I realize you’re not accustomed to being the student, but please know that I sincerely hope your educational experience is glitch-free.
If you are who I believe you are—it will all make sense.
I didn’t leave you without resources—I wouldn’t do that. I’ve heard it’s a difficult experience to be removed from your life and left at the complete disposal of another; therefore, as your positive consequence, I’ve created one account which is available to you. It can be accessed through the information below.
To continue your education, I’ve provided you with a cell phone. I assume a lecture in general operating instructions won’t be necessary; however, choose wisely—remember all actions have consequences.
The temperature of the small room increased with each word. The weeks of worry about Claire and—and—it was all some kind of ruse—some kind of game—a way to steal his money! But why? He had money in the States—more money than she accessed in these accounts. She could’ve had anything she wanted. Thoughts came too fast. Was it about the money, or was it to bring him down publicly—public failure—public humiliation—appearances. Red infiltrated the room. Perhaps it came through the low buzz of the florescent lights. He tried to stop it—tried to maintain control. After all, there was an explanation; Tony knew there was. How? How did Claire even know about this account? How could she access it? He had the key!
Inhaling deeply, Tony closed his eyes. Glitch-free? Consequences? Was that some kind of sick joke? Maybe it wasn’t Claire; after all, she told her story to Meredith. Tony didn’t know how much she’d said—hell, she told her story to the attorneys in Iowa. The FBI had that account—he’d read the opening sentences. Suddenly, he wished he’d read more when he was with the FBI. Maybe, just maybe, this was some FBI set-up?
Tony had no choice—he had to take the bait and turn on the phone. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so trapped. In their game of chess, he was in figurative check; however, he didn’t know for sure who’d put him there. Tony looked around the room for an outlet. Finding one, he plugged in the phone. While the small gadget came to life, he worked to still the mayhem in his head.
What about the account? The last time he checked, he and Catherine had over 200 million dollars invested. What stipend had he been allowed to keep? Red seeped into his thoughts as he considered the possibilities. If the fuck’n FBI thought they could take away his life and his money, then they were sadly mistaken. He was going to get to the end of this, come hell or high water, and damnit, the last seventeen days had been hell!
When the screen finally lit, Tony accessed the contacts. There were three. The first programmed number wasn’t associated with a name—it was an asterisk (*). The second was the name: Claire. The third was his name: Anthony. He felt the muscles of his neck tighten. Was the information about Claire’s cell phone in that FBI report? The shit about the asterisks? Or was this Claire’s way of saying it was her? Claire’s way of saying, now I’ve done it to you, and didn’t he deserve it? Tony knew he did; nonetheless, he wouldn’t accept it willingly or play her damn games!
The signal within the room was too poor to assure a connection. He refused to live in fear. If there was fuck’n teaching to do—he’d be the teacher. Slipping the phone into the pocket of his jacket, Tony collected the charger and the note. Channeling his business-self, he made his way to the front of the bank to learn the contents of his account.
Claire thought daily about the items she’d left in the safety deposit box. Tony’s plane reportedly went down over two weeks ago. She never considered the possibility that he was truly injured; nevertheless, with each passing day, she felt the need to entertain the possibility. After all, if he were able, wouldn’t he be in Geneva accessing his fortune?
There were times she worried that he had accessed the box and had chosen not to call. In her mind, she created all different scenarios for his decision. Claire knew, no matter what he decided—whether to call or not to call—his decision wouldn’t be based off his understanding or misunderstanding of her clues. She knew beyond a doubt—Anthony Rawlings was the only man who’d know what she was saying.