A Good Marriage(88)

“Jesus, Vinnie,” Millie groaned, but in a resigned way.

“No, no, it’s okay,” I said. “Can I use an office phone for a minute? I’ll call Zach’s accountant right now and get it sorted out.”

“Sure. Come this way.” Millie guided me toward an unoccupied office at the back. “I’m sorry about Vinnie,” she said as we walked. “He’s spent most of his life dealing with criminals. He doesn’t trust anybody. Worst part is that he’s been right most of the time.”

“I understand,” I said as we stopped at the office door. “And it shouldn’t be a problem.”

I reached for the doorknob.

“I have cancer, Lizzie,” Millie said quietly from behind me.

“What?” I spun around to face her.

“That’s why I’m so thin,” she said. “And all the emails. It could have implications, you know, for our arrangement.”

My mouth felt so dry. “God, I’m sorry, Millie. And I’m so sorry that I’ve been—that you even have to think about this right now … you’ve done so much for me. I’m sure when you first offered—I’m sure you didn’t think you’d still be on the hook, what, seventeen years later. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Anything except talking about our whole entire situation. I’m sorry you have cancer. But I just can’t. Not right now.

Millie smiled, but her eyes looked so sad. “I start chemo to morrow. Mandatory. That’s why I can’t do your interview.”

“Will you be … What do the doctors say?”

“Um, well …” Her voice drifted. “It’s breast cancer, like Nancy. They were always ‘optimistic’ with her, and look how that turned out.” She smiled stiffly. “I’m gonna fight, though. Because I’m a fighter.” It was as forced as her expression.

“Please let me do something.”

“Pretend like I didn’t tell you. That’s what you can do for me,” she said. “And promise me you won’t go upstate yourself.”

“Of course not,” I said, even though it was definitely an extra sin to lie to a sick person.

“And we will need to talk about the rest,” she said, then cleared her throat. “But I assume you’d like to wait on that, given this case you’re dealing with.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

Millie pressed her lips tight. “Okay,” she said. “A few days, though, tops. In the meantime, start thinking about what you want to do, because this—our arrangement—I think maybe it’s run its course.”

It was a relief to be in the empty office with the door closed. I was even more grateful for the excuse of having to pull myself together to dial Zach’s accountant. I would face Millie’s news later. I would.

He answered almost immediately. “Teddy Buckley.”

“This is Lizzie Kitsakis. I’m Zach Grayson’s attorney, and he’s given me power of attorney to have financial discussions with you on his behalf. I can email an authorization before we speak further, if you like.”

“Okay,” Teddy said, drawing out the word warily. “Yes, that would be great. I’m sure, under the circumstances, you can understand why I have to wait until I have the authorization in hand before we proceed.”

A by-the-book, nervous guy. Not surprising for an accountant. But there was something else in his voice: relief. He’d been hoping for a call. From somebody.

“Yeah, hold on one second. I’ll send it right through.”

“No problem,” he said. “I can wait.”

I held my phone away from my ear, snapped a photo of Zach’s executed authorization, then attached the image to an email. The whole process took less than a minute.

“Okay, you should have it in a—”

“Got it. Yep, all looks in order.” Teddy Buckley exhaled. “I was so sorry to hear about Mrs. Grayson.”

“You knew her?”

“Not really,” Teddy Buckley said. “Everything I heard about her, though. She seemed … human. People who are that wealthy, or who’ve been that wealthy, aren’t always. Anyway, it’s sad what happened to her.”

“Before we go any further, could you get a payment over to Evidentiary Analytics? They’re the expert investigation firm we’re using to assist with Zach’s defense, and they need a payment for services rendered, also a retainer for future services. Thirty-five thousand total. And if you could wire it ideally right now, while I wait, that would be helpful. Apologies for the fire drill, but as you can imagine in a situation like this, they’ve already fronted a significant amount of money for lab tests and so on.”

“You want me to wire thirty-five thousand dollars?” Teddy Buckley asked. He sounded wary again. No, actually, he sounded confused. “Right now?”

“The power of attorney extends to payment requests.”

“Yes, I can see that. But I’m afraid I can’t wire the money.”

“I don’t understand.”

“There are no funds available to transfer.”

I pressed my eyes shut. “What do you mean?”

“That there is no money. Not in the foundation’s accounts or in the Graysons’ personal ones, at least none that I have access to. Frankly, I’m surprised that Mr. Grayson didn’t tell you this himself when he signed the authorization. He is fully aware. I can’t imagine why he’d sign an authorization for money he knows full well he does not have.”