Page 81 of The Absence of You
“No doubt, but he won’t be able to prove it. And that’s what matters, right?” We spend the next few minutes running through the details again before ending the call. In a few hours my life is going to look very different. And if all goes to plan, different in a good way.
Dahlia gets out of her chair and slides into my lap, gripping my chin in her hand firmly.
“Stop second-guessing yourself. You’re doing the right thing. I know you wanted to hand yourself in, but that won’t help anyone. This is the only way.” I know she’s right; it’s not like handing myself in would undo my wrongdoings. Guilt is gnawing at me a little over my mother. As much as she’s let me down, I’m not sure she deserves to be blindsided like this. But it’s not like I can warn her. Her loyalties lie firmly with my father, and I can’t risk her warning him. Dahlia lets go of my chin and rests her cheek on my chest. I stroke her hair, winding my fingers around a loose curl that’s escaped from her hair tie.
“Do you remember that summer I went to the new barbers in the village and had my haircut and I hated it?” Dahlia laughs softly against my chest.
“Yeah. I remember. It was way shorter than you usually had it. You said you wanted it to be like that singer out of some band you were in to. Who was it again?”
“There was no singer. I asked them to cut it like that guy from Twilight. The vampire.” Dahlia sits forwards and tilts her head.
“Edward? Why the hell would you ask for that?”
“That was the year you spent the summer in that Team Edward t-shirt. I was trying to impress you. But my hair wouldn’t spike up like his, and I hated it instantly.” I cringe at the memory.
“You were trying to impress me?” Her cheeks flush. “Weren’t we like thirteen or something?”
“We were twelve, nearly thirteen. I saw the way you looked at him, and I wanted you to look at me like that.”
“And what way did I look at him?”
“Like you were obsessed with him.” I don’t know why I decided to share that with her, but instead of laughing or teasing me, Lia chews her lip.
“Grayson, I have been obsessed with you for a lot longer than I was obsessed with Edward Cullen.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. You just weren’t paying attention.”
Two hours later, I receive a text message telling me it’s done.
Every penny of my father’s offshore accounts has been drained, transferred to various charities. The transactions are completely untraceable. Re-routed all over the world, so many times that no one, expert or not, could ever follow the trail. And all the charity payments are broken down small enough to not arouse suspicion, but big enough to make a difference to someone’s life. I might not be able to return it to the original owners, but this is a close second. And I might not be able to make my father pay criminally, but this is almost better. The fact that his son has got the better of him will gut him. What better way is there to hurt a narcissist than to target his ego? He can’t go to the police about it and risk them asking questions about how he’s obtained the funds in the first place.
I haven’t left him entirely penniless. He still owns the house, although most is mortgaged. They can downsize and free up some cash so they won’t starve, but they certainly won’t be able to live anything like the lifestyle they are used to.
I expect at some point he’ll threaten to expose Dahlia’s ‘secrets’ in revenge, but we have one more weapon in our arsenal. Joseph’s friend has made a series of deep fake videos, featuring my father, acting out certain ‘kinks’. I can’t even think about them without gagging, but from what I’ve seen they’re very realistic. My father has received an email of one of the videos with a message telling him they will be emailed to his business associates on a monthly basis if he even says Dahlia’s name, let alone does anything to hurt her. Maybe he could get someone to discredit them, but his reputation would be in tatters anyway. No one would be able to look at him without picturing him fulfilling his ‘special’ fantasies. It’s not a guarantee he'll never use the information about Dahlia against her, but it was as close as we’d ever get.
Then there was my prenup with Charlotte. That turned out to be easier to deal with than any of us imagined. Joseph’s friend took care of the electronic copies. He was able to determine there was only one paper copy, which was being kept in a safety deposit box at our local bank. It took less than five minutes for Asher to persuade their young female manager to let the local royal spend a few hours doing work experience in the branch. After an hour, the last copy of the prenup was gone, and Asher had politely informed Miss Jackon, that yes he would like her phone number, and that no he would not be pursuing a career in finance. As an added bonus, Asher had retrieved the painting I’d stolen and it was already on it’s way back to the owner.
Barely ten minutes had passed since I received the text, when my phone starts vibrating. Its shrill ring fills the room, and my dad’s name lights up the screen. No point putting it off. I answer the phone.
“What the actual fuck did you do?!”
“I don’t know what you are referring to, Father.” I reply as calmly as I can, picturing the rage rolling off him.
“You will not get away with this, you little shit. You think I can’t find some other computer nerd to track down my money, to drain it out of your accounts?” he screeches at me. I don’t bother telling him the money has been nowhere near my accounts. Let him spend money he doesn’t have, hiring an expert to tell him that instead.
I’m not naïve enough to think there won’t be a period of adjustment for me too. I’d grown up with the security of being well off, knowing I didn’t have to worry about money. But I am glad I’ll no longer be living off his money. I have a little in savings from coaching swimming, and I have a reasonable trust fund. My mother's parents had left me enough to finish paying this year’s tuition and enough for a down payment on an apartment. It was more than I deserved. I’d get a part time job to pay for any other living expenses for university. I hoped to be able to support Dahlia too, if that’s what she wanted.
She’s always been fiercely independent, working since she was fourteen. Fuck, she’d been earning her own money way longer than I had. But I wanted her to know that everything that was mine was hers too, and I wanted us to support each other to achieve our dreams together.
It was a similar plan to the one Rosie and Joseph had when they were our age, but I hoped we’d be able to fulfil it in a way they never had the opportunity to. Joseph might not turn out to be Dahlia’s biological father, but this week he had stepped in and helped us like a real parent might, and I would never forget that.
My father’s screeching has stopped. He must have hung up the phone. Satisfaction settles in my chest. Dahlia had been right to stop me out on the driveway a few days ago. This way is so much sweeter.
I look over at her, worry etched on her face as she tries to figure out, from my reaction, how my call went.
“It worked. It fucking worked.”
