The Last Thing He Told Me

When I called Jake to tell him I was getting married, he said that one day I’d show up back home ready to be together again. He believed that. And apparently he thinks today is that day.

“Sausalito.” I pause, dreading the words I don’t want to say. “I could use your help, Jake. I think I need a lawyer…”

“So… you’re getting divorced?”

It’s all I can do not to hang up the phone. Jake can’t help himself. Even though he was relieved when I called off the wedding, even though he married someone else four months later (and shortly thereafter divorced her), he liked to play the victim in our relationship. Jake held on to the narrative that because of my history, I was too scared to truly let him in—that I thought he’d leave me like my parents did. He never understood that I wasn’t scared of someone leaving me. I was scared that the wrong person would stay.

“Jake, my husband’s the reason I’m calling you,” I say. “He’s in trouble.”

“What did he do?” he says.

It’s the best I can hope for from him so I proce

ed to tell him the whole story, starting with some background information about Owen’s work, the investigation into The Shop and Owen’s bizarre disappearance, walking him through the dual visits from Grady Bradford and the FBI, and how the FBI didn’t know about Grady. I move him through how no one seems to know anything about where Owen is, or what he is planning next—least of all Bailey and me.

“And the daughter… she’s with you?” he says.

“Bailey, yes. She’s with me. Which is probably the last place she wants to be.”

“So he left her too?”

I don’t answer him.

“What’s her full name?” he says.

I hear him typing on his computer, taking notes, making one of the charts that used to cover our living room floor. Owen, now, in its bull’s-eye.

“First of all, don’t be too worried that the FBI didn’t know about the guy from the U.S. Marshals Service coming to talk to you. They could all be lying to you. And beyond that, there are often turf wars between different law enforcement agencies, especially when the scope of the investigation is still in question. Any word yet from anyone at the SEC?”

“No.”

“There will be. You should refer all law enforcement to me, at least until we know what’s going on. Don’t say anything, just have them call me directly.”

“I appreciate that. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says. “But I gotta ask… how wrapped up in this are you?”

“Well, he’s my husband, so I would say intimately.”

“They’re going to show up with search warrants,” he says. “I’m surprised they haven’t already. So, if there is anything that implicates you, you need to get it out of your house.”

“I can’t be implicated,” I say. “I have nothing to do with this.”

I feel myself getting defensive. And I feel an uptick of anxiety, thinking of anyone showing up at my house with search warrants—thinking of the duffel bag they would find, still untouched, hidden beneath the kitchen sink.

“Jake, I’m just trying to figure out where Owen is. Why he thought the only way out was to get away from here.”

“He probably doesn’t want to go to jail, for starters.”

“No, that’s not it. He wouldn’t run because of that.”

“So what’s your theory?”

“He’s trying to protect his daughter,” I say.

“From what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he thinks it’s going to ruin her life if her father is falsely accused. Maybe he’s off somewhere trying to prove he’s innocent.”