I swallowed and set the photo down. “So . . . Rabz also went to Sydney.”
“I’m sorry, Ellie.”
I inhaled deeply.
“At least you know, El.” Emotion glittered in Willow’s pretty blue eyes. Her jaw was tight. “At least you have proof.”
I moistened my lips, trying to realign everything in my head. The puzzle pieces, the odd little niggles—they were all slotting tightly into place, and the big picture emerging was terrifying. He’d been gaslighting me, no doubt. Was he trying to kill me—or trying to make me kill myself? Was that his endgame—some final plan before he left for the Cape Verde islands in two weeks?
“There’s something else, Ellie.”
“What?” My voice came out papery.
“The PI also learned that Rabz has sold the Puggo. The new owner is taking over next month.”
I put my face into my hands and rubbed hard. “He used me, Willow. He’s taken everything from our bank account. He’s fleeing with the presales deposits. He’s mortgaged our house. He’s totally sucked me dry, and he’s going to leave me holding the bag of this Agnes Holdings mess. I could go to prison. And she’s going with him?” I surged to my feet, began to pace. “That’s what the sale of the Puggo must mean. Rabz is going to the Cape Verde islands with my husband. There’s no extradition treaty there, I bet. I—”
“What did you say?”
“I said there’s no extradition—”
“You said Cape Verde islands?”
“I found two plane tickets in his office. Departure date is in just over two weeks. To the Cape Verde islands. I also found a rental agreement for a luxury villa.”
“Are . . . are you sure?”
“Yes I’m fucking sure!” I paced faster, rage fueling me. Martin had beaten me down. He’d nearly stolen my identity—my very concept of self. But not quite. I was still here. I’d found this stuff in time. I now stood at a fork in my own road. Two choices faced me: Collapse and concede. Or get him. Get him back. Show him he should not have dared cross me.
I spun to face Willow. “I could kill him. I so badly want to kill him.”
She sat there, deathly pale. “I cannot believe this,” she said quietly. “Rabz? He’s running off with her? She’s like a fixture in Jarrawarra—I can’t believe she’d do this.”
“I should have taken that knife and plunged it in properly.” I raised an imaginary knife into the air and brought it down repeatedly in a stabbing motion. Stabbity, stabbity, stabbity.
“Ellie—” She surged to her feet and took hold of my arm. “Stop it. Stop now.”
“Fuck off, Willow. Don’t touch me.”
Shocked, she stepped back.
I came to my senses at the sight of her face. I was breathing hard. I unclenched my fist and pushed my hair off my face. “I mean it,” I said more quietly. “I’m going to get him. I’m going to nail him so hard he’ll be sorry I ever tripped into his arms.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Fight back. And you know what else? If he did this to me . . . this level of a long con like this—my bet is he’s done it before. He had to have built up to this kind of brazen act. There have got to be more victims out there. Victims in all sorts of ways. For starters, all those people who put down significant presale deposits for Agnes Marina land that’s never going to be developed, for a project that is doomed by environmental standards. And now their money is gone? I’m going to war, Willow. I’m going to rally a goddamn army and bury that bastard.” I pointed to the photos on the table. “And those—those are going into my portfolio of evidence.”
“Are you going to the police?”
“First I’m going to pack my bags and clear out of this house before Martin returns from Sydney. He’s dangerous. There is so much at stake here—he’s taken more than thirty million from me—I fear he’ll try to stop me, or worse. I need to be gone before he gets home. And I’ve got nine days. I’m going to search the rest of the house, and I’m going to copy the computer evidence and scan all the files and save it all to a flash drive. Then I’m flying back to Canada and going straight to my father’s lawyers. I’m going to get the best damn legal advice from a safe place, and go from there. Because my bet is Martin’s victims are scattered all over the world, and Canadian law enforcement can work globally with Australia and other jurisdictions.”
“I don’t know, Ellie. If he’s run off with presales, that’s a crime here, in New South Wales.” She looked visibly shaken. “You should go to the local cops. And if he’s dangerous—”
“What are they going to do? Honestly? Whisk me into some kind of witness protection before they’ve taken the time to investigate whether ‘mad drunk Ellie’s’ accusations even have substance? No, this is bigger than the Jarrawarra community police. I need to get out of here, and I have a week within which to do it.”
“What can I do?”
“I need you to leave, Willow. I need to be alone. I need to think.”
“Ellie—”
“No, please. Go.” I looked at the PI’s photos on the table and my throat constricted. “I need to process this.”
She glanced around the room, worry darkening her blue eyes, hesitation in her movements. Her gaze settled back on mine. “I can’t quite absorb all this. Why don’t we get out of here, go for a walk?”
“I need to be alone.”
She angled her head.
“I’m not going to take pills, Willow. I promise. I’m going to gather the files, pack my suitcases, and buy an air ticket home, and then maybe I’ll go for a long walk on my own. I’m thankful for the photos.” I pointed at the glossy evidence. “I owe you. And the PI. But I need to process.”
She left, and I glanced at the photo of me and Dana above where Willow had been
