t really be happening. Alonzo wouldn’t do this to her, would he? After finishing her glass, she remembered sliding across the floor to lie down as her eyes grew heavy.
When she woke, head thick with alcohol, her phone buzzed somewhere nearby. First, she observed the time. It was almost one-thirty in the afternoon, so she’d been lying there for hours. Wiping the drool from the side of her face, her eyes lit up at the sight of Alonzo’s name flashing across the screen. Relief hit first, then anger before she answered.
“Where are you!” she demanded, quickly bringing herself to her feet. “My cards… everything?—”
“I’m handling it, G.”
“Handling what exactly? You emptied every account! What am I supposed to do?”
“It’s temporary.” He sighed like she was annoying him. “You’ve been overspending, and I need to protect what’s left.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it!”
The line went quiet. Then she heard a woman’s laugh in the background. Esti. It was unmistakable. Giselle pressed her hand against her stomach and doubled over like someone had punched her.
“You’re with her?” she gasped.
“Don’t start this, G. We’ll talk later. Don’t call me. I’ll call you.” There was a beep before her phone returned to the home screen.
It slipped from her shaking hand. For the longest, she stared at it on the ground in disbelief.Is this really happening? How had she not seen it?Anger steadied her enough to move. She picked up the phone and called Alonzo’s office. His receptionist, Andrea, answered.
“I don’t know the details Mrs. Maynard. I just know he said he was taking an extended trip. He left instructions that all inquiries be handled through legal counsel.”
