The Price of Broken Porcelain

Chapter One: Broken Plates at a Birthday Party

People always think that betrayal is a bolt from the blue. Not really. It eats away at your little malice little by little, until you finally stop deceiving yourself and others, and stop indulging in every possible way towards evil people.

My first warning was a credit card. A secondary card opened in my name at a furniture store I’d never been to. Black said it could just be a clerical error on the part of the bank.

“These companies make mistakes like this every day,” said Mrs. Gable.

“Identification systems are inherently confusing,” Austin said.

That was a weird thing to say, because I had never even discussed credit cards with Austin. The second warning was a collection call about a mortgage loan.

A loan officer left me a voicemail asking if I planned to move forward with a “home reorganization.”

When I confronted Blake, he kissed me on the cheek and said lightly, “Mom did ask about refinancing, but it wasn’t a big deal.”

No big deal. Dangerous people often like to put into this sentence the things they want you to ignore. The third warning was my missing tax folder. My pay stubs, tax returns, and client contracts were locked in a box in my office.

Since Jean moved in, the box has been moved to the hallway closet. There were scratches all around the keyhole. Blake said that a child might have accidentally smashed the toy. I wanted to believe him.

But I didn’t. That night, after everyone went to bed, I ordered credit monitoring services, froze my credit file, changed all my passwords, and called Naomi Pierce. Naomi has been my dedicated attorney since I bought the house.

She had an utter calmness that would make con men shudder. When I told her about the loan voice, credit card and password box that had been broken into, she did not accuse me of being delusional.

She just said, “Good. You caught it early.”

For the first time in my life, I realized that someone was willing to believe that I was innocent.

Naomi has developed what she calls an “identity safety net.”

Credit freeze. Transfer Alert. Bank verification requirements. A filing notice was filed with the County Clerk requiring that any filing related to the deed to the property must be personally confirmed directly by me. As soon as my signature appears where it shouldn’t, the Fraud Affidavit template is launched.

I didn’t tell Blake. This is the first secret I have kept in this marriage. I just hope it’s the last one too. Back at the party, Austin tried to hide the thick manila folder behind his back.

Naomi’s voice came from the voice on the line:

“Mackenzie, if it’s safe, take pictures of every page.”

Austin stood up abruptly.

“This is a personal item.”

I turned to him with blood still on my forehead.

“It has my name on it.”

He looked at Blake. Not me. That’s enough. Blake stood between us.

“Mackenzie, please. You’re bleeding. Go inside and clean up first.”

“Give me the folder.”

His jaw was tense.

“Don’t do this.”

I held up my phone.

“Naomi, he’s saying no.”

Blake’s eyes changed. Austin cursed. Then, Jane spoke. She had been standing near the back door, a hand on Mason’s shoulder.

“What folder?”

No one answered her. Mason looked around blankly among the adults. His young sister, Kayla, clutched the balloon’s ribbon and started crying again. Jane’s face changed. Not guilt. It’s confusion. It’s fear.

“What folder?” she repeated.

Mrs. Gable snapped: “Jane, take the children inside.”

Jane didn’t move at all.

Naomi’s voice came through clearly: “McKenzie, emergency personnel are on the line with my office. Do you need police and an ambulance?”

I looked at Mrs. Gable. Look at Blake. Look at Austin. Looking at Jane’s frightened child.

“Yes.”

At that moment, Blake finally showed a look of horror. Not for me. It’s for himself.