Scott stands up and stumbles back. “Anton? Where did you get that idea?”
“I talked to Jon Block. He figured out where the email was coming from. An account at a library on the American University campus.”
“What? He didn’t tell me that.”
“I think he just found out. And then when I confronted Gwen, she confirmed it. Anton confessed to her the night he died.”
“I can’t believe this. I had no idea it was him. He was trying to talk to me that night. But I blew him off because I was meeting Jon Block. Holy shit. I need a drink.” He walks into the kitchen. She hears the whoosh of the fridge as he opens it. He appears in the doorway holding a bottle of beer. “Want one?” He pops the top off the bottle with the edge of the counter and takes a swig.
Aimee glances at her watch. “It’s not even noon.”
“I don’t get it. Why would he do that? Why would Anton blackmail me? And how the hell did he even find out about my past?”
“I don’t know. But you paid him, right? A hundred thousand dollars. I’ve looked through the finances over the last few weeks. The money is gone.”
“No, no. You have it wrong. I didn’t pay him,” he says. “I took that money out for me.”
“You what?”
“I took the money out to help me run. I never paid the person blackmailing me. I never intended to. I didn’t know Anton was the one who sent me that email or that text. I assumed it was someone from back in California. The person never gave me their name. I just knew that someone out there knew about my past and the clock was ticking. I withdrew that money for a getaway fund, to start a new life.”
“You’ve been planning to leave us for weeks?” Aimee stands up.
“I know how it sounds—”
“How it sounds? You’re a lying sack of shit, Scott. Michael. Whatever your name is.”
She brushes past him to get her phone from the basket in the kitchen.
“Wait.” He grabs her arm.
“Let go of me!” She wrestles free of his grip and steps back into the living room. “So what happened Monday night?” She spits the words out. “You just decided that was a good time to put your little plan into action?
“When I went to pick up Noa, there was my mom. She told me Cathy had been murdered. That people were already looking for me, and she and Ray had to go into hiding. She said the police were going to issue an arrest warrant. I had to run. I wasn’t ready, but I left my car there and came here. I had to get new papers, social security number, passport, things like that.”
“And what will you do once you have all those things?” She fights to keep her voice steady.
“I’ll make my way to Ecuador. There’s no extradition with the US.”
“Clever.” Aimee looks at the man in front of her. He has the same dark brown hair, the same green eyes, the same strong jaw as her Scott, but she doesn’t recognize him. And it’s not his ill-fitting jeans and sweatshirt, his unshaven face, or the bags beneath his eyes. His demeanor is different. He’s harder, like he’s been filed down in the past few days into something sharp. Maybe that’s what happens when he’s around his mom—he reverts back to Michael, the boy who thought robbing drug dealers was a good idea.
Or maybe Michael was always inside her Scott, and she just never wanted to see it.
“I can’t believe you would do this to our kids,” she says. “Ithought you were the best dad in the world. I looked at other dads, and husbands, and I actually felt sorry for my friends because their husbands seemed so second-rate compared to you. I believed you loved us more than anything in the world.”
“I do love you, Aimee. You and the kids. That’s why—”
“Forget the lies you told me,” she says, speaking over him. “Forget the mistakes you made when you were young—that’s nothing compared to the mistake you’re about to make. What you decide to do right now, right at this moment, will determine what kind of man you are. Not just what I think of you, but what your kids will think of you.”
“You don’t get it, Aimee. I’ll be gone either way.” He takes a step toward her. “You think it will be good for these kids to see their dad do time?”
“But you’ll get out. Eventually. I mean, you didn’t actually kill your friend, right? You might be able to make a deal.”
“If I don’t testify, I’ll go to prison. If I do, I’ll be killed.”
“At least your kids, at least I, would know what happened to you. I can’t believe you would let us suffer for the rest of our lives not knowing. It’s sick.” Aimee goes to the front door, puts her hand on the knob. “I’m not going to beg you. I’m all wrung out from worrying about you the past three days. From keeping our family together during this crisis. From believing in you and defending you.” She pulls it open. Across the yard, Gwen and Cathy turn to look at her.
“Are you going to call the police on me?” he asks.