Money to Burn

8

MALLORY WATCHED FROM THE BED AS I RIFLED THROUGH THE garment bag in the closet for something to wear. She’d fully intended to pack a business suit for me, knowing that I would have to go to work in the morning. Somehow my clothes hadn’t made it, though Mallory had managed to pack three outfits for herself to choose from. Unless I wanted to squeeze into a size 2 Chanel sundress with a scoop neck and a flirty, loose bodice, I was stuck in my wrinkled tuxedo for my emergency meeting with Saxton Silvers’ general counsel.

“I’m so scared,” she said.

So was I. When I was thirty-four, it was a very good year. I had a personal investment portfolio valued at eight figures. Then I turned thirty-five, and suddenly I didn’t have two nickels to rub together. I had been gypped, big time. Even by the measure of Sinatra’s depressing old song, I was entitled to one more year of riding in limousines with my blue-blooded wife of not-so-independent means. Violins, please.

“I’m sure the firm can get this straightened out,” I said as I pulled my tuxedo shirt back on.

“What if they don’t?” she asked. “It’s all insured, right? Through that-Sip and See-or whatever it’s called.”

She meant the Securities Investor Protection Corporation. “SIPC doesn’t cover identity theft. It protects you from a firm that goes belly up. Our loss is way above their coverage limit anyway.”

“I don’t understand any of this,” she said. “What was this account they moved all our money into?”

“It’s a numbered account. Offshore. Obviously someone trying to take advantage of bank secrecy.”

“No, I mean the one before that. You said these identity thieves moved the money from our joint account into some other kind of account with Saxton Silvers. Then they moved it to the offshore account.”

I was suddenly fumbling with my cuff link. I had a major problem on my hands, and tracking down our stolen money was only the half of it.

“It was opened a while ago, before we were married.”

“So it’s an account for my benefit?” she asked.

“No. This is something that existed long before we got together.”

Her voice was getting increasingly tense. “Then who is it for?”

“Honey, the general counsel is on her way into the office as we speak. This is really not the time.”

“Who is it for, Michael?”

I’d never heard that tone from Mallory. It was as if she were telling me that if I wanted to stay married, I had better finish this conversation-now.

I sat on the edge of the mattress and pulled on my shoes.

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” I said. “That account was not our money.”

“Oh, so now we have our money and your money, is that it?” She was sitting up straight, arms folded in a defensive posture.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I haven’t been stashing money away from you. When I say that the money in that account was not ours, I mean it’s not yours or mine. It doesn’t belong to either one of us.”

“Then whose is it?”

I hesitated, knowing that my response was sure to hit a raw nerve. “It was Ivy’s.”

Mallory took a deep breath. She’d never come out and said it, but I knew that she had heard through the gosse that my first wife had been smart and beautiful, and that she was my true love. Sometimes a Wall Street investment bank could be like high school.

“Michael,” she said in an even tone, obviously trying to remain calm. “Why do you have an account for your dead wife?”

I wanted to hold her and reassure her that I did indeed have a good explanation, but her body language was telling me that there was no such thing. I gave it a shot anyway.

“Ivy had no will at the time of her death,” I said, “so everything she owned went to me-her husband. But I never touched the money.”

“Even though it’s yours,” she said.

“No, it’s not mine.”

“You just said that everything Ivy owned went to you.”

“That was the problem,” I said. “It didn’t feel right to keep it. Ivy and I had been married only a few hours. I wanted Ivy’s mother to have it, but when I offered it to her, she refused to take it. So I kept the account separate and just let it earn interest. I figured Ivy’s mother would change her mind when she got older and really needed it.”

I studied Mallory’s expression. She wasn’t exactly famous for her poker face, and the emotions flashing in her eyes were decidedly negative. She moved to the other side of the bed, showing me her back.

“Please try to understand,” I said.

“This really hurts,” she said.

“It shouldn’t,” I said. “When Ivy died, that money should have gone to her mother. I didn’t need it then. I don’t need it now. We have plenty,” I said.

As of two hours ago we did, that is.

“It’s not about the money,” she said. Her voice was trembling, and I heard a sniffle. I walked around the foot of the bed and sat beside her. I tried to take her hand, but she pulled away.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” I said.

“No, I’m the one who should have said something.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve kept this bottled up inside me for a long time. I know I’ve had a lot to drink and you have to go…but I have to say it.”

“Say what?”

“It’s so clear: You have never stopped loving her. I can’t compete with that. You still love Ivy, and you are incapable of ever loving me.”

“That’s not true,” I said.

“I’m pretty, I’m nice, I try to make you happy. And I think you really like being with me-just the way you liked being with me in high school. But if it was a career woman you wanted, then you should have found yourself another Ivy. You don’t love me.”

“How can you say such a thing?”

“Because it’s true.”

She rose quickly and went for the box of tissues on the bureau.

“Mallory, I-”

“Stop,” she said, cutting me off before I could say it. Then she took a breath to compose herself. “Let’s just forget it, okay? I shouldn’t have said anything. Go see your lawyer.”

It was an awkward moment. I hated to leave like this, but I really did have to meet with the general counsel.

“We’ll talk more when I get back,” I said.

“No,” she said. “I don’t want to. Don’t worry. It’s off my chest.”

She seemed to be trying to convince herself, not me.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“You just go and take care of what you need to take care of.”

I rose and started toward her, but my phone rang. It was the general counsel wanting to know where the hell I was.

“I’m on my way,” I said before quickly hanging up.

I tried to find parting words that might reassure Mallory. Before I could speak, my laptop sounded from across the bed. I had a new e-mail in my in-box. Mallory and I exchanged glances, as if we both sensed that I needed to check it before leaving. I crossed the room to do just that.

The sender’s address was unrecognizable, a random mix of numbers and letters. But the subject line told me that it wasn’t spam.

It read, Zero balance.

I glanced across the room at Mallory, telling her without words that it was indeed important. I opened the e-mail and read the message aloud.

“Just as planned. xo xo.”

It wasn’t enough for the thief to take my money. Now he had to taunt me with “hugs and kisses”-as if it were personal. Things were getting creepier by the minute.

“What does that mean?” Mallory asked.

“It means I’ve got one hell of a mess to sort out,” I said.