Truth

Italy toward Switzerland.” His voice came through the thin bathroom door as she changed into the clothes he’d brought. “The secret of staying hidden is moving, but not too erratically.”
    She slid the squeaky pocket door, creating an opening large enough for her to exit the ugly pink and black tiled bathroom. The smell of stale smoke overtook her senses as her eyes scanned the shabby motel room. Thread bare carpet highlighted the traffic areas. Despite the surroundings, Claire’s voice sounded stronger than before, “Eventually I want to settle. I have a child to raise.”
    From the corner of her eye, in the cloudy mirror above the low dresser, she saw her unfamiliar reflection. She noticed the looseness of the new clothes. They hid her pregnancy much better than her previous outfit.
    “ You will, after you acquire the money from the account in Geneva.”
    Claire nodded. Catherine’s documents had specific instructions for accessing Nathaniel Rawls’ hidden fortune. It seemed appropriate. If his decree could send her into hiding -- his money could finance her future. Claire even justified it as her baby’s grandfather’s support. It was amazing how the mind can twist things, making them legitimate, especially under duress.
    Phil went on, “You’ll have a week to travel from Florence to Geneva. I’ll meet you there next Thursday. Your hotel reservation is set in Geneva. I need to know where to meet you. It’s too dangerous for you to have contact with anyone in the United States, even me. While leaving the U.S. you’re Lauren Michaels . In Geneva, minus the time you’re in the bank, you’re Isabelle Alexander . Hopefully, once I’m there, we’ll discuss your eventual destination.”
    “ Hopefully?” Claire asked.
    “ Your transaction must be complete. Temporary identities are one thing; securing a permanent identity with a new residence is expensive.”
    Claire nodded. She wondered how much money the Switzerland account held.
     
    Phil left Claire at a cafe in Burlington, a suburb of Cincinnati. From there she called a taxi which took her to the Cincinnati International Airport. She had to admit, he was smart. The curbs at the airport had video surveillance. With this plan, if she were to be identified, he wasn’t connected.
    Claire realized she was flying international with nothing more than a carry-on; Phil supplied her with the basics. She would need to purchase everything else new in Italy. His plan provided her with enough starter cash to sustain her until she completed her financial transaction in Geneva.
    The first security check was unnerving. Claire summoned every mask she’d ever worn. Once she passed to the other side of the check point and nodded to the last TSA agent, she sighed with relief. From that point on, Ms. Lauren Michaels confidently met each agent and scan head-on.
    Lauren was thirty thousand feet in the air, crossing the Atlantic Ocean, by the time the police finished searching Anthony Rawlings’ estate. The striking green-eyed woman with deep amber hair rode economy-class, wedged between a mother with a sleeping child and a man in a cheap suit. The man to her left was not only a barrier to the aisle, but after he consumed too many seven dollar beers, his attempts at flirting made her debate the pros and cons of committing assault and battery.
    It took all her self-restraint to not pull the large diamond from her purse and wiggle it under his nose. In her daydream she curtly said, “Leave me alone, jerk; I’m engaged.” But sadly she realized that was no longer true.
    The diamond was the only instruction from Phil, Claire didn’t follow. She could leave her Prada purse, her overpriced clothes, and her Cartier sunglasses... just not the ring. Claire closed her eyes and remembered the afternoon she’d finally accepted it...
    It was a Saturday; Tony was working from home. She’d spent most of the morning out in the gardens. Before, when they were married, Claire longed to work in the gardens, planting and tending his beautiful plants. Back then she worried it wasn’t appropriate. Now she didn’t care and didn’t ask. One day she started talking with James, the gardener. He helped her find the tools. Tony never complained. On the contrary, he delighted in her hobbies, often asking questions about her plants and supporting her desire to get her hands dirty and tend the small living things.
    On that particular Saturday, after digging, dividing, replanting, and