I opened my eyes, and the room was spinning. Even though my stomach was empty, bile was threatening to rise up from its pit. “Adam did those things? Really did those things?”
While the web of lies had started to unravel with that knock on Christmas morning, I had been holding on to a small but unlikely hope he might actually somehow maybe possibly be innocent. That this had all been a mix-up of epic proportions. But as Mrs. Webber rattled off Adam’s charges in very real terms, my shaky resolve completely crumbled, and I knew for certain he wasn’t the Prince Charming he’d made himself out to be. Adam was the villain of the story, and he’d conned me right along with everyone else.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” I cried.
Mrs. Webber rushed around from behind her desk, clutching a trash can. “There, there,” she said, “let me get you some water.”
She walked over to a mini fridge, pulled out a bottle, and handed it to me. I took a few shallow sips to make sure nothing would come back up and set it down on the desk.
“What happens now?” I choked out.
“Adam was arraigned this morning and remanded without bail, most likely because they deem him a flight risk. The fact that he was operating under so many aliases means he knows how to work the system. He was appointed a federal public defender, so I’m not sure what strategy they have going forward. It’s all still very hush-hush.”
“A public defender? But he has dozens of attorneys on retainer for his businesses. Surely one of them would be better than a public defender.”
“Ms. Lawrence . . .”
“Please, call me Avery. You and my mom have been friends since you were in Girl Scouts together.” I slapped my hand to my forehead. “Oh my God, Mom and Dad, you can’t tell them about any of this. I’ve been dodging their calls all week, shooting them vague texts about being busy. You have to understand, my parents loved Adam like a son, and this is going to kill them. I’ll have to figure out a way to break the news.”
“Of course. Now, Avery, about the public defender, I don’t know how to put this delicately, but”—she leaned forward, her expression full of compassion—“Adam is completely insolvent.”
“Insolvent?” I repeated back to her.
“Broke. Bankrupt. He doesn’t have a cent to his name,” she said, shaking her head.
No, that didn’t make any sense at all. “What are you talking about? Our apartment? Our Hamptons house? Our cars? Accounts?”
“All of it’s been leveraged to the hilt. You see, Adam’s been running this scam for a long time now. As soon as complaints start to pile up against one call center, he closes shop and opens a new one, leveraging his assets until the new business becomes profitable. It’s how he’s been able to run the game as long as he has. But you can’t outrun the feds forever. He owes millions on leases and unpaid salaries. Anything in his name or names will go to pay his debts, and then of course his victims. All his assets are frozen. Bank accounts, credit cards, anything liquid.”
My stomach dropped like an anchor off a cliff, and my eyes instinctively flashed down to my ring. The night I got home from jail, I’d slid it out of the cup on the nightstand and slipped it back on, wrapping a Band-Aid around its base to keep the band from falling off. It was like having a piece of Adam with me, and I clung to it like I did the hope that this had all been a mistake. “What about . . . ?”
“The law’s very clear that an engagement ring is viewed as a gift. Had it been found among Adam’s possessions, it would have been included as an asset and used to dispense one of his debts. But, since he proposed, it’s yours to keep.”
She folded her arms into her lap and said, “I’m guessing that because of the holidays, you haven’t been issued an eviction notice as of yet, but come January 2, when offices reopen, you’ll be given thirty days before the feds seize the New York City apartment, the Hamptons house, and everything and anything of value inside of both.”
“Thirty days? One month to pack up my whole life?” The office suddenly swelled with heat, and I pinched at the collar of my sweater and rapidly plumed it like a makeshift fan in the hope it would create enough of a breeze for me to not pass out.
Mrs. Webber cleared her throat as she rose from her chair and moved across the room to a bar cart situated by an impressive bookshelf. Despite the fact it was only 11:00 a.m., she poured a nondescript amber-colored spirit from a fancy crystal bottle, the trickle of the liquid splashing into the tumbler the only noise in the room aside from the gentle hum of the central heat.
Grabbing a coaster, she set both on her desk, nudging them gently in my direction. “I know this is a lot to digest, Avery, but I have to ask, do you have any money in your name alone? A place to go?”
Before I could stop myself, I threw the glass back, all down the hatch in one gulp, the aromatic scotch hitting my nose and throat like a scorpion’s sting. The burning sensation forced me to cough uncontrollably, tears springing to my eyes until I could catch my breath. Mrs. Webber’s eyebrows popped up into her hairline and her mouth into a round O of surprise.
She drew the glass away from me and set it back on the bar cart as I answered. “Before I met Adam, I was barely making ends meet as an actress. We traveled so much, and then Adam got me involved with different charities, and . . . I . . .” I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding and admitted the embarrassing truth of my situation. “No, I don’t have much money of my own. Not anymore.”
Mrs. Webber pressed her lips together and nodded as she made her way back around her desk and took a seat. “That ring might just be your saving grace then. Now”—she pulled a thin file from a pile on her desk—“let’s talk about the charges against you.” She used her pointer finger to skim down the long yellow sheet she shimmied out. She arched her right eyebrow. “Assaulting an officer?”
“I waved a towel in his face,” I explained, ashamed by the behavior.
“A charge for assault on an officer is a class C felony. The maximum penalties include up to five thousand dollars in fines and up to five years’ jail time.”
“I could go back to jail?!”
She held up her hand. “Your record’s clean. The DA’s willing to drop the charges assuming you’re willing to cooperate in the case should they need you to. Let’s be real, you’re not the fish they’re after.”
“Is Adam the fish?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
She slammed my folder shut. “Adam’s the whole damn whale.”
I nodded, pushed up from my chair, and grabbed my coat off the back of it. “Thank you. For everything. I’m not sure how I’m going to pay you for your time, but I’ll figure something out.”
“Of course. I’ll contact you as soon as I hear from the DA.”
“And Mom?”
She held three fingers up in the air. “I won’t say a thing, Girl Scout’s honor. I can’t anyway, attorney-client privilege,” she said with a wink before softening her eyes. “I know none of this is easy. I’m sure you feel like you got hit with a wrecking ball.”