Abby didn’t go to the police. She didn’t tell Trish the worst part of being woken up with a gun pointed at her head. That the hooded man knew not only her name but her mother, her cousins, her friends. He promised her that if she told anyone about what happened that he would hunt her down and kill her, as well as her family.
After Abby flew back to New York, she sat her mother’s kitchen for two days, weighing the options. Surely the FBI had that witness protection program. She and her mother probably would be better off having new identities at this point in their lives. Abby pictured herself being whisked to some rural part of California, furnished with fake degrees and credit scores. Plus a house and some sort of living stipend. It actually sounded heavenly when she thought about it. Even better than inheriting a sketchy Cayman account of five million dollars. What Abby hadn’t realized is how much peace of mind mattered.
Abby opened up an incognito Google tab and spent an afternoon looking up witness protection programs. Apparently it was very expensive and poorly managed and usually reserved for Mafia informants. There were even a few anonymous blogs of witness protection members who complained that they were still afraid to step outside their high security apartments even after years of not seeing their family or friends, and being limited to domestic travel and boring jobs.
So going to the FBI would probably meant she’d live in fear and still not be a protected. There was no way to win. Keep quiet and hope no one would try to kill her or someone she loved. Tell the police and still worry about her survival.
She saw the only way out was in. She needed to find out who’d stolen her money, if there was still money hidden somewhere by her aunt, and where she’d gotten it from.
Step 1: investigate her aunt’s finances. This turned out to be pathetically easy. She asked her mother about what kind of money Sally left behind and was told about a checking account with a few thousand, a 401K, and almost no assets: no car, no property. Only one credit card which appeared barely used.
“Does this mean Sally had no money saved for retirement?” Abby asked, “What do you think she spent her money on, especially if she wasn’t using a credit card? Seems kind of weird.”
Her mother gave her a look. “Your aunt was a strange person, if you haven’t noticed. Maybe she like gambling on slots, maybe she ate take-out every night and paid cash. Who cares?”
Abby almost wanted to tell her mother about that secret account of five million just to wipe that look at off her face. But telling her that might kill her.
— Von
After Abby flew back to New York, she sat her mother’s kitchen for two days, weighing the options. Surely the FBI had that witness protection program. She and her mother probably would be better off having new identities at this point in their lives. Abby pictured herself being whisked to some rural part of California, furnished with fake degrees and credit scores. Plus a house and some sort of living stipend. It actually sounded heavenly when she thought about it. Even better than inheriting a sketchy Cayman account of five million dollars. What Abby hadn’t realized is how much peace of mind mattered.
Abby opened up an incognito Google tab and spent an afternoon looking up witness protection programs. Apparently it was very expensive and poorly managed and usually reserved for Mafia informants. There were even a few anonymous blogs of witness protection members who complained that they were still afraid to step outside their high security apartments even after years of not seeing their family or friends, and being limited to domestic travel and boring jobs.
So going to the FBI would probably meant she’d live in fear and still not be a protected. There was no way to win. Keep quiet and hope no one would try to kill her or someone she loved. Tell the police and still worry about her survival.
She saw the only way out was in. She needed to find out who’d stolen her money, if there was still money hidden somewhere by her aunt, and where she’d gotten it from.
Step 1: investigate her aunt’s finances. This turned out to be pathetically easy. She asked her mother about what kind of money Sally left behind and was told about a checking account with a few thousand, a 401K, and almost no assets: no car, no property. Only one credit card which appeared barely used.
“Does this mean Sally had no money saved for retirement?” Abby asked, “What do you think she spent her money on, especially if she wasn’t using a credit card? Seems kind of weird.”
Her mother gave her a look. “Your aunt was a strange person, if you haven’t noticed. Maybe she like gambling on slots, maybe she ate take-out every night and paid cash. Who cares?”
Abby almost wanted to tell her mother about that secret account of five million just to wipe that look at off her face. But telling her that might kill her.
— Von
Interesting sort of conflict. The mother doesn't know and doesn't care. Abby knows enough to be afraid and to care. I wonder how it was growing up? Good installment-- clears up a few things (chronologically) for me, but now I can't remember why I was confused... ---Macoff
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