Last night, I heard my husband giving my P.I.N to his mother while I was asleep: ‘Take it all out, there’s over a hundred and twenty thousand do.llars on it.’ I just smiled and went back to sleep. Forty minutes later, his phone buzzed with a text from his mom: “Son, she knew everything. Something’s happening to me…” Then the phone suddenly went dea.d.
Just a faint, almost ironic curiosity about what they would feel when everything went wrong.
Darius returned a couple of minutes later, lay down carefully, pulled up the blanket, and breathed unevenly, nervously.
He was clearly anxious.
Kiana smiled in the darkness.
Don’t worry, she thought.
You’ll be much more anxious soon.
She turned onto her side, getting comfortable.
She didn’t want to sleep, but she had to pretend.
She closed her eyes, relaxed her shoulders, and slowed her breathing.
Let him think she hadn’t heard anything.
Let him hope.
Time crawled by.
Kiana listened to the dripping faucet behind the wall, the wind whistling in the window frame, and Darius tossing and turning under the blanket.
He clearly couldn’t fall asleep.
He was probably running the plan through his head, imagining his mother withdrawing the money, how they would split the spoils, and how he would pretend to be shocked and outraged tomorrow.
Kiki, the card was stolen. Scammers. We need to call the bank immediately.
A pathetic performance—but they apparently believed it would work.
About thirty or forty minutes passed.
