Elizabeth's story

by Jessica Knoll

Now that Biz had planted those cuffs in Peter's bag, wanting me to think that not only was he having an affair with Izzy, but that she had been played a role in what had happened to me all those years ago, I had no choice but to roll with it. I wanted Biz to think she was in the clear, that I trusted her, that it was me and her against Izzy. I wanted her to be absolutely blindsided when I came for her, which I would. I just had to lay out the groundwork first, and I was starting with Izzy.

Really, the whole arrangement couldn't have worked out better for me. Because Biz was more than happy to offer up her services, when I seethed, through my fake, hot tears, that I was going to destroy Izzy.

"What can I do to help?" Biz wanted to know.

I wanted my punishments to be thoughtful and deliberate, to hit each target exactly where it hurt. For Izzy, that was her insecurity about money, and status. Izzy had always been a bit of an outlier at Smithson. She came from a small town in upstate New York, a nice one, much nicer than the shithole we called home for four years, but still, it was upstate New York. Our peers were either slick, jaded urbanites or cheap, WASPy New Englanders, and Izzy didn't belong to either camp. It was something that had always bothered her, and something she sought to change when she moved to New York. Not by working her way up the totem pole herself—heavens to Betsy, no!—but by marrying someone who would act as a channel into New York's most exclusive and elite chapter.

And, like a real amateur, she settled for the first banker in a suit who paid her any attention. Nevermind that her fiancé had mediocre earning potential at best. Izzy saw a Thomas Pink bowtie and a Bloomberg business card and them panties came off.

Todd, Izzy's fiancé, was desperate to get out of Bloomberg. Bloomberg seems like such a good gig to a recent college grad—amazing cafeteria! Free snacks! Celebrities waltzing in and out of the building for the radio show! Bloomingdales is right next door! But you quickly realize that they work you to the bone, monitor your bathroom breaks, and that there is no real growth potential. Everyone sort of tops out at twenty-six, twenty-seven, maybe in the low six figures, and then there is a momentous gap in age and income between a person like Todd and a senior exec. It's simply no place for a thirty year old guy with an Upper West Side zip code and a kept fiancée. Todd was desperate to jump ship.

So I sung his praises to my father, who was looking for a mid-level recruit to join the sales team. "Oh,  he would be perfect!" I told him. "And he's just about to get married, so I know he's looking for some more responsibility and, well, you know, that stuff that grows on trees." I smiled, ruefully.

"Oh, that stuff," my father laughed. That time, however fleeting, when my father and I were actually in a good place, will always be precious to me.

I won't bore you with the details, but suffice to say that Todd got an offer just two months before he married Izzy. Everything was in place to fall apart.

So here is something you should know about my father, and men like my father. They abide by a hard nosed Wall Street mentality, which is that even when you're making millions of dollars, you never take anything for granted. You ride the subway to work. You fly economy. The thinking is that if you're ever too good to live and hustle like everyone else, then you have nothing left to work for, and it's time to get out of the business. It's an incredibly old school philosophy, and not one that the younger generation values. My father once fired a recent junior hire after running into him in line for a flight to London, where they were both headed for business. My father watched, aghast, as this guy boarded with the first class passengers. He wouldn't have it. If he could fly coach internationally, so could some twenty-eight year old punk kid—especially when his ticket was on the company's dime.

So I knew it would drive my father absolutely bonkers if Todd's very first expense report read like some rap mogul's bucket list.

Biz and I tag teamed on it. One night, we were all out, and when Todd reached into his pocket to dig out his wallet, I made a huge spectacle. It was such gorgeous leather! Could I see it for a second? Peter really needed a new wallet, har, har! Biz then distracted Izzy and Todd just long enough for me to remove Todd's crisp new corporate credit card.

I slipped into the bathroom, wrote down the numbers, and when I returned to the group, I dropped the card on the ground. Before we left, Biz made sure to spot it. "Oh my God, Todd!" she said. "Look what I just found on the floor."

Todd's eyes had practically bulged out of his head. "Jesus Christ. Wouldn't want to loose that!" He winked at me. "Don't tell your dad, E."

Then Biz and I went on a shopping spree. Online shopping wasn't nearly as ubiquitous as it is now, but then again neither were the security measures. We managed to assemble a pretty nice collection of loot: fine bottles of champagne, Montblanc fountain pens, Turnbull and Asser dress shirts. Some of it Biz gifted to Brad, but I donated most of my wares to charity, diabolical angel that I am.

The night before her rehearsal dinner, I received a tearful phone call from Izzy, begging me to come over.

I prepared for the evening the way I would a hot date. I wanted to Izzy to always remember how beautiful I looked the day I ruined her life.

 "Iz?" I knocked on her door. She had left it cracked open for me.

"In the bedroom," she croaked.

I followed the sound of her crying. "What's happened?" I asked, when I discovered her in bed, surrounded by wads of used tissues.

"Todd was fired today!" Izzy wailed.

"What?" I gasped. "Why?"

Izzy buried her nose in another tissue. "They said he went over his spending limit on his corporate card. Way over. And for items of a personal nature."

I made a face. "Yeah, they generally frown on using the corporate card to bankroll your greed."

"No!" Izzy said, shaking her head. "That's the thing. Todd has no idea how this happened. He was just as shocked as anyone when they showed him the bill."

"Well, why doesn't he just call the credit card company and report"—

"He did!" But because everything was delivered to his office, and the purchases were made here in New York City, they say they have no evidence of fraudulent activity."

I had to look down to keep from smiling now. Of course Biz and I had had the goods delivered to Todd's office. I just made sure to be the one to pick them up every morning before Todd even got in. I was the daughter of the CEO of the company—security didn't bat an eye when I waltzed through the revolving doors at 5am.

"You have to talk to your father!" Izzy pleaded. "Tell him Todd didn't do this. We're getting married this weekend! Our rehearsal dinner is tomorrow. This is going to ruin everything."

I reached out and began to stroke Izzy's hair, and she leaned in to me, gratefully. "I know it is, Iz. That's the point."

Izzy stilled beneath my touch. Slowly, fearfully, as though I were a wild animal she encountered in the woods that she didn't want to incite, she scooted away from me and sat up straight. "What does that mean?"

"It means an eye for a fucking eye, Izzy. You ruin my life. I ruin yours."

Izzy just sat there, paralyzed, her eyes the only thing that moved. They kept darting over my head, toward the door. Like she was trying to calculate whether or not she should make a run for it.

I glanced over my shoulder, at her exit. "That's actually exactly what I want you to do, Izzy. I want you to make a run for it. I want you to leave New York—my father will see to it that Todd never gets a job here anyway. But if you play by the rules, he'll set him up with some marginally cushy job somewhere in the sticks. But the offer is off the table if I ever have to see you again after tonight."

Izzy finally spoke. Her voice was so high I had to rub my shoulder against my ear. "You know I wasn't the mastermind behind all of that. What happened to you." She waved her hand, like I ought to know. "Your best friend in the whole entire fucking world was."

I laughed. "You don't think I know that? Of course I do."

"So why are you taking it all out on me?" Izzy whined.

"Oh believe me, Biz will get hers," I said. "But I want to make something very clear," I lurched across the bed and Izzy tried to scramble away from me, but I was too fast for her. I pinned her shoulders to the bed and straddled her, covering her mouth with my hand when she began to yell. "You are not to tell Biz that I know about her. Do you understand me?" I pressed my hand against her mouth harder and shook. "If you do, the deal with my father is off." I was really pressing down hard now, and I could see Izzy's eyes go wide with panic when she realized she couldn't breathe. "I killed someone because you, you fucking piece of shit." Izzy was clawing at me now, scratching my arms, my face. A vein appeared in her forehead and throbbed, like a warning. Finally, I removed my hand.

Izzy was coughing and gasping, all the fight gone out of her. I crawled off her and got to my feet. "I think my offer is actually pretty generous, all things considered." I hauled my classic quilted Chanel bag over my shoulder. "And compared with what's going to happen to Biz, let's just say you got off easy."

Then I walked out, more pep to my step than I'd had in ages, and treated myself to an extra dirty martini.

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