Page 51

Old Before He’s Forty

Padma was drafting an email to her mother as she watched the clock tick closer to midnight. As soon as Brenda could confirm plans were in place for The Fiscal Fuckface to be taken care of, she would hit send. The email would inform her mother Farid Nadir had inexplicably disappeared and beg her for another chance at running the casino. She would promise to get highlights in her hair and to date any other candidates her mother and The Matchmaker wanted to send her way. She just needed one more chance to prove to her mother she could run a business as well as her.

Finally, Brenda walked in, dropped the duffel bag on Padma’s desk, and took a seat across from her. “Farid is gone,”

Brenda said.

Good. Padma could send the email.

But wait a minute.

“Gone. Gone? Like, mission accomplished, gone?”

She squinted at the duffel bag. It looked as full as when Brenda had carried it from this office an hour earlier. That couldn’t be good.

Brenda shook her head. “Gone, like, left the building. Drove away. Disappeared. Took all his things. Are you sure he didn’t head back to Mumbai with his guys?”

“No. The company jet was wheels up around nine p.m., and I saw him after that. Why would he leave? He got my job and all the credit. The cocky asshole says the money will transfer to the bank at midnight. Do you believe it? He says he knew as soon as we left Pam’s house that he had the money. Once that nine million lands, he’ll be crowned my mother’s new prince. Why would he walk out on that?”

Brenda shrugged. “Who knows why anyone like that does anything.”

Padma looked at the clock. Banks opened in Mumbai in one minute. She was logged into the bank account—the casino CFO had walked her through it earlier, and she’d seen the pending transfer. She checked the account activity; it was still pending. She waited an extra minute just to be sure, then refreshed. Not yet. She waited, then refreshed again. Still not there. A third time.

Transaction canceled.

Padma jolted. She thought a moment, and then she knew.

Down in the maintenance room, he must have stolen the money. The Fiscal Fuckface had redirected Nancy’s bank draft to his personal account. That was the real reason he’d sent his guys home before the money landed in the casino account at midnight—because he knew it never would. He’d left Pam’s house smug that the wives had handed over the money. And then he’d grabbed it for himself.

That fucker.

A slow smile crept across Padma’s face. Good thing she hadn’t sent that email to her mother yet. Her rewrite would be even juicier. She’d inform her mother that she didn’t care what lies The Falcon had been spewing, Padma was the true driving force behind recovering the nine million, not him, thank you very much. And that Padma was perfectly capable of running the casino, and finding her own husband, if and when she wanted. Again, thank you very much. She could hardly wait to add in the line that her mother’s prized prince had not only disappeared, but he’d taken her nine million dollars with him.

“What? What is it?”

Brenda asked.

Padma sat back and grinned. “Turns out I didn’t have to worry about The Fiscal Fuckface after all. He has singlehandedly just destroyed his life.”

“What do you mean?”

“The money’s gone.”

Brenda’s eyes widened. “Gone. Gone? Like not in the account, gone? Are you sure?”

Padma turned her screen toward Brenda so she could read the transaction canceled notification for herself. Brenda leaned forward to study the account page.

Padma continued, “Yep. Farid took the money and ran. The little twat. Making us wait until the Mumbai bank opened at midnight was just a ruse to give him time to make his getaway. He sent his team home and then hightailed it himself. He’s probably halfway to the Maldives with my mother’s nine million dollars.”

Padma chuckled.

Brenda’s mouth hung open. She blinked repeatedly.

“Brenda, what don’t you understand? That dude had slimeball written all over him like a face tattoo. Remember how he said at Pam’s, ‘I’ve got the accounting. That’s what I do’? Ha! Sure he does.”

Brenda frowned. “I . . . I . . . suppose so. I guess he must have run off with the money. What will you do now? Will . . . you bring someone else in to look for him?”

Padma checked her phone’s charge. “Nope. Don’t you see, Brenda? This has worked out perfectly for me. What do I care about the money? It was gone before I ever got here. Now that The Fuckface Falcon has fucked my mother over, she can deal with him. Though the way my mother operates, she’ll decide he never existed—less embarrassing than admitting she got outmaneuvered. I bet my mother puts her own nine million in the casino account just to be sure no one will ever know Farid The Fiscal Fuckface got the best of her. But he doesn’t know that. He’ll be looking over his shoulder until the day he dies. He’ll be old before he’s forty.”

Padma smiled at Brenda. “But the best thing about this is, my mother knows I know. That’s what matters now.” Padma leaned forward. “I couldn’t have planned this more perfectly if I’d tried.” She shimmied her shoulders and leaned back.

Brenda frowned and chewed her lip.

Padma studied Brenda. What should she do about this woman her mother called her loose end? She asked, “Is there anything else?”

Brenda folded her hands in front of her. “I don’t think this is going to work out, Padma.”

Padma sighed. Women never liked her. She couldn’t help it. “I don’t suppose it is.”

She looked at the duffel bag. It would have been a different story if Brenda had taken that cash and either hired someone or kept it for herself. Then Padma could control her. But the moment Brenda plopped that full duffel bag back on her desk, Padma knew Brenda was trying to walk away while she could. Padma had to admit, Brenda was making the smart move in the situation. But should she let her? Padma tapped her fingers on her desk. One call and she could get those Mumbai guys back here. That was how her mother did business.

Padma made her decision.

Fuck her mother and her hard truths. The real hard truth was it would be sweeter to get on that Forbes list on her own terms. She was enough. She was fucking awesome. She motioned toward the blue duffel bag. “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll deny it.”

“Oh. I don’t doubt that for a minute. But I won’t be telling anyone.”

Brenda rose and walked to the door, then turned and said, “I left something in the bag for you, Padma. Good luck.”

Padma watched the door close and, curious, unzipped the bag, and smiled.

* * *

A few minutes later Padma strode down the hall, out the door, and across the parking lot to her car, feeling more confident and comfortable than she had in a long time, taking powerful, commanding strides in Brenda’s Doc Martens combat boots.

She stopped for a moment and sent a text:

Padma: Hey Nilesh. If it’s not too late I’d love to go bowling with you.

Used shoes are fine. But full disclosure—I’m short.

Three dots appeared, then:

Nilesh: That was obvious. And I’d really like that. I’ll text u tmr.

And full disclosure—I’m bald.

Three dots appeared again, then:

Nilesh: I can tell The Matchmaker that I made a mistake rejecting you.

Padma: It’s okay. I don’t care what The Matchmaker thinks.

I don’t care what anyone thinks. Now.

Nilesh replied with a heart emoji, and Padma sent one back.