Empire of Lies
truth about how fucked up of a person I really was.I just needed to get her to trust me enough to fall a bit harder. To say “yes” when it was time, and I could take things from there…
Michael Before
Subject: Wire transfer & a few things
Weiss has been handled and I’ve got two underlings getting jobs at Wal-Mart to get closer to Sutton. That one should be done in a few months.
Wire transfer for your last job is completed. They paid double since you finished it early.
--Trevor
Subject: Re: Wire transfer & a few things
Noted. Taylor is finished. Housekeeping will find him tomorrow morning. Send someone to double check the cameras across the street this evening.
--Michael
Subject: Re: Re: Wire transfer & a few things
Done.
Where are you on the Thatchwood job?
--Trevor
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Wire transfer & a few things
There’s been a problem…
Certain circumstances have changed since I made a mistake, and I need to carefully make some adjustments.
--Michael
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Wire transfer & a few things
What fucking ‘adjustments’ could there possibly be to this easy-ass job? And what mistake?
--Trevor
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Wire transfer & a few things
She has a new boyfriend…
--Michael
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Wire transfer & a few things
You better be fucking kidding me.
Can you please tell me that you’re not the boyfriend?
--Trevor
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Wire transfer & a few things
Ask me another question.
--Michael
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Wire transfer & a few things
Pick up your damn phone…
Adjustments and all, will she still end up gone in the end?
--Trevor
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Wire transfer & a few things
Absolutely.
--Michael
Meredith Now
The flames in the fireplace hiss and crackle as Michael moves the rook chess piece across the board. We’re sitting in the great room, in silence, waiting for the latest news update on my story, since the woman who the police thought was me, turned out to be someone else.
My symptoms of Stockholm Syndrome are slowly settling in, and I know, deep down, that my resistance will eventually stop. I’ve read enough books about captives who eventually adapt to the world of their captors, but I still can’t think of a single story where the captive was already in love with the captor. One where the ‘happily ever after’ was reached and ripped away by the hero himself.
I haven’t spoken to him since the night he caught me, and although I tried to refuse his offer to watch this report, I couldn’t resist. I have no phone, no laptop, no internet access. I have to take whatever rare glimpses of the real world that he offers in order to keep myself sane.
Not only that, but I’m unnaturally drawn to him and I can’t deny the palpable tension between us. Hatred of this situation or not, and despite the fact that we’re not talking, I can’t help but want to be around him. And every now and then, like on nights like tonight, I don’t mind engaging him in a silent game of chess.
Even if I always lose…
Looking over the board, I see where he’s moved his piece and move a pawn two spaces forward. His gorgeous eyes meet mine, and for the first time in forever, he looks like he’s somewhat sorry for what he’s done. Not wanting to completely believe that, I look away and focus on the television.
“Now for our special report, The Missing Heiress: The Meredith Thatchwood Story,” the redheaded news anchor smiles onscreen. “With the help of the police department and several sources, here’s the update.”
“As of today,” the anchor says, “Heiress, Meredith Thatchwood, has officially been missing for four weeks. Newly married to what her closest friends say was the love of her life—the wealthy club owner of Fahrenheit 900, Meredith disappeared shortly after returning from her honeymoon.”
My blood begins to boil at the repeat of this blatant lie, and I lean back against the couch.
“The police have had few leads, but they insist that they’re working on the case. Not that this is much relief to Meredith’s friends and family. We sat down with a few of them tonight to get their thoughts.”
All of sudden, a glittering crown appears onscreen, and then a few pictures of my face appear underneath it. Then, as if one mention of the story’s cheesy title wasn’t enough, it rolls onto the screen in a bright and golden cursive.
Seconds later, it cuts to a shot of Gillian sitting in a chair. Although she’s dressed in an immaculate grey pantsuit, her eyes are red and puffy, and she looks as if she hasn’t slept in weeks.
“Meredith,” she says, looking directly at the camera, “If you’re watching this, please know that I love you and I believe you’re still out there. I’ll be waiting until you get home, and I will use every single dime I have to make sure that whoever did this to you is punished for the rest of his or her life. I love you.”
The news anchor nods and places her hand on her chest. “That was so heartfelt, Miss Weston. Speaking of things that are missing, since you’re here, do you think you’ll ever pen a sequel to your bestselling novel, Turbulence? I really enjoyed that book, and I’m sure your legion of fans would really appreciate an update.”
Michael looks up at the TV, holding his next piece in the air.
Gillian glares at the reporter and storms off set.
“I thought that was a very good question,” Michael says to himself. “What do you think?”
I look over at him, but I don’t answer. The sound of my father crying makes me focus on the screen again. I’ve never seen him cry in my entire life, and the mere sound of it cuts me deeply. I try to hold back tears as he struggles to speak, but it’s no use.
“She and I were…” He wipes away tears as the reporter hands him a Kleenex. “We were getting