Chapter 5 - The Unraveling of Suzanne
The small apartment in West Kendall didn't have central air conditioning. A single window unit rattled in the living room frame, spitting faint bursts of cool air that barely reached the kitchen, where Suzanne sat at a laminate table covered with unpaid notices.
Her phone rang on the Formica counter. It was Derek calling from a payphone at the county courthouse.
"Derek!" Suzanne snapped, grabbing the phone. "Where have you been?! The landlord here said if I don't pay the six hundred dollar deposit balance by Friday, he's changing the lock code! I don't have six hundred dollars! My nail class was canceled because the school said my tuition check bounced!"
"Suzanne," Derek’s voice came through the receiver thin and distant, interrupted by the background buzz of a crowded hallway. "I’m getting processed."
Suzanne froze. "Processed? What does that mean?"
"The judge set bail at one hundred and fifty thousand dollars," Derek said. His voice lacked any of his former cadence; it was flat, wooden, drained of life. "They took my shoes, Suzanne. They took my belt."
"One hundred and fifty thousand?!" Suzanne shrieked, standing up so fast her chair scraped loudly against the linoleum. "Derek, call Mom! Call Uncle Ray!"
"Mom doesn't have twenty thousand for a bondsman, Suzanne," Derek said softly. "Ray hung up on me an hour ago. He said he read about the fraud charge in the local court bulletin."
"Well, what about me?!" Suzanne screamed, tears of pure rage smearing her eyeliner. "What am I supposed to do?! I gave up my apartment in Fort Lauderdale because you said we were living in Edgewater! You told me Skylar’s trust was taking care of us! You promised me five thousand dollars for my inventory!"
"Suzanne..." Derek paused, and for the first time, a dark, bitter laugh escaped his throat over the line. "Skylar was the one taking care of us. Not me. Not my job. Her."
"Don't say her name!" Suzanne yelled into the receiver. "This is her fault! She did this to us! She’s a cold, spiteful bitch who ruined our family because of a stupid cup of coffee!"
"It wasn't just coffee, Suz," Derek said quietly. The officer's voice could be heard in the background, calling out his booking number: #2026-08942. "It was everything. I have to go. They're taking the phone."
"Derek! Derek, don't hang up! What about my six hundred dollars?!"
The line disconnected with a sharp, electronic click.
Suzanne dropped the phone onto the laminate table, her breathing ragged, her hands shaking. She looked around the dingy one-bedroom apartment. Her designer bags—the ones she had bought with Skylar’s secondary credit card—were sitting in the corner, but three of them had already been sold on resale apps to pay for her groceries last week.
She walked to her closet, pulled out her purse, and found a small white card she had taken from the Edgewater apartment's kitchen drawer during her brief stay—a card she had kept in case she ever needed to contact Skylar directly.
It was the business card for Vance & Associates, Logistics Management.
With trembling fingers, Suzanne dialed the direct office line written on the heavy cardstock.
The call connected on the second ring.
"Vance & Associates, executive offices. How may I direct your call?" a quiet, efficient receptionist asked.
"I need to speak to Skylar," Suzanne said, trying to force her old, sweet, persuasive tone into her voice. "Tell her it's her sister-in-law, Suzanne. It’s an emergency regarding Derek’s case."
There was a three-second pause.
"One moment, please."
Suzanne held her breath, her heart beating wildly in her chest. She prepared her speech: she would apologize for Derek’s temper, she would say she had been shocked by his actions, she would offer to testify for Skylar if Skylar would just drop the financial fraud charges against the family and help her clear her rental balance...
The line clicked back open.
"Ms. Miller?" a smooth, powerful female voice spoke—not Skylar, but Victoria Vance.
"Yes! Is Skylar there?"
"Mrs. Vance does not take calls from co-conspirators in pending criminal matters, Ms. Miller," Victoria Vance said, her voice dropping into a register that made Suzanne’s stomach plummet. "However, I’m glad you called. The Miami-Dade State Attorney’s Office has just added your name to the witness list under Subpoena Duces Tecum."
Suzanne’s throat went bone dry. "My... my name?"
"You received three electronic transfers totaling eighteen thousand dollars from accounts registered under the Vance Trust between January and June of this year," Victoria explained, her tone as precise as a surgeon's scalpel. "Those funds were derived from unauthorized credit applications now categorized under felony wire fraud. A process server will be delivering your appearance notice to the West Kendall address by 4:00 PM today."
"I... I didn't know!" Suzanne stammered, her voice cracking into a panicked squeak. "Derek gave me that money! He said it was his bonus!"
"Ignorance of the source is a secondary defense, Ms. Miller," Victoria concluded coldly. "I suggest you secure legal counsel before four o'clock. Good day."
The call ended.
Suzanne stood in the dark, hot kitchen as the window unit rattled against the frame. She dropped the phone, covering her face with her hands, as the realization finally hit her:
May you like
The money was gone. The apartment was gone. The brother who had protected her was in a orange jumpsuit.
And the quiet woman who used to hand over her perfume bottles without a word had just locked the door on them forever.
