To my profound shock, I feel a sudden rush of pity for this sad man. He looks so perfectly put together; he acts so smooth and debonair. He seems always to be entirely in control. He smiles and laughs, he plays all the parts so well. But, wow. He is broken. It dawns on me that Griggs Johnson has not the slightest idea what makes a life worth living. He knows nothing of love, of joy, of friendship, of community. All he knows, all he cares to know, is power.
For the briefest of moments, I wonder what happened to break him so entirely, to make him such an empty shell of a human being. But I don’t have time to muse about this man’s childhood, to worry about his daddy issues or household trauma. I have my own beautiful life to save, and that of the person I love even more than life itself. I’m going to find a way through this because I have to. And no matter what suffering Aidan or I endure because of Griggs Johnson, I’ll forever be grateful that the life I’ve built with my son is—and always will be—infinitely better than his pathetic existence.
It seems to dawn on Griggs that I have no intention of responding. I’ve taken a pass on my turn in his insidious game. So he tries a new tactic: He extends his hand as if to pass me the keys, but releases them before I have time to catch them. They land on the floor in front of me. We both crouch down at the same time to pick them up.
“Welcome to the next phase of our game,” he hisses against my ear, like the snake he is. I recoil at the words, aware that we are partly hidden under the conference table and the others can’t see or hear the exchange. “When I get the pleasure of watching you enjoy, for the briefest of moments”—he pauses, smiles so wide that I can see his gums—“the fabulous job that you can’t permanently land without my help.” He smiles even wider. “Not here. Not anywhere. Not while I’m the boss. I could get you fired tomorrow and then make damn sure no other club in this city hires you.” He cocks his head to the side, studies my expression closely. “But I’m feeling generous, so I’ll give you another chance to play by my rules.”
All the familiar anxieties threaten to rush back in, but after I pick up the keys from the floor, I find myself standing tall, and I’m surprised to feel a sudden release of tension from my body—a tension I’ve been holding for so long that it’s served as my constant companion over these many months. Now, it’s gone.
I don’t have to worry about whose turn it is, or about who wins, because this isn’t my game. These aren’t my rules, and they never will be.
Tucking the keys into my suit pocket, I thank the gathered gentlemen for the opportunity, then turn to leave.
I’ve got a family game night to attend.
CHAPTER 35Luisa
After my red haze of anger subsided, I called Augusto and filled him in on every detail of the last three months. He listened, asked probing questions, went over crucial details, and promised to help, before reprimanding me for being “so dumb and reckless.”
My saint of a brother-in-law worked around the clock, calling in multiple favors and expediting the investigation into Eli’s possible impersonation charges. He met with Judge Thacker, Griggs, and the other witnesses. Aided by Virginia’s unexpected assistance with the judge, Augusto somehow managed to convince them—or to be more precise, create the illusion that it was their idea—that it was best for the club’s reputation if they dropped the charges and buried the paperwork, or risk ending up as a headline in a major news outlet.What journalist worth their salt would resist outing the fraudster who infiltrated one of the most prestigious country clubs in the country?The subtext being that by outing Eli, they out themselves.
Augusto swatted away every one of my attempts to help.You’ve done enough, Luisa, he’d said in a tone that reeked of disappointment. His rejection was one more item on a growing list of my self-inflicted losses: Augusto’s respect, Holly’s friendship, Eli’s freedom, Pearl’s and Aidan’s college prospects, the Castillos’ home, my career, my life, my future.
Eli spent all of Sunday held at the Fulton County Jail, awaiting a Monday morning hearing. Meanwhile, I sat on my hands, spiraling. Alone in my room, I pulled up Gloria’s phone number a dozen times but couldn’t bring myself to dial. It was over. Herprayers had gone unanswered, just as mine had all those years ago. All I had left to do was question the trail of bad decisions I’d left behind since the morning my editor, Nina, fired me.
I’ve never been a sloppy investigator. I lean on facts, research, analysis. I excel at identifying patterns and inconsistencies. I’m guided by evidence and logic. And above all, I know to remain objective. Emotions are a nuisance in the news world.
Which is how, by the time the sun has set on Sunday, I have reached a self-evident conclusion: I trusted two people with my life, and yet again, everything has fallen apart. Adult Luisa is not much different than teenage Luisa, it seems. Again I put my life in the hands of a naive woman and a con man. And a plan, as it turns out, Chip could’ve rightly compared to a hunk of Swiss cheese.
Looking back to my meeting with Holly at Ginny’s bar, I should’ve paid closer attention to the red flags, starting with the stupid karaoke bet. Who bets their life on a song?
Apparently, I do.
And then there’s Eli. A self-avowed professional trickster. Did the man mean a single word he said to me? Were his feelings truthful? And even if they were, what’s preventing him from duping me in the future? Is this the man I want to gamble my happiness on?
I think of my mother and how much direct evidence she dismissed or outright ignored over the years. She crafted excuses for my dad when he was away for longer than could be justified. She blamed our friends when our landline rang, only to have the caller hang up. She took his lipstick-stained dress shirts to the laundress, not once confronting him about it.
She actively chose to believe the lie.
I, by contrast, transact in facts.
And the fact of the matter is that I will be better on my own.
I’ll give Mami credit for this, though: she taught me how to pack up my life and start over again somewhere new.
So, yesterday, I reached out to every one of my professional contacts and applied to jobs in news markets as far as Honolulu. I began to make plans for a future 4,490 miles away from here.I just need a fresh start, I told myself over and over. I could take up surfing, rent a little condo by the beach, enroll in some law courses at the University of Hawaii, and be an island girl again.
Now it’s noon on Monday—thirty-six hours since Eli’s arrest at the club. I’m loitering in the waiting area of the Fulton County Jail, sleep-deprived, physically spent, and emotionally drained, but eager to get this over with. The quicker I blow up the bridge between me and Eli, the sooner I can move on with my life away from here.
A guard buzzes the doors to the holding section of the building. Eli steps out in the black T-shirt and gray sweats I gave Augusto to deliver yesterday. His clothes are rumpled, his hair is sticking up in a mess. He’s got dark circles under his eyes and a beard shadow. I force my body not to respond to his physical presence, tamp down every feeling of affection, longing, and want in my heart, because now is not the time for sentimentality. Now is the time to take care of myself, do what needs to be done, be practical, pragmatic, and get myself back on track.
“Christ, Luisa, it’s so fucking good to see you,” he says warmly, extending both arms as if to embrace. I step back, out of reach. “Did something else happen? Is Holly okay?” His expression shifts to concern.
“Let’s go,” I respond, briskly moving out the main doors into the blistering midday sun.
Eli jogs to catch up with me.
“Luisa, we’ll figure something out,” he says, falling into step beside me on the sidewalk. “I’ll help you. We’ll regroup. I had time to think, and I have some ideas—”
