“It’s not optional, Laura.”
There was my name, spoken like a scolding. Laura, hurry up. Laura, don’t exaggerate. Laura, sign. Laura, clean. Laura, shut up.
“Then you go,” I replied. “If it’s just a routine thing, ask if I can sign later.”
Bruno slammed the mug onto the table. “Don’t be difficult.”
“I’m not being difficult. I’m sick.”
He examined me as if looking for a crack. “Sick with what?”
I gave a faint smile. “Exhaustion.”
He stood up, annoyed. “Always the same with you. That’s why I hired someone, so you wouldn’t spend your life complaining.”
“Yes. The lady works very hard.”
“Well, tell her to come today. The house is full of dust.”
“Sure. I’ll tell her.”
Bruno left, slamming the door. I waited ten minutes. Then I made three calls. The first was to my cousin Sandra, who worked at a law firm in Brooklyn. The second was to the bank. The third was to a locksmith.
Sandra arrived at two in the afternoon wearing dark sunglasses and carrying a red folder. “Show me everything,” she said.
I showed her the copies, the photos, the deposits, and the list. As she read, her mouth tightened.
“Laura, this isn’t just an affair. This is attempted fraud.”
