I took a seat in the wingback chair across from her.
“Is he okay?” I asked. I was trying to be empathetic, but I didn’t even believe Olivia had feelings. However, it must have been quite an emergency for her to just take off like that, and I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe something had happened to Dean. Maybe she had a perfectly good reason for her behavior.
She looked around the room for a moment, fiddled with her fingernails, and then refocused her attention on me. “Yes,” she hesitated. “He got into some trouble with his work, but I don’t want to go into details. It’s all still pretty raw.”
Her face showed no emotion, but that’s how Olivia always looked. She could be taking her last breath, slowly succumbing to death, and she’d still look like that . . . plump pursed lips, cutting cheekbones, fixated eyes, and not a smile or laugh line to be found.
“I hope everything is okay. Do you want something to drink? Coffee? Water?” I was trying to be kind and accommodating.
“No, no.” She waved her hand again. “I came here to talk to you about something.”
“What is it?” I leaned in a little closer to her.
“I can no longer keep your dirty secret. It’s weighing so heavy on my heart.” She placed her hand over her chest.
I leaned away from her. Of fucking course she’d be here for that. What is it she wants? Because I know for a fact nothing weighs heavy on Olivia’s heart. She doesn’t have a goddamn heart.
“It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since you found out about Keisha and me,” I said through gritted teeth.
“I know. I know. It’s killing me though. How can you do this to Mark?” She tried to make her face look sad, but instead, her lips twisted and her eyes squinted.
“You have to give me time to figure this out.”
Olivia looked at her watch and then back at me. She was always one with a flair for the dramatic.
“I just don’t think I can. It’s immoral. Even though we’re really close, it’s wrong. Trust me, I’m team Keisha and Karen. I would be the first to walk you lesbians down the aisle, but it’s really eating me up inside.”
Since when the hell did Olivia have morals? She wanted something from me. That much was obvious. This had nothing to do with right and wrong; this had to do with Olivia getting her way. I wasn’t sure what she was after, but I was going to find out. I let out a deep breath.
“Just tell me what you want to keep your mouth shut.” I shook my head.
Without missing a beat, Olivia responded, “Fifty thousand dollars.”
“What? Are you fucking crazy?” I nearly jumped out of my chair. Where did she get off ? Coming into my house . . . and demanding fifty thousand dollars. I could kill her.
“I’m not crazy, Karen.” She jutted up her chin. “I have something you want, and you have something I want. It’s business.”
“How do you expect me to come up with that type of money?” I asked, trying to make her realize how literally insane this demand was. There was no way she was serious.
“Close a deal or ask your husband—or better yet, I will.” She sneered.
“Why do you need the money? You have money!”
“Why do you need a girlfriend? You have a husband.” She cocked her head. “We always want more. Don’t we, Karen?” Olivia stood from her seat and walked toward the front door. “I expect full payment by Saturday night. If not, I guess I won’t be taking your secret to my grave.” She laughed and left the house, letting the wind slam the door closed behind her.
I brought a throw pillow to my face. “Fuuuuck!” I screamed.
62
Crystal
“Go ahead and set the coffins up out back,” I said to a man dressed in blue jeans and a flannel shirt. It was the day before our Halloween-themed housewarming party, and our home was filled with workers and decorations. It was an absolute madhouse. Bryce was at the office, leaving me to get everything prepared. The decor had to be finished today as the caterers, DJ, performers, pyrotechnicians, servers, and bartenders would be setting up tomorrow. Red curtains were being hung up on every wall on the first floor. There were spiderwebs, skeletons, crystal chandeliers, smoke machines, and a light-up dance floor, along with a DJ booth outside by the pool area. They were dying the pool red and covering the backyard with red carpet. There were black thrones and chaise longues for seating. This party was going to be elegant yet frightening, just like Buckhead. I had always wanted to get into event planning, and this party was proof that I could do it and do it well. I wanted it to be memorable.
“Is anything going upstairs?” a man carrying a skeleton asked.
“No, keep everything down here aside from the crime scene tape blocking off both sets of stairs. But you can leave the tape on the counter. I’ll put that up tomorrow, right before the party.”
“You got it.” He nodded and proceeded to carry the skeletons to the dining room.
“Thank you.”
I made my way up the spiral staircase. It was the only area of the house that wasn’t filled with people and party decor. I walked down the hallway toward our master bedroom and noticed Bryce’s office door was ajar. He never left it unlocked, let alone open. Had one of the workers gone in there? I pushed open the door gently, peeking my head in. It was silent and dark. The blinds were drawn. His desk was tidy, but there was a glow coming from the computer monitor. I had never been in his home office before. Bryce was adamant about his privacy and had said there was too much confidential stuff inside to leave it unlocked. He wouldn’t even let the maid clean it. He had rushed out in a hurry earlier, so he must have forgotten to lock it.
I ambled to the desk and placed my hand on the mouse. I was just going to put the monitor to sleep, but instead, I hovered the cursor over a folder titled Insurance Policy. It caught my eye. I knew I shouldn’t click it, but curiosity got the best of me. I double-clicked and it opened a window filled with documents, videos, photos, and Excel spreadsheets. I started clicking through the spreadsheets. They didn’t make much sense to me, as none of them had anything to do with our life insurance policy. They just looked like expense reports. I began opening the documents. There were letters and memos to police departments and sheriff’s departments. Some sentences stuck out more than others.
Suspend patrol of Highway 14.
Be on the lookout for a blue Chevy Cruze. Person of interest.
Suspend patrol of Highway 12.
I moved on to the photos and began opening them. There were photos of trucks. Pallets of unknown items. Dean was in a photo. Then, my heart dropped. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I blinked several times. There was a photo of the inside of a semitrailer filled with a dozen young girls. They were lying on the floor of it, dressed in raggedy clothes, with their feet and hands bound. My eyes widened. I sat up straight in the chair and clicked a video. There were trucks and shipping containers in the background. Dean came on the screen. He was carrying a woman. Her body was limp. Her skin was pale. Her eyes were open but inert.
“Shit. We’ve lost another one,” he said to someone not in the frame.
He carried her off-screen.
“How many didn’t make it?” a familiar voice asked. There was a loud thud.
“Six,” Dean said as he walked back into the frame empty-handed.
“Fuck, Dean. All these girls are prepurchased. You’re paying for this mess one way or another.” The voice off-screen said again.
Dean hung his head.
“Do you understand me?” The voice questioned.
Dean looked up, staring just to the right of where the video recorder was set. “Yes.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want Olivia to end up in that pile too,” he said with a laugh.