After weeks of silence, ignoring my calls and texts, now she wants to come back? I think of Scott parked in front, Kat asking to be let back in, and I want to laugh. If this is a coordinated effort, it’s pretty clumsy.
I slip through to the alley and head south, planning to circle back to the street and approach Scott’s car from behind. I imagine myself pounding on his window, startling him. You’re Kat’s boyfriend, I’d say. The gambler. Relishing the moment when he realizes he’s been caught. But before I round the corner and make my approach, I stop, common sense taking over.
It’ll be easier to keep track of him if he thinks what he’s doing is working.
I turn and walk back up the alley and through the back gate, making my way through the house, waving at Guy as I go. Out the front door, nice and relaxed.
***
The following day, I sit at my desk, the afternoon sun arcing across the surface, the house silent save for the quiet fizz of carbonation from the soda I just poured. I have one of my notebooks from Pennsylvania open to the notes I made about the DBA I set up there.
On my computer screen, I have several tabs open. One shows Southern California escrow companies and the counties they serve. Another explains the limitations placed on filing a DBA under a business name already in existence in California. A third shows a receipt for the plane ticket I just purchased, a quick trip to Las Vegas, leaving tomorrow morning and returning that same day.
In every job, there comes a tipping point. A moment when there is no exit other than allowing events to unfold, hoping the work you put into the setup was enough. With Cory, that moment came late. It wasn’t until I started withdrawing cash from his account that I had to keep my eyes forward. With Phillip, that moment was when I sold his furniture. If he’d changed his mind and asked to move it back, the whole scam would have been over.
This is the tipping point for Ron. I have a website to finish and a visit to a Las Vegas notary. Then a second stop at the county clerk’s office before my flight home, where I’ll be filing for another DBA, one of the last benchmarks I need to hit in order to meet my deadline, two weeks before the election. I had only thirty-five days left.
And then I’ll take him to see the Mandeville property. Five acres in the heart of Brentwood, on the market for over two years with only one set of buyers who’d backed out unexpectedly a year ago. Dead weight hanging around the listing agent’s neck, and on lockbox with a combination anyone can access.
Kat’s text remains unanswered on my phone. I’m not sure what to think about it—what she believes, or what she wants. I think back to the flame of worry I felt when she told me about the bank account breach and then later the credit card. How certain I’d been that it was Scott and how frustrated I was when she refused to see what was obvious to me.
But who am I to judge? Every relationship I’ve ever had has been a lie.
I stare at the website I’ve just created, nearly identical to the legitimate one, with the exception of an extra underscore at the end.
I close my computer, wondering if I should have kept my name off a flight manifest. If I should have taken the time to drive the nine hours to Nevada and back again. But I shake off my unease. I need this DBA—and the bank account affiliated with it—sooner rather than later. By tomorrow night, it’ll be done.
***
The next morning, I’m on Sunset heading for the freeway that will take me to the airport, when I see Scott again. This time, two cars behind me. “Shit,” I mutter, fighting the urge to take off. To try and lose him on one of the many winding streets that branch off Sunset. Even though I’ve given myself plenty of time before my flight, I don’t want to waste any of it on a cat-and-mouse game through morning traffic.
My heart rate ratchets up as my mind spins out options that go nowhere. In any other situation, I’d be happy to let Scott follow me—to the market, to the nail salon, to the gynecologist. But he cannot follow me to the airport. To use his badge to get through security and see which gate I’m departing from. To make a call and have someone on the ground waiting for me in Las Vegas.