Chapter 5 - The Insolvency of Identity
Six months later, the early winter wind off Lake Michigan was vicious, carrying tiny, needle-like flakes of gray ice that stung the skin.
I stood in the kitchen of a small, two-bedroom brick bungalow in the working-class district of Blue Island, south of the city. The rooms were small, low-ceilinged, and smelled of wood veneer and hot cinnamon tea. It wasn't a four-million-dollar estate, but the floors were solid oak, the heating vents worked with a steady, comforting hum, and there were no corporate blueprints hidden in the walls.
Agent Marcus Vance sat at the small kitchen table, his heavy winter coat thrown over the back of a wooden chair. He had a stack of final legal releases spread out beside his coffee mug.
"The plea agreement was finalized this morning, Maya," Marcus said, his eyes tracking my movements as I poured the tea.
"David accepted the twelve-year term at the federal correctional institution in Oxford, Wisconsin. His legal team attempted to secure a mitigation adjustment based on severe emotional trauma following the loss of his child, but the federal judge threw the motion out after we submitted the marine cellular logs showing his active data activity during the vacation week. He wasn't isolated; he was actively checking his personal investment portfolio while blocking your emergency alerts."
"It doesn't matter," I said, sitting down across from him and signing my name on the final asset distribution line. "Twelve years or twenty, the numbers don't change the dirt in Palos Hills."
"Julianne has returned to Florida," Marcus added, checking his tablet. "She filed for personal bankruptcy three weeks ago. Her names are permanently blacklisted from every fitness franchise network in the midwest due to her connection to the logistics fraud investigation. She’s currently working as an hourly clerk at a municipal golf course in Naples."
"The three point six million is fully cleared, Maya," Marcus said, sliding the trust certificate across the table. "You can leave Chicago. You can buy a place anywhere in the world. You never have to see another Vance as long as you live."
May you like
I picked up the document, looking at the clean, crisp letters of my maiden name printed at the top. Maya Elizabeth Lin. The name Vance had been stripped away by the court order as cleanly as the furniture from our living room.
"I’m staying right here, Marcus," I said, looking out the kitchen window at the small, neat backyard where a single wooden bird feeder hung from a low maple branch. "Lily liked the snow here. She always said the lake looked like a big white sheet before the summer came."
