Chapter 1 - The Counterfeit Kitchen
The memory of Marcy’s laughter in the hospital cafeteria hit Helen like ice water.
She walked slowly down the hallway toward the front door, her sweatpants rustling in the quiet house.
She lifted the caramel leather purse off its brass hook and carried it beneath the kitchen chandelier.
Beside the thirty-seven small plastic packets on the table, she set her purse down flat.
She picked up the rounded gold emblem from the towel and held it against the one stitched into her purse.
The weight was identical, the metallic luster matched, but when she turned the loose emblem over, she saw tiny engraved letters on the underside: BATCH 104 - GUANGZHOU.
A cold, sickening shudder moved from Helen’s stomach straight up into her throat.
Her mind raced back over the past eleven months, connecting every unexplained detail she had previously brushed aside.
The countless evenings Robert had spent out in his detached garage workshop with the blinds drawn and the door locked from the inside.
He had always claimed he was restoring antique automotive carburetors and delicate dashboard clocks for private collectors.
Helen had smelled leather glue and industrial solvent drifting into the laundry room, but she had never questioned a husband who worked sixty-hour weeks.
"Wade knows a distributor," she repeated aloud to the empty kitchen, the words tasting like bitter ash.
Marcy had handed Robert twelve hundred dollars in cash from her nursing savings account two months ago for a black shoulder tote.
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Then Sarah from radiology had ordered one, followed by the head pharmacist's wife and three teachers from the local middle school.
Robert hadn't found a wholesale discount on retail returns; he was running a counterfeit luxury assembly line right behind their backyard fence.
