Bianca Torre Is Afraid of Everything, page 12
“That would be cool,” I say.
My phone buzzes loudly from where it sits on the counter. I glance over at it.
Anderson: I think I found some info on Nate
My stomach leaps. This could be important. After all, Nate could still be alive somewhere. If he is, he might have the information we need on Valley Quail.
“I’m so sorry, Jillian, I have to get going.” I turn my phone upside down. “Family emergency.”
Her expression shows real concern. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, my family can be a little dramatic in what an emergency is, but I still should head out.”
“No problem, let me just grab that letter for you!” Jillian walks off into another section of the house.
While she’s gone, I request an Uber. Luckily, there’s one only a few minutes away. I screenshot the car’s details and send it to Anderson and Kate as promised. I add Mom and Dad to the message to keep them in the loop, even though they probably aren’t home.
Jillian returns with the envelope. “Just make sure to include this when you send your application in.”
“Of course, thank you so much, it really means a lot.” I take another sip of water, since she went through the effort of pouring it, and then get my things together. I glance down at my phone. “My ride’s here.”
“Let me walk you out.”
I’m glad she does, because even though it should be a straight shot to the front door, I can hardly trust myself in this house. They should have maps to use once you enter.
Jillian waves me off as I get into the Uber and give an awkward greeting to the driver. He doesn’t really seem in the mood to talk, which is perfect, so I text Anderson instead.
I’m on my way back. Should I go straight to your place?
Anderson: yeah I’m home!
What did you find?
Anderson: you want to ruin the surprise?
He knows I’m not the type of person who likes surprises.
Since I’m by myself, I don’t love the idea of the driver knowing where I live, so I put my destination as the CVS a few blocks away. After he drops me off there, I watch the car drive away and then start down the street.
My phone rings. It’s an unknown number, but sometimes Mom’s office line comes up like that.
“Hello?”
There’s breathing on the other end. But the person doesn’t speak. My skin crawls. This is like textbook creepy behavior and exactly what I mean when I say
Fear #20: Phone Calls
“Um . . . can I help you?” I ask.
There’s another pause, and I’m about to hang up when the voice on the other line speaks.
“Watch your back,” it teases.
The same phrase that came with the bloody feather threat. My neck tingles with the feeling that someone is watching me.
Fear #23: Being Watched
The call disconnects.
I turn around to check behind me. There’s not a lot of people on the sidewalk, although there are plenty of cars bustling by. Maybe I’m overreacting. It’s not like I never overreact to things.
But something isn’t right.
Then I see them.
A person in black, with a plague mask over their face.
At the same time as I start walking in the direction of my house and Anderson’s apartment, I press the icon next to his name to call him. I try to present as calm as possible while I’m anything but.
They’re here.
They’re here and I’m alone.
“Bianca, what’s up?” Anderson sounds a little concerned, like he knows I wouldn’t call for no reason.
“By CVS. I’m being followed. It’s the killer. I think. I got a threatening call, I . . .” My voice is low and rushed. “Can you start coming toward me? It might be safer to be together.”
His own voice does a whole one-eighty shift into complete worry. “Stay on the line, I’m coming. I’m going to run, but keep talking.”
I start babbling about my visit to Jillian’s house, mentioning every little detail. I barely know what I’m saying as my heart pounds in my throat. I glance back. The masked figure is at the CVS, standing where I just was a few minutes ago.
They must be testing me, seeing if I’m going home alone.
Or waiting for the opportunity to strike.
I blink back tears and continue on with my story, keeping my face straight ahead. On the line, I hear Anderson’s breath. Unlike the killer’s call, the repetition of his air flow hitting the speaker brings comfort.
He’s on his way.
I won’t be alone.
It’ll be okay.
I have to repeat the last part over and over in my head so many times I stop talking for a minute, and then quickly recover by saying how good Jillian’s pumpkin muffins were.
“Bianca!”
I see Anderson’s figure up ahead, wearing mix-matched socks, and his glasses are slightly fogged. I don’t care if anyone watching me sees. I run. I run as fast as I can and don’t stop until I practically barrel into him. He catches me and holds me as I bury my face into his shirt. “Thank you,” I mumble into the fabric.
“It’s okay,” he says. “We’re okay.”
It sounds even better in his voice.
I pull away from him long enough to look back in the direction of the CVS.
But the person in the mask is already gone.
Seventeen
The Weird-Ass Bird Symbol
Anderson and I weighed the pros and cons of me going back to the police, but without any evidence someone was following me, we decided against it. They didn’t believe me last time, so I doubt they will now. Mom got basically laughed at for the cat-toy threat. She was assured it was a prank, but they’d make note of it. This would only be worse. I have no proof. I’ll get my parents and the authorities involved if anything else happens, but in the meantime, Anderson and I promised each other not to walk places alone.
For now, I feel like we just have to be more careful and figure out something on Valley Quail, Inc. that we can actually use against them.
We didn’t get a chance to talk about Nate last night, since I was too busy having multiple panic attacks and Anderson helped calm me down by distracting me with one of his favorite comfort anime series, Monthly Girls’ Nozaki-kun, before we started a YouTube instructional series on the basics of learning how to draw comics. (Anderson started to pick up on details quickly, while I was pretty hopeless at it.) Still, it was a much-needed break. But to get back on the investigative track today, we decided to meet up in one of the library’s study rooms during our lunch period. We made sure to close the glass door and sit on the side of the table that isn’t as easily seen from the window. We spread out notebooks to keep up the appearance of working on a school project and not an extracurricular murder investigation, just in case.
“How are you holding up?” Anderson asks.
“I’m fine.” I rub my hands over my arms. “I mean, it’s almost the weekend, that’s nice.”
“Which means next week is our meeting with Mr. Conspiracy’s inside guy.” Anderson pulls up the picture I sent him. “I don’t know why it has to be so early. Who’s up at seven on a Saturday?”
I don’t know if this is the time to admit that I am up at seven every Saturday because of my birding group. I’m sure Jillian won’t mind if I miss the hike next week. I can always say that I’m sick—I don’t have to say I’m meeting up with some questionable person who might know something about a murder I’m investigating.
“Anyway, back to what we can do now. What did you get on Nate?”
Anderson pulls the sleeves of his shirt up above his elbows and then opens a page on his phone. “I found the LinkedIn page for Nate, and he was last active in January—right before he went missing. Someone with his same job title started at his company, not VQ, in early February, so I’m thinking they replaced him.” Despite the dark nature of the topic, his voice is excited with this development. “I found a company number to double-check. They were closed last night, but I thought we could call today.”
“Do you think they’ll tell us anything?”
Anderson gives me a look. “He worked in an office, Bianca. All they have to do is gossip.”
I feel like they also have work to do, but I want to know more about Nate, so I go with it. “Okay, you talk though. I can’t speak well on phones.”
Anderson puts a hand on my shoulder. “You can’t speak well in general.” I give him a light shove, even though he’s not wrong. He chuckles and dials the number in his phone.
I glance around us—since the door is closed, no one should be able to hear us from outside. I’m not sure if we’re allowed to make phone calls here, but the librarian isn’t in sight, so maybe she doesn’t care.
“Hi, my name is Marc Ward, and I’m calling because my brother used to work with you.” Anderson really is great under pressure. It would’ve taken me five minutes alone to come up with a fake name. “Uh-huh, his name is Nate. Nathaniel Ward . . . Um, short hair, bright blue eyes . . . really into birds? Great, yes, that’s him. Yeah, so, I haven’t heard from him in a while, and I wanted to know if he had mentioned anything before he left . . .”
This probably won’t work. They might not even know Nate well, and even if they did, who just gives out an ex-coworker’s information to a random person over the phone?
“Great guy . . . Oh, really? Huh . . . No, totally. He owes me money, that’s why I’m calling. What a snake . . . I hated him too. Uh-huh, well, thank you for your time, ma’am . . . No, you have a blessed day.” Anderson hangs up the call. “So, Nate didn’t quit his job.”
“He didn’t?”
“Not exactly. Apparently, they thought he was stealing money from the business, but before they could investigate further, they think Nate caught wind of it, cleared out everything, and skipped town. No one has heard from him since. The company has no idea where the money went, and they can’t find him for questioning.”
I sit with that for a second. “If he was stealing money and got caught, that could be reason to skip town.”
“Or, he could have been stealing money for Valley Quail, and they killed him for being sloppy.” Anderson crosses his arms. “Which is seeming more likely.”
Either way, we’re right back to needing more information on Valley Quail, Inc.
“Okay. What about the symbol Ryan found?” I double-check the window of the study room for any strange plague-masked figures out in the library before I pull Mr. Conspiracy’s book from my bag. “We can try to look into this—it might have something to do with Valley Quail.” I check over my shoulders again, even though we’re alone in the room. I guess I’m a little paranoid after yesterday. “If someone from the school is involved, should we come up with a code name or something to discuss this?”
“Good call.” Anderson thinks for a moment. “Aren’t big conspiracies always like something-gate?”
“That sounds right.”
“Code name: Feathergate.” He expands his hands like an explosion and accompanies it with a sound effect.
I sigh. “Are you making it bird-related to tease me?”
“What can I say?” He leans his head on one hand, expression smiling but serious. “If we’re not talking anime, everything seems to be bird-related with you.”
Even the murders. Feathergate it is.
“So, how are we going to look this up?” I ask. “Google weird-ass bird symbols?”
I was being sarcastic, but Anderson shrugs and does it. The search results in a lack of symbols and an awkward amount of creepy birds with big eyes.
“Well, it was worth a shot.” Anderson sighs.
Really anything would be remotely helpful at this point. We’ve been grasping at straws since the beginning.
“Maybe we can take a picture of it and do a reverse image search?” I point to the symbol inside the book. “You know, like Catfish.”
Anderson gives me a look. “You realize most people know about reverse image searching without watching Catfish.”
“I honestly don’t believe you.”
I snap a picture of the symbol, trying to make it as clear as possible, and email it to Anderson. He saves the photo and inputs it. We can’t find a clear answer as to what it may be, and most of the related images aren’t helpful.
Except for one, which is an exact copy of the symbol from the diary.
“There,” I say, tapping Anderson’s shoulder quickly.
“Yes, Bianca, I am here experiencing this with you.” He clicks it. “So impatient.”
I roll my eyes but smile as the page loads.
It’s from a Reddit post, under r/AmItheAsshole. A user, ancientlake0514, posted the picture included in the post. It was from a while ago, but the image likeness is uncanny. I quickly scan the text.
AITA for trying to get my husband fired from his job?
I (32F) and my husband (36M) have only been married for about a year, and I thought things were going great. Now, some backstory, he has a really nice job, well paid, but often has to travel. For this reason, he’s been given a company credit card. Outside of his job and me, he doesn’t really have much of a life. I was excited when he found this club that related to a passion of his. I don’t know much about it. They would meet twice a week—I think it was something science-related? Like people who are into chemistry or something? Honestly, I didn’t care, I was glad to see him happy.
But then he started putting all his time into the club. Like outside the regular meetings. And when he did go to those meetings, he’d come back super late. I was convinced he was having an affair with someone else in the club. I’m not exactly smart, so of course I’m going to be self-conscious if he’s around glamorous science women, right?
Anyway, I know he’s too clever to leave a paper trail with our joint bank account, so I wait until he’s sleeping and get the info for his company credit card. I’m expecting to see the usual signs—hotel or motel rooms, convenience store purchases, sex toys, jewelry—I don’t know—whatever would be obvious for an affair.
Instead, there are various payments to this company called Valley Quail, Inc., which apparently handles office supplies, but seems kind of odd because after some research, I couldn’t find anything else about Valley Quail online.
I then became convinced that he was stealing from his job to give money to this fake account, which has to be some excuse to screw some science-loving slut. Like I’m pretty sure anyone can make a corporation to funnel money. So, long story short, I get in contact with his workplace and straight-up get him fired—they didn’t investigate his fake company for sexy time, but they found enough to confirm they aren’t the paper supplier. So.
Of course, after this happens, and I get the papers to file for divorce, I go through his phone and don’t see any suspicious contacts or correspondence. I’m now wondering if he was actually cheating on me, or if he was using the extra money to help us out? Do I tell him it’s my fault he was fired? AITA?
(Side note: He had this weird kind of book with this symbol on it. Anyone know what this is? If it’s a sex cult thing I definitely need to know!)
I can tell Anderson finished reading first, because he watches me, waiting for a reaction.
“Based on the time line, this isn’t about Nate, but it definitely seems like Valley Quail stealing money,” I say.
“From multiple places, it looks like.”
Anderson scrolls down to the comments, but most of them are yelling at OP to divorce the guy or making fun of her—none of the comments seem to address the picture she attached.
“Well, we know this symbol has something to do with Feathergate. And that these people are stealing from their jobs and throwing money into this weird-ass sham company.” While I try to keep my voice quiet, I can’t exactly hide the excitement in it.
“So, we have to figure out who is doing this, and what the money is being used for,” Anderson says. He sighs. “Well, at least it’s something.” He clears his browser history.
Probably a smart move. I can’t help but feel like someone is always watching now.
The bell rings to signify the end of lunch, but this is a good breakthrough.
“We on for training at four thirty?” Anderson asks, closing his laptop and sliding it into his backpack.
I nod. He seems ready to head out of the room, but I stop him.
“Hey, Anderson?”
He looks at me, waiting, because I clearly have his full attention. I squeeze my hands into fists. “I want to tell you something.”
“Sure . . . as a murder investigation partner or as a friend?”
“Friend. I’m nonbinary,” I say quickly before I can bitch out. “Can you use they/them pronouns for me? Just . . . not around my family or people at school?”
Part of me expects him to have a lot of questions or need follow-up explanation, but Anderson hugs me.
I kind of stand there, frozen, before I hug him back.
“I’m so glad you told me.” He grins. “Let me try it out: I’m happy for my friend Bianca. They are the coolest no matter what their gender is.” He hugs me again, like this is a big moment or something. Half of me kind of appreciates it, even if the other half is embarrassed. His expression falls a bit. “I’m sorry for using the wrong pronouns before.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “I mean, I kind of figured it out recently. You had no way of knowing.”
“Correct me every time I mess up. You even have permission to lightly punch me. That’s what Ronan did, and I learned real quick.”
I laugh. “You got it.”
And it’s like that. So easy. Everything is easier with Anderson around. From a gender identity crisis to a goddamn murder.
This next part shouldn’t be hard either. Not even if my hands shake and my chest is tight.
I take a deep breath. “Can you maybe do me a favor?”
Right after lunch ended and Anderson agreed to go with me to the nonbinary and transgender support group on Sunday, the news spread that Audrey II was resurrected from the dead, complete with memes of the plant’s face photoshopped onto Jesus paintings.
My phone buzzes loudly from where it sits on the counter. I glance over at it.
Anderson: I think I found some info on Nate
My stomach leaps. This could be important. After all, Nate could still be alive somewhere. If he is, he might have the information we need on Valley Quail.
“I’m so sorry, Jillian, I have to get going.” I turn my phone upside down. “Family emergency.”
Her expression shows real concern. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, my family can be a little dramatic in what an emergency is, but I still should head out.”
“No problem, let me just grab that letter for you!” Jillian walks off into another section of the house.
While she’s gone, I request an Uber. Luckily, there’s one only a few minutes away. I screenshot the car’s details and send it to Anderson and Kate as promised. I add Mom and Dad to the message to keep them in the loop, even though they probably aren’t home.
Jillian returns with the envelope. “Just make sure to include this when you send your application in.”
“Of course, thank you so much, it really means a lot.” I take another sip of water, since she went through the effort of pouring it, and then get my things together. I glance down at my phone. “My ride’s here.”
“Let me walk you out.”
I’m glad she does, because even though it should be a straight shot to the front door, I can hardly trust myself in this house. They should have maps to use once you enter.
Jillian waves me off as I get into the Uber and give an awkward greeting to the driver. He doesn’t really seem in the mood to talk, which is perfect, so I text Anderson instead.
I’m on my way back. Should I go straight to your place?
Anderson: yeah I’m home!
What did you find?
Anderson: you want to ruin the surprise?
He knows I’m not the type of person who likes surprises.
Since I’m by myself, I don’t love the idea of the driver knowing where I live, so I put my destination as the CVS a few blocks away. After he drops me off there, I watch the car drive away and then start down the street.
My phone rings. It’s an unknown number, but sometimes Mom’s office line comes up like that.
“Hello?”
There’s breathing on the other end. But the person doesn’t speak. My skin crawls. This is like textbook creepy behavior and exactly what I mean when I say
Fear #20: Phone Calls
“Um . . . can I help you?” I ask.
There’s another pause, and I’m about to hang up when the voice on the other line speaks.
“Watch your back,” it teases.
The same phrase that came with the bloody feather threat. My neck tingles with the feeling that someone is watching me.
Fear #23: Being Watched
The call disconnects.
I turn around to check behind me. There’s not a lot of people on the sidewalk, although there are plenty of cars bustling by. Maybe I’m overreacting. It’s not like I never overreact to things.
But something isn’t right.
Then I see them.
A person in black, with a plague mask over their face.
At the same time as I start walking in the direction of my house and Anderson’s apartment, I press the icon next to his name to call him. I try to present as calm as possible while I’m anything but.
They’re here.
They’re here and I’m alone.
“Bianca, what’s up?” Anderson sounds a little concerned, like he knows I wouldn’t call for no reason.
“By CVS. I’m being followed. It’s the killer. I think. I got a threatening call, I . . .” My voice is low and rushed. “Can you start coming toward me? It might be safer to be together.”
His own voice does a whole one-eighty shift into complete worry. “Stay on the line, I’m coming. I’m going to run, but keep talking.”
I start babbling about my visit to Jillian’s house, mentioning every little detail. I barely know what I’m saying as my heart pounds in my throat. I glance back. The masked figure is at the CVS, standing where I just was a few minutes ago.
They must be testing me, seeing if I’m going home alone.
Or waiting for the opportunity to strike.
I blink back tears and continue on with my story, keeping my face straight ahead. On the line, I hear Anderson’s breath. Unlike the killer’s call, the repetition of his air flow hitting the speaker brings comfort.
He’s on his way.
I won’t be alone.
It’ll be okay.
I have to repeat the last part over and over in my head so many times I stop talking for a minute, and then quickly recover by saying how good Jillian’s pumpkin muffins were.
“Bianca!”
I see Anderson’s figure up ahead, wearing mix-matched socks, and his glasses are slightly fogged. I don’t care if anyone watching me sees. I run. I run as fast as I can and don’t stop until I practically barrel into him. He catches me and holds me as I bury my face into his shirt. “Thank you,” I mumble into the fabric.
“It’s okay,” he says. “We’re okay.”
It sounds even better in his voice.
I pull away from him long enough to look back in the direction of the CVS.
But the person in the mask is already gone.
Seventeen
The Weird-Ass Bird Symbol
Anderson and I weighed the pros and cons of me going back to the police, but without any evidence someone was following me, we decided against it. They didn’t believe me last time, so I doubt they will now. Mom got basically laughed at for the cat-toy threat. She was assured it was a prank, but they’d make note of it. This would only be worse. I have no proof. I’ll get my parents and the authorities involved if anything else happens, but in the meantime, Anderson and I promised each other not to walk places alone.
For now, I feel like we just have to be more careful and figure out something on Valley Quail, Inc. that we can actually use against them.
We didn’t get a chance to talk about Nate last night, since I was too busy having multiple panic attacks and Anderson helped calm me down by distracting me with one of his favorite comfort anime series, Monthly Girls’ Nozaki-kun, before we started a YouTube instructional series on the basics of learning how to draw comics. (Anderson started to pick up on details quickly, while I was pretty hopeless at it.) Still, it was a much-needed break. But to get back on the investigative track today, we decided to meet up in one of the library’s study rooms during our lunch period. We made sure to close the glass door and sit on the side of the table that isn’t as easily seen from the window. We spread out notebooks to keep up the appearance of working on a school project and not an extracurricular murder investigation, just in case.
“How are you holding up?” Anderson asks.
“I’m fine.” I rub my hands over my arms. “I mean, it’s almost the weekend, that’s nice.”
“Which means next week is our meeting with Mr. Conspiracy’s inside guy.” Anderson pulls up the picture I sent him. “I don’t know why it has to be so early. Who’s up at seven on a Saturday?”
I don’t know if this is the time to admit that I am up at seven every Saturday because of my birding group. I’m sure Jillian won’t mind if I miss the hike next week. I can always say that I’m sick—I don’t have to say I’m meeting up with some questionable person who might know something about a murder I’m investigating.
“Anyway, back to what we can do now. What did you get on Nate?”
Anderson pulls the sleeves of his shirt up above his elbows and then opens a page on his phone. “I found the LinkedIn page for Nate, and he was last active in January—right before he went missing. Someone with his same job title started at his company, not VQ, in early February, so I’m thinking they replaced him.” Despite the dark nature of the topic, his voice is excited with this development. “I found a company number to double-check. They were closed last night, but I thought we could call today.”
“Do you think they’ll tell us anything?”
Anderson gives me a look. “He worked in an office, Bianca. All they have to do is gossip.”
I feel like they also have work to do, but I want to know more about Nate, so I go with it. “Okay, you talk though. I can’t speak well on phones.”
Anderson puts a hand on my shoulder. “You can’t speak well in general.” I give him a light shove, even though he’s not wrong. He chuckles and dials the number in his phone.
I glance around us—since the door is closed, no one should be able to hear us from outside. I’m not sure if we’re allowed to make phone calls here, but the librarian isn’t in sight, so maybe she doesn’t care.
“Hi, my name is Marc Ward, and I’m calling because my brother used to work with you.” Anderson really is great under pressure. It would’ve taken me five minutes alone to come up with a fake name. “Uh-huh, his name is Nate. Nathaniel Ward . . . Um, short hair, bright blue eyes . . . really into birds? Great, yes, that’s him. Yeah, so, I haven’t heard from him in a while, and I wanted to know if he had mentioned anything before he left . . .”
This probably won’t work. They might not even know Nate well, and even if they did, who just gives out an ex-coworker’s information to a random person over the phone?
“Great guy . . . Oh, really? Huh . . . No, totally. He owes me money, that’s why I’m calling. What a snake . . . I hated him too. Uh-huh, well, thank you for your time, ma’am . . . No, you have a blessed day.” Anderson hangs up the call. “So, Nate didn’t quit his job.”
“He didn’t?”
“Not exactly. Apparently, they thought he was stealing money from the business, but before they could investigate further, they think Nate caught wind of it, cleared out everything, and skipped town. No one has heard from him since. The company has no idea where the money went, and they can’t find him for questioning.”
I sit with that for a second. “If he was stealing money and got caught, that could be reason to skip town.”
“Or, he could have been stealing money for Valley Quail, and they killed him for being sloppy.” Anderson crosses his arms. “Which is seeming more likely.”
Either way, we’re right back to needing more information on Valley Quail, Inc.
“Okay. What about the symbol Ryan found?” I double-check the window of the study room for any strange plague-masked figures out in the library before I pull Mr. Conspiracy’s book from my bag. “We can try to look into this—it might have something to do with Valley Quail.” I check over my shoulders again, even though we’re alone in the room. I guess I’m a little paranoid after yesterday. “If someone from the school is involved, should we come up with a code name or something to discuss this?”
“Good call.” Anderson thinks for a moment. “Aren’t big conspiracies always like something-gate?”
“That sounds right.”
“Code name: Feathergate.” He expands his hands like an explosion and accompanies it with a sound effect.
I sigh. “Are you making it bird-related to tease me?”
“What can I say?” He leans his head on one hand, expression smiling but serious. “If we’re not talking anime, everything seems to be bird-related with you.”
Even the murders. Feathergate it is.
“So, how are we going to look this up?” I ask. “Google weird-ass bird symbols?”
I was being sarcastic, but Anderson shrugs and does it. The search results in a lack of symbols and an awkward amount of creepy birds with big eyes.
“Well, it was worth a shot.” Anderson sighs.
Really anything would be remotely helpful at this point. We’ve been grasping at straws since the beginning.
“Maybe we can take a picture of it and do a reverse image search?” I point to the symbol inside the book. “You know, like Catfish.”
Anderson gives me a look. “You realize most people know about reverse image searching without watching Catfish.”
“I honestly don’t believe you.”
I snap a picture of the symbol, trying to make it as clear as possible, and email it to Anderson. He saves the photo and inputs it. We can’t find a clear answer as to what it may be, and most of the related images aren’t helpful.
Except for one, which is an exact copy of the symbol from the diary.
“There,” I say, tapping Anderson’s shoulder quickly.
“Yes, Bianca, I am here experiencing this with you.” He clicks it. “So impatient.”
I roll my eyes but smile as the page loads.
It’s from a Reddit post, under r/AmItheAsshole. A user, ancientlake0514, posted the picture included in the post. It was from a while ago, but the image likeness is uncanny. I quickly scan the text.
AITA for trying to get my husband fired from his job?
I (32F) and my husband (36M) have only been married for about a year, and I thought things were going great. Now, some backstory, he has a really nice job, well paid, but often has to travel. For this reason, he’s been given a company credit card. Outside of his job and me, he doesn’t really have much of a life. I was excited when he found this club that related to a passion of his. I don’t know much about it. They would meet twice a week—I think it was something science-related? Like people who are into chemistry or something? Honestly, I didn’t care, I was glad to see him happy.
But then he started putting all his time into the club. Like outside the regular meetings. And when he did go to those meetings, he’d come back super late. I was convinced he was having an affair with someone else in the club. I’m not exactly smart, so of course I’m going to be self-conscious if he’s around glamorous science women, right?
Anyway, I know he’s too clever to leave a paper trail with our joint bank account, so I wait until he’s sleeping and get the info for his company credit card. I’m expecting to see the usual signs—hotel or motel rooms, convenience store purchases, sex toys, jewelry—I don’t know—whatever would be obvious for an affair.
Instead, there are various payments to this company called Valley Quail, Inc., which apparently handles office supplies, but seems kind of odd because after some research, I couldn’t find anything else about Valley Quail online.
I then became convinced that he was stealing from his job to give money to this fake account, which has to be some excuse to screw some science-loving slut. Like I’m pretty sure anyone can make a corporation to funnel money. So, long story short, I get in contact with his workplace and straight-up get him fired—they didn’t investigate his fake company for sexy time, but they found enough to confirm they aren’t the paper supplier. So.
Of course, after this happens, and I get the papers to file for divorce, I go through his phone and don’t see any suspicious contacts or correspondence. I’m now wondering if he was actually cheating on me, or if he was using the extra money to help us out? Do I tell him it’s my fault he was fired? AITA?
(Side note: He had this weird kind of book with this symbol on it. Anyone know what this is? If it’s a sex cult thing I definitely need to know!)
I can tell Anderson finished reading first, because he watches me, waiting for a reaction.
“Based on the time line, this isn’t about Nate, but it definitely seems like Valley Quail stealing money,” I say.
“From multiple places, it looks like.”
Anderson scrolls down to the comments, but most of them are yelling at OP to divorce the guy or making fun of her—none of the comments seem to address the picture she attached.
“Well, we know this symbol has something to do with Feathergate. And that these people are stealing from their jobs and throwing money into this weird-ass sham company.” While I try to keep my voice quiet, I can’t exactly hide the excitement in it.
“So, we have to figure out who is doing this, and what the money is being used for,” Anderson says. He sighs. “Well, at least it’s something.” He clears his browser history.
Probably a smart move. I can’t help but feel like someone is always watching now.
The bell rings to signify the end of lunch, but this is a good breakthrough.
“We on for training at four thirty?” Anderson asks, closing his laptop and sliding it into his backpack.
I nod. He seems ready to head out of the room, but I stop him.
“Hey, Anderson?”
He looks at me, waiting, because I clearly have his full attention. I squeeze my hands into fists. “I want to tell you something.”
“Sure . . . as a murder investigation partner or as a friend?”
“Friend. I’m nonbinary,” I say quickly before I can bitch out. “Can you use they/them pronouns for me? Just . . . not around my family or people at school?”
Part of me expects him to have a lot of questions or need follow-up explanation, but Anderson hugs me.
I kind of stand there, frozen, before I hug him back.
“I’m so glad you told me.” He grins. “Let me try it out: I’m happy for my friend Bianca. They are the coolest no matter what their gender is.” He hugs me again, like this is a big moment or something. Half of me kind of appreciates it, even if the other half is embarrassed. His expression falls a bit. “I’m sorry for using the wrong pronouns before.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “I mean, I kind of figured it out recently. You had no way of knowing.”
“Correct me every time I mess up. You even have permission to lightly punch me. That’s what Ronan did, and I learned real quick.”
I laugh. “You got it.”
And it’s like that. So easy. Everything is easier with Anderson around. From a gender identity crisis to a goddamn murder.
This next part shouldn’t be hard either. Not even if my hands shake and my chest is tight.
I take a deep breath. “Can you maybe do me a favor?”
Right after lunch ended and Anderson agreed to go with me to the nonbinary and transgender support group on Sunday, the news spread that Audrey II was resurrected from the dead, complete with memes of the plant’s face photoshopped onto Jesus paintings.
