Winnie fell silent, unsure how to play this, and Ava erupted into laughter. “All right,” she said. “I’ll do what I can.”
The resulting letter was everything the authorities wanted to hear. Ava focused on their time together in college (omitting that it had only lasted a little over two months). She praised Winnie’s tenaciousness, her sense of self, her thoroughly American willingness to buck convention and follow her dreams (and her heart!). In less than two pages, Ava framed Winnie’s marriage to Bert as nothing short of an act of valor between two kindred souls.
At the start of the interview, the agent glanced at Ava’s letter and her face opened up. “My daughter’s at Stanford, full scholarship, class of 2012.”
This, Winnie thought, was the wondrous paradox of America: they all saw themselves as scrappy outsiders, when in reality they formed one giant country club.
The agent reached across the table and shook Winnie’s hand. “Welcome to the US,” she said.
Another decade would pass before Winnie reached out to Ava again. This time, she needed to get to her husband, but in the back of her mind she wondered if she might take the opportunity to introduce Ava to a new line of work. (Ava’s social media accounts indicated she’d left the firm.) Winnie certainly could use the help, as well as her old friend’s tax law expertise.
She only had to hang out with Ava a couple of times before she saw her opening. Of course Ava’s Harvard-educated doctor husband was absent and neglectful; of course she couldn’t admit that she hated being a lawyer and twisted herself into contortions downplaying her son’s developmental issues. As far as Winnie could tell, Ava’s entire life could be boiled down to this: great on paper, rotten everywhere else. And Winnie was sorry to see it. Her old friend deserved better. Truly, when Winnie decided to bring Ava into her business, she was doing her a favor. As much as she needed Ava’s help, Ava needed hers.
The first step was revealing the counterfeits scheme to test Ava’s interest. Winnie convinced Ava to come with her to Neiman Marcus and watch her in action. Afterward, they went to a run-down, deserted coffee shop to debrief.
“But that’s cheating,” Ava sputtered, once she’d affirmed what she’d seen.
Winnie was prepared. She trotted out her well-worn argument: the corporations were the real villains. They abused their workers, paying them pennies and then going out and hawking the fruits of their labor for thousands. Words she’d spoken so many times, they’d lost all meaning and might as well have been gibberish.
Ava’s upper lip curled into a sneer. “Spare me the excuses,” she said. “You’re no Robin Hood. Just say you saw an opportunity to make money and took it.”
Winnie peered down at the greasy table, unsure of how to proceed. “Okay,” she said slowly. “You’re right. The scheme is foolproof and I’m proud of it. I make good money. Great money, actually, and I could use your help.”
When she raised her head, Ava’s eyes bored into hers. “You’re disgusting,” she spat before charging out the door, leaving Winnie behind.
The only other customer in the coffee shop, an elderly man in a fedora, gave a low whistle from behind his newspaper. Winnie sat there, hands clutching opposite elbows, wondering how she’d gotten it so wrong. She’d expected shock, displeasure, sure, maybe condemnation. She hadn’t expected rage.
And then she understood: Ava took Winnie’s cheating as a personal affront. She saw Winnie as taking something that was rightfully hers—a life of wealth and delight and adventure, a life she’d been promised if only she worked hard enough and followed the rules and never, ever slipped up. Except Ava had done all those things. She’d gone to the right schools, chosen the right career, married the right partner, formed the right family—and made enormous sacrifices in the process, and yet here she was, thoroughly miserable, horrified by the prospect that her entire existence had been built on lies.
In that moment, Winnie was sorry she’d barged back into her friend’s life. She texted an apology and resolved not to bother Ava again. She even informed Boss Mak that her connection had fallen through; they’d need to find another way to get his liver.
Who would have predicted that within the week, Ava would wind up in Hong Kong visiting her family, and that Oli, that asshole, would freeze her bank cards? That all these disparate factors would converge to push Ava to take a peek into Winnie’s world and consider it anew?
Once she landed back in San Francisco, Ava called to report on her Guangzhou escapade. “I can’t believe you sent me into some strange man’s apartment.” Her voice was bright. She sounded exhilarated, alive. “I was honestly prepared to gouge out his eyes with my car keys.”
“Please, Ah Seng? He’d probably cower into a shivering heap the second you threatened him.” Winnie wondered if she should nudge Ava into another assignment or wait for her to broach the topic herself.
Too casually, Ava said, “You know, Oli offered to give up his place in Palo Alto.”
“But the commute,” Winnie deadpanned, and then dropped the sarcasm. “That’s great, though. It’s exactly what you wanted.”
On the other end of the line, Ava paused. “I told him to keep the apartment.”
“Why would you do that?”
Ava’s voice fell to a mutter. “Like you said, a little independence in a marriage isn’t bad.”
Winnie’s heart was a hummingbird trapped inside her chest. She hadn’t expected Ava to commit so quickly to this work.
Softly, almost as though to herself, Ava said, “What kind of husband freezes his wife’s bank cards?”
When Winnie didn’t answer right away, Ava added, “I know that you know. He told me he ran into you.”
Winnie exhaled. “I guess the kind who can’t stand not being in control.”
“He didn’t used to be this way.”
This time, Winnie didn’t respond because, really, what was there to say?
Now, with Ava fully aboard, the next step was to get her comfortable with returns. Together they drove down to the Stanford Shopping Center to pay a visit to the Chanel boutique. Winnie stationed herself at an outdoor table with a clear line of sight into the store. From behind her oversized sunglasses, she watched Ava glide through the glass doors with the Gabrielle superfake. She nodded at the security guard, the very picture of a woman accustomed to being around people who wanted to offer their help. Casually yet smartly dressed in a loose silk shirt and cigarette pants, her hair pulled back in a low ponytail, Winnie’s Evelyne bag slung over one shoulder, Ava exuded money, polish, class, but in a way that had been earned through hard work, not merely granted at birth. That was what made her so likable, endearing. That was what made her the perfect con.
Inside the store, Ava confronted her first decision. She veered away from the Mainland Chinese sales associate to the white one, already a pro. Winnie observed her easy banter, the way she set the superfake on the glass countertop for inspection, and then, right as the sales associate opened the dust bag, held up her own Evelyne as a distraction, pointing out some detail or another. What were they giggling about? What did the sales associate coyly reveal, prompting Ava to graze the woman’s forearm as though they were close friends?
It would have been a strong first performance, even without Ava’s final flourish—leaving her cell phone on the countertop so that the sales associate would be forced to run after her instead of continuing her inspection of the returned handbag.
Indeed, as the woman pursued Ava out of the store, Winnie noted the way the Chinese sales associate took over her colleague’s task, cursorily looking into the dust bag at the superfake without bothering to remove it completely and then toting it into the back room.
“Nice move with the cell phone. How did you come up with that?” Winnie asked when they were in the car, driving back to the city.
“The art of misdirection, right?”