Chapter 4 - The Web of Desperation
Over the next four weeks, Avalon’s life dissolved into a nightmare of her own making.
Because Randall was secretly cooperating with me, he maintained a cold, distant demeanor at home, pretending to reluctantly accept Avalon’s "banking glitch" excuse while quietly gathering every piece of paper trail he could find. Meanwhile, I played the role of the oblivious, helpful mother-in-law to absolute perfection.
Avalon began calling me constantly. Twice a day. Three times a day.
Every time she called, her story changed.
"Agatha, hi!" she rattled off nervously during a phone call on a Tuesday afternoon. "Listen, I spoke to the bank again! It turns out it wasn't a routing error after all! It was an administrative employee who entered our tax identification numbers wrong!"
"Oh, my goodness," I replied softly. "Did the fraud investigators clear it up?"
"Well... no, not yet," she stammered, sweating through the phone. "Actually, some of those transactions... they weren't expenditures at all! They were short-term real estate investments I made on your behalf!"
"Investments?" I asked. "At Saks Fifth Avenue?"
"It was... luxury goods reselling!" she blurted out desperately. "A high-yield asset strategy! But listen, Agatha, you haven't spoken to Randall about the fraud unit again, have you?"
"Not yet, dear," I said gently. "We're meeting for dinner on New Year's Eve, remember? I'm bringing my box of bank statements then."
Click. She hung up the phone in a panic.
Every lie she told required three new lies to support it. She was drowning in a sea of her own fabrications, staying up until three in the morning rearranging fake spreadsheets on her laptop, trying desperately to create a financial paper trail that didn't exist to show Randall before the corporate audit finalized.
Randall kept me updated every night.
"She’s breaking down, Mom," he told me over the phone one evening while Avalon was downstairs in the kitchen crying to her mother on the phone. "She tried to sell three of her luxury handbags on eBay yesterday to raise quick cash. She even tried to apply for a secret personal loan under my name, but the bank flagged her application because I froze our credit lines last week."
"She’s trying to cover the hole before the trap snaps shut," I noted quietly.
"She asked me if we could skip New Year's Eve dinner," Randall added with a cold laugh. "She told me she had a migraine. I told her that cancelling on my mother after everything that happened would be an insult. She’s trapped, Mom. She has nowhere left to run."
By December 31st, Chicago was blanketed in a heavy snowstorm. The wind howled through the city streets, blowing white powder against the tall glass windows of Oakwood Hills.
At seven o'clock in the evening, I arrived at Randall’s house. I wore my navy church dress, but this time, I carried a worn black leather notebook in my purse.
The house was immaculately decorated for the holidays. A grand Christmas tree stood in the living room, glittering with gold lights. The dining table was set once again with fine silver, crystal glasses, and lit scented candles.
But the atmosphere inside the house was as cold as a morgue.
Avalon looked utterly exhausted. Dark circles hung heavily beneath her eyes, partially concealed under thick layers of makeup. Her hands were thin and jumpy, her fingers constantly picking at the seams of her silk dress. She looked like she hadn't slept a full hour in a month.
We sat down at the table. Randall poured red wine into three crystal glasses.
Avalon barely touched hers. She stared at the center of the table, her eyes darting nervously toward my purse every time I shifted in my chair.
"It’s nice to be together for New Year's Eve," Randall said casually, taking a sip of his wine. "A time to close old chapters and start fresh."
"Yes..." Avalon managed to choke out, forcing a ghost of a smile onto her pale lips. "Fresh starts."
May you like
"Speaking of fresh starts," Randall said, resting his elbows on the table and looking directly at his wife. "The corporate audit at First National officially concluded yesterday afternoon."
Avalon’s fork dropped onto her plate with a sharp, sickening clink.
