Behind Her Smile (31 page)

I start talking rapidly even though the words don’t make much sense. “Marc Jacobs worked for Louis Vuitton. Not that I’m comparing myself to Marc Jacobs. What I mean is, I would love to see how I could work for your brand. As I said, I have been following your career ever since I knew you existed. Friday. I’ll be there.” Once I get ahold of my faculties, I manage to put together a coherent sentence and Lourdes nods in approval.

“Adriana, you naughty girl, matching us this way,” Lourdes says with a playful smile. “Ladies, I apologize for dashing, but if I don’t leave now, I’ll be late for a meeting with my business partner. Ruthless, that one.” She softens the criticism with a wink. We settle on a time, and then she hugs both Adriana and me before gliding out of the condo.

“That didn’t really happen,” I say to Adriana.

She holds up her hands in mock surrender. “Before you accuse me of convincing her to come here, I promise you I did not. It naturally came up in conversation that I was headed here after our lunch.”

“I don’t think you would lie to me,” I say softly. “You’re one of the only people I trust. If you say you didn’t invite her to see the dress, I believe you.”

Adriana smiles softly at me. “There’s a favor I want to ask.”

“Anything,” I say instantly, meaning it wholeheartedly.

“There’s a place that’s very special to me in North Miami. Willow’s House is a shelter for women and children. They are more of our sisters, and I think you could benefit from spending time with them. I visit on Tuesdays. Tomorrow, in fact. It would be a favor to me because any positive attention and respect these women and kids get is incredibly valuable.”

“Are you sure I’m the right person?” I ask hesitantly. “I’m not exactly the shining example of good decision-making skills.”

“That is exactly why you are the perfect person to spend time with these women—you don’t pretend like you are the model of all that is good and right,” she insists.

Scoffing, I turn away from her to busy myself with stacking magazines in a semi-organized pile “Not too long ago, I was a woman who wanted everyone to think I had it all together.”

“Oh, really? That’s what you wanted? Correct me if I’m wrong, but from what I’ve heard, David was the one who put all of those impossible expectations on you.”

“And I followed them like a good little puppet,” I say angrily.

“Would you criticize any of the women you met at Willow’s House?”

Quickly, I turn back to Adriana. “Absolutely not. I couldn’t begin to imagine what brought them there, but certainly, it was no fault of their own.”

Adriana moves to stand next to me. She places a comforting hand on my shoulder. “That’s exactly why I want you to come with me.”

“Okay. I’ll give it a chance,” I agree tentatively despite my inward doubts. Then I glance at the wall clock. “I have a meeting with Jared in half an hour.”

“I’ll text you the address then, and we’ll meet there at ten. Sound good?”

Impulsively, I lean forward to hug Adriana. “This is part of the sisterhood you told me about and I won’t fail you. I promise.”

“I know you won’t,” she agrees.

The receptionist at Lindsey, Smith and Cohen takes me directly to the small conference room where I had my first meeting with Jared. Shortly after I arrive, the lawyer enters the room holding a tablet and a file folder full of papers.

“Florida is not a community property state,” he begins. “That means you don’t have automatic rights to the shared assets you and David accrued while married. The judge decides what is fair in the split. It’s your decision if you want to contest any property.”

Determination makes my voice hard. “I haven’t changed my mind, Jared. All of that money—none of it belongs to me. Having it would only make me feel more tied to that man, and I want to put him behind me for good.”

The manila envelope slides across the table when he pushes it in my direction. “Truthfully, there’s not much left to fight over. In my opinion, it wouldn’t be worth the effort to go after the dredges of the savings account. He wasn’t lying when he said there’s not much left. Although the federal investigators are tracing money David funneled into offshore accounts.” Baffled, the lawyer shakes his head. “Bluntly speaking, I haven’t seen a case this disturbing in all my years practicing law.”

“You’re telling me,” I mutter. Opening the folder, I find printed documents detailing investments and bank account records. The numbers are startling. While I thought we were living within our means, it turns out the accounts were dwindling down to almost nothing. “I had no idea things were this bad.”

“Remember the offshore accounts, Karolina. There’s money left, but he hid it away likely because of the illegal activities at Morgan Financial.”

I’m almost afraid to uncover another layer of David’s betrayal. This time, the duplicity has to do with his clients. “What kind of illegal activities?”

“You’ve heard of Bernie Madoff, I’m sure,” Jared says warily.

My stomach flips. “He stole on that big of a scale?”

“The client base at Morgan Financial was not nearly as big as Madoff’s portfolio. David wasn’t particularly accomplished at managing a Ponzi scheme. Some of his clients began to question their profit statements and took their money elsewhere. Still, he promised massive returns to investors. As you may have guessed, he was unable to provide those results and had to dip into other investors’ funds to pay out. Someone alerted the authorities, and the rest is really a page in a sad story we’ve heard before.” Looking uncomfortable, Jared scratches the spot in front of his right ear.

“I wish I could say this surprises me, but at this point, you could tell me David punched Santa Claus and I’d believe you.” Despite the very serious situation, Jared and I share muted smiles.

“Unfortunately, there’s more we need to discuss,” he says with tangible regret.

Fighting back a sigh, I ask him to go on.

Jared’s expression shows his distress. “I don’t want to deliver more bad news, but as your attorney, I believe it is my duty to tell you everything I’ve learned during this exploratory phase.”

My pulse hammers in my throat as uneasy tingles skitter down my spine. “If it’s really as awful as it sounds, just rip the bandage off. Tell me everything.”

The poised man shows a sign of insecurity and then firmly slips his professional mask into places. “There are two more things. I’ll start with the less pleasant of the two.”

Clasping my hands together in my lap, I wait anxiously.

“Within twenty-four hours, the two men working with David confessed the entire plot to the investigators. You don’t have to worry about them anymore. They will be imprisoned for the rest of their lives. The confession was to get the death penalty taken off the table.”

At ‘death penalty,’ I swallow an audible noise that makes Jared pause.

“The death penalty is legal in Florida.” His words are almost gentle.

“It never crossed my mind.”

Jared assumes a fatherly disposition. “And it shouldn’t. Right now, it is a concept and not a concrete fact. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. If, and only if, this becomes an issue, then we’ll address it.”

Worrying my bottom lip between my teeth, I nod.

Jared continues. “David hired Jordan Cox and Victor Espinosa to stage what was to look like a home invasion. He was brazen enough to invite them into the home when you weren’t there—dressed as utility workers. As you know, they cut electricity to the entire street to eliminate the threat of other security cameras catching them. The cops found ski masks and gloves in the entryway of the house.”

“How did they get into the house?” I interrupt, even though I already know the answer.

“One of the sliding glass doors was unlocked and still cracked open when the police did their sweep through the house.”

“What I still don’t understand is how they planned on . . . getting rid of me without tracing it back to them somehow? David couldn’t run away unharmed. It would be too obvious that he had a hand in my—my murder.” A chill races down my spine. The gravity of the situation drags me straight back to earth. I was a breath away from being killed. A spasm of terror rocks through me.

“Gasoline cans were found in the basement near the generator. The plan was to burn the house down and quickly. This was meant to look like a home invasion, robbery, and murder. Their payment was cash from safes inside the home?” Jared looks at me to confirm.

“Possibly. I only knew about the jewelry in our closet. David never told me what he kept in that safe.” An unattractive snort escapes. “Clearly, he never told me
anything
, much less what secrets he stored in the walls of the house. That’s about all I can stomach today. Is there anything else?”

The polished lawyer assumes his most professional expression and nods. “Nothing as disturbing. In our research, we dug into the deed to the house in Coral Gables, the boat, the cars, the membership in the club—everything was in his name, Karolina. Plainly, it means that all of those properties belong to David. I suppose you might consider this positive because once the divorce is final, none of those things will be of your concern.”

“A small relief. Let David’s legal team take over. You know this, I must have said it a dozen times, but I really just want to move on. Where do we go from here? I—I want to be rid of him as soon as possible. That probably sounds unrealistic. I know I will truly never rid myself of association with David but being his wife is almost unbearable.” A very real shudder rocks my body.

Jared breaks all the walls of professionalism and leans across the table to place his hand on mine and halt its trembling. “This is going to be the fastest divorce in the history of this firm. I will not let him jerk you around. I’ve already spoken to his attorney, and I don’t foresee a hassle in getting a quick divorce. David Morgan is drowning in his man-made ocean of shit.”

I can’t help it; I giggle at the very out-of-character comment. We share a moment of levity. “Or it could be called a mountain of muck.”

Jared squeezes my hand and then releases his hold. “I have a daughter your age,” he tells me, “and if something like this happened to her, I would move a mountain of muck to make things right for her.”

My lips wobble and my eyes sting. I have to blink hard to keep the tears at bay. “Thank you,” I say hoarsely.

Jared presses a button on the intercom and calls a paralegal to join us in the meeting. “Never liked David Morgan anyway,” he mutters eliciting another small smile from me.

I’m starting to realize that though they have been emotionally draining and on some level completely devastating, these days have been light years better than my time with David. The little wins are piling up, and each day, I gain a greater hold on my own life.

Karolina

A
white fence and row of trees shield Willow’s House from the street. The two-story structure is set at the end of a short driveway. I find a parking spot behind Adriana’s car on the street in front of the building. At first, I stand there waiting for some sign that I am doing the right thing by being here. Alas, there is nothing but a feeling in my gut that Adriana knows best.

With my knuckle, I knock on the front door and wait. A buzzer sounds and then a crackly voice comes from the intercom. “Willow’s House. How may I help you?” The voice is pleasant enough, but still I’m nervous.

“This is Karolina Morgan. Adriana Martinez invited me,” I say awkwardly.

Buzz.
The door jerks, and I turn the knob and push it open.

The underwhelming exterior hides an auspicious interior. The walls are freshly painted; there are pictures of smiling people hanging on the walls and children’s artwork. Immediately to the right of the entryway are white-paned French doors with glass inserts to show the activity inside. Adriana sits at a desk with a woman. Upon seeing me, she waves me inside.

“Karolina, I want to introduce you to Taylor Corey. She’s the director of Willow House.”

The tall, thin woman shakes my hand with vigor, thanking me profusely for visiting. Another layer of guilt builds because I feel like a fraud. These women escaped their abusers on their own strength, whereas I never had the courage to leave on my own. I force a brittle smile for Taylor and Adriana and allow them to take me through the facilities. With each step through Willow’s House, a leaden weight forms stronger in my belly. The tour ends in the kitchen where a young woman, probably right around my age, is baking something. When the three of us enter, she smiles shyly.

“Adriana, Karolina, this is Sara.” I notice then that Taylor doesn’t use her last name. Likely a protective measure. We’re both women dropping the surname. Instantly, I’m drawn to Sara. The way she forces a polite smile while unhappiness swims in her clear blue eyes—I understand that struggle.

“What are you making?” I step closer to her, hoping to come across non-threatening.

“Chocolate chip cookies.” This close to Sara, I see a faint scar above her eyebrow. What kind of monster would hurt her? Anger boils beneath my skin.

“Do you need help?” I realize this might be intrusive, but I can’t stop myself from trying to connect with Sara. Adriana was right. I barely hear Adriana and Taylor quietly leave Sara and me alone once the other woman welcomes my assistance.