“Absolutely,” the banker says. “You’re looking at a proud Phi Delt from the great class of ’78 at Washington and Lee University.” His right hand protrudes from under the safari cape draped over his shoulder. His creepy Van Pelt grin, muttonchops, and handlebar mustache make me shudder.
Tripp pauses, staring at the extended hand for a beat. Is this some insider frat bro joke? It doesn’t sound like a joke. And why is Tripp not shaking the man’s hand?
“Come on, don’t leave the man hanging,” a belligerent Griggs demands. “What’s the Phi Delt handshake?”
There’s aliteralsecret handshake—of course there is. Because frat guys are perpetually stuck in a childish game of “who gets to play in my super-secret tree house.”
Tripp hesitates, and I can practically read the thoughts that must be swirling inside Eli’s head. He could attempt to fake the handshake, or just try to play it off.
“You don’t fucking know, do you?” Griggs’s nostrils flare, eyes going wild behind his Captain America mask.
An ominous, damp chill crawls over my skin. I reach for the call button on my walkie-talkie, my tone clipped and frantic as I urge Holly to come meet me in the courtyard.
“You’re gonna regret you ever set foot in this place,” Griggs barks, quickly taking a combative stand.
Eli’s lead foot is angled forward, back foot angled out, knees bent slightly, body weight shifted back, readying himself for a fight.
To her credit, Virginia remains by his side. I don’t know if I should be pissed or grateful. She may be the only thing preventing Griggs from physically going after Eli.
“Hotty Toddy, my ass,” Griggs says, baring his teeth like an animal, spittle flying, his polished Atlanta accent gone. “You’re a fucking fake.” Eli flinches at the accusation, balling his hands into fists beside him. “And you’ve fucked with the wrong people.”
Holly appears beside me, breathing hard from exertion and nerves. “What’s going on?” she asks, but I don’t have to respond.
“Surely,” Virginia ventures, her tone honeyed sweet, “this is all one big misunderstanding.” She places one hand on Griggs’s chest, right above the star, trying to build some space between them. “Tripp is a common name. Maybe we shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”
“Fine, you got me,” Eli says with a dismissive shrug, trying to regain his cocky Tripp persona. “I don’t remember the fucking handshake. Sue me.”
Judge Thacker steps forward, somehow even more menacing in his white suit and black Western bow tie. “We’re gonna do a little more than that, son.” He leans forward, hands resting over the round handle of his costume’s cane. “If my grandson is correct, it seems that you’ve stolen this young man’s identity.” He takes Virginia by the arm, moving her away from Tripp and toward himself. “Georgia carries a maximum ten-year prison sentence for first offenders.” He stabs his cane in Eli’s direction. “More for subsequent offenses.”
My vision blurs.Eli can’t go to prison, I think erratically.Who will help me save the Castillos’ home? Who will take Pearl to Savannah in the fall? How will he get Mabel to Wyoming?All at once I’m dizzy, my thoughts careening into a tailspin.
“We have to do something,” I hear myself cry out in a whisper. I move toward the steps, but Holly catches the sleeve of my jacket, pulling me back.
“Where are you going?” she whisper-yells.
“We can’t let him get arrested.” My mouth goes dry. My body is on the verge of a panic attack, but it will have to wait. We need to intervene before the judge puts in a call to his buddy the sheriff. “Follow me,” I say, clutching my drinks tray, doing my best to calm my wobbly legs as I take the steps, one at a time, Holly moving beside me.
“Can I get you gentlemen some drinks?” I ask, forcing my face to rearrange itself into a servile smile.
“Holly,” Griggs snarls, ignoring me. “Get security.”
“Is there something the matter, Mr. Johnson?” Holly asks, her voice remarkably measured and steady. She makes a point to glance up the steps, conveying with one look that there are otherguests in the courtyard who might be listening, appealing to their need for discretion.
Seeming to read the room, Virginia nudges her cousin. “We should get out of here.” They head back up the steps to the lawn, but not before Virginia tosses one last look in my direction, her expression shaded by something like remorse.
“A fraudster has infiltrated the club,” Judge Thacker concludes, stabbing the ground with his cane.
“Just can’t trust anyone these days,” Griggs interjects, folding his arms across his chest.
“Holly,” Judge Thacker says, reaching for her shoulder. “Please call the police.”
The glasses on my tray rattle, turning everyone’s attention to me. Everyone except Holly looks genuinely surprised to see me standing there.
“María, is it?” Jim Wade says, rolling therunnecessarily. His pale face pokes out from the toothy mouth of the giant lizard. “Why don’t you run inside and grab us a round of bourbons?” He smiles as if nothing’s the matter. As if he’s not about to wreck our lives, obliterate our futures.
“Happy to,” I manage, avoiding Eli’s hard gaze as I turn back toward the ballroom, uncertain of what to do next. I stride across the courtyard, berating myself.How could I dismiss Virginia’s comment about her cousin when we first met her at the derby party? Why didn’t we cross-reference the guest list? Why didn’t I follow up, do a deep dive? Why did I agree to this godforsaken plan in the first place?
I abandon the drinks tray at the bar, where I catch sight of Chip, the publisher ofThe Georgia Times, enjoying a cocktail and flirting with a younger woman, decidedly not his wife.
