Page 80 of The Woman I’ve Become

“What the fuck does that mean?” Alicia whirls on me but takes a moment to glance at her phone. She has turned it back on and kept it handy as if she’s expecting news.

If her boyfriend is on the way, I need to make this quick.

“For starters, I’m sure you’re well aware that the bank and the rest of the people around here, as well as those in my life in Manhattan, think I’m Julia. They are not going to just turn everything over to her”—I nod to Julia—“without some sort of legal clarification.”

Alicia’s expression falls. “You’re saying she can’t access any of the money—nothing—without taking some sort of legal steps.”

“Right. She has to prove her identity and disprove mine.”

Alicia twists to face Julia. “What the hell? You never mentioned anything like this?”

How stupid do you have to be not to have thought of it? I decide not to point this out.

“All I have to do,” Julia insists, “is explain my story to the police, and we will get this done.”

Now I smile. Can’t help myself. And I thought I was the only one in the room who was fucked.

“You’re saying we have to call the police,” Alicia suggests. “And go through, like, an investigation?”

Please do!

“We will get it straightened out,” Julia insists.

“Just one thing,” I pipe up again.

Alicia directs an impatient face to me.

“You and Brian killed Eleanor. That’s murder for him and at least conspiracy to commit murder or some accomplice thing for you, in case you forgot. Helen is tied up out in the barn—that’s probably assault and battery and possibly kidnapping. You lied about who you are to gain employment with me—that’s fraud.” I furrow my brow in concentration. “Is there anything I’m forgetting?”

“If you think,” Alicia warns me, then twists to do the same to Julia, “that I’m going down for any of that or walking away without my money after devoting a year of my life to this shit, you are out of your minds. We are not going to the police. We are getting that money. Today.”

“Yeah,” I say, “going to the police would be a seriously bad idea.”

“Yeah,” Alicia repeats. “You killed seven people. You kidnapped Julia. You have no right to judge anyone. I’m pretty sure there’s no statute of limitations on murder.”

“You are one hundred percent right.” I nod toward Julia, enjoying the melee I’ve created. “The same goes for her. She lied to the detectives—to the freaking FBI—about what happened twenty years ago. She is indirectly responsible for anyone who was taken after me.” I send a pointed look at Julia. “For all those who died because no one knew where to find them.”

I can almost see the smoke rising from her ears.

“Basically,” I confess, “we’re all fucked.”

Then I remember a little something else I had almost succeeded in blocking from my memory. The stab wound Julia mentioned. “How did you get the stab wound in your leg?” I ask her.

Julia blinks, stares as if she has no idea what I mean.

“You had to fight to keep your slot,” I answer for her, recalling rumors of the games the Monster played. How he would pit one woman against another in a fight to the death. Only the winner remained in his good graces. Not that it was anything to brag about, but it was better than dying. “How many times?”

She looks away.

That’s what I thought. No one in this room has a right to judge the other when it comes to taking a life.

“How am I getting my money?” Alicia demands again.

God, she’s like a damned broken record.

“She can access the money,” Julia says, a glower pointed in my direction.

Alicia stares at me expectantly, and I say, “I have half a million in my safety deposit box at the bank. Will that take care of what you were promised?”