Stacy’s reply arrived within minutes. Thank you, Mr. Dempsey, that means a lot coming from you. I could feel your eyes on me the whole time. Oh my god, I can’t believe I’m typing that to my principal. But to me you’re more than that. You’re a friend as well.
His response was time-stamped at two in the morning, and I imagined myself, asleep in the next room as Cory corresponded with a student in the middle of the night. I’m glad you feel as I do. True friends are hard to come by in life, and I definitely count you as one.
More recent emails turned up pictures. Selfies Cory had snapped at the beach, his hair glistening from the ocean, his chest bare. And Stacy, in a bikini, lounging by a pool somewhere. Perfection, Cory had written back.
I recognized her immediately. The girl from the north quad. The one who’d stood the closest, whose hand had rested possessively on his arm, whose eyes had glittered with jealousy.
If I was looking for a sign that it was time to finish up and go, this was it.
I printed several copies of the most incriminating messages, slipping them all into a large envelope that I shoved in my purse. Then I forced myself to get back to work finishing up the car registration.
I was just printing that out when the doorbell rang. I crept from the office into the living room, glancing out the window, hoping it was a solicitor I could ignore. But it was Nate. He pounded on the door. “I know you’re there, Meg. Open up.”
I swung the door open. “Cory’s at work.”
Nate stepped past me and into the living room. “I’m here to see you.”
My eyes followed him. “Make yourself at home,” I finally said.
He turned to face me and said, “We need to talk.”
I tilted my head to the side, looking confused, though my palms were growing sweaty. “About what?”
“The truth about who you are.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, my mind scrambling to find a foothold.
“I made some calls,” Nate said. “Paid $30 for an old yearbook from the high school in Grass Valley. Found some alumni online. None of them have ever heard of you.”
I glanced toward the street and saw old Mrs. Trout, our neighbor who lived on the corner, locking her front door, her ancient basset hound, Dashiell, waiting patiently.
“So then I started thinking about how you and Cory met,” Nate continued, pulling my attention back to him. “Talk about being at the right place at the right time,” he mused. “What a coincidence.”
“Get to the point, Nate. Whatever fantasy you’re spinning, please finish it. I have to get to class.”
“You don’t have class today,” Nate said.
I took a step back. “Have you been following me?”
Nate’s voice was low and angry. “For some time now. Because you don’t add up, Meg. Not on paper, not in real life. Everything you’ve told Cory is a lie, isn’t it?”
“I need you to leave,” I said.
Nate shook his head. “You’re pretty comfortable here, aren’t you?”
I thought about the emails I’d just discovered and wondered what Nate would say about them. Whether I could justify what I was doing by throwing something even more appalling in his face. But Nate was a man who forced women in bars to accept his unwanted drinks and advances. Whatever Cory was doing, Nate wouldn’t care at all.
My plan had been to use the next four weeks to empty Cory’s account in $2,500 chunks. To be gone before he noticed his most recent bank statement never arrived. Before he started asking where the car title was. But Nate’s accusation changed everything. I was going to have to leave now. Today. I’d be able to do one withdrawal, but I wouldn’t have time for more. I scrambled to think about what I did have. The car—still registered in my name, the forged registration paperwork sitting on the desk in Cory’s office—and my laptop. Not enough.