SIXTY DAYS WITH THE IMPOSTOR

CHAPTER TWO

Malowe

“You’ve been staring at me for more than five minutes,” the bartender said, stepping forward with the menu in his hands. “ Do we know each other?”

My mouth opened, then closed. Words failed me.

Do we know each other? What did he mean by that?

Does my husband no longer recognize me?

“What’s….your name?” I finally summoned the courage to ask.

“Dimitri. Dimitri Williams,” he replied calmly.

“Oh…” I muttered, feeling my chest tighten, “I’m sorry, I… I mistook you for someone else.”

He arched his brow in suspicion but nodded politely, “Do you need a drink?”

“No, thanks,” I said, bending to pick up my bag as I stormed out of the bar breathlessly, my hands trembling.

My vision was blurry now as tears threatened to fall.

“You’re not crazy. It can’t just be my grief,” I whispered as if trying to comfort myself. “He looks exactly like Dominic,” I said to myself.

Maybe Eleanor was right. Maybe I needed to see a shrink.

But she was wrong about one thing. I would recognize my husband from a mile away.

If that man wasn’t Dominic, then perhaps he was someone who could set me free.

*

*

The next morning was supposed to be the Will reading day. The day that would decide my fate.

I arrived at the Ashford family estate and walked straight into Eleanor’s study room, everyone was already seated; Harlan, his wife, Betty, Eleanor, and a few other family members I didn’t care to know.

Their eyes followed me like I was some criminal who didn’t belong here. But I ignored them, I took a seat at the centre of the room, my arms calmly folded on my chest.

‘Stay calm, Marlowe, I’m sure all is well’ I said to myself.

“How are you, Marlowe?” Eleanor asked, faking a smile.

“Good!”

Three minutes later, the lawyer strode in carrying a folder. She's a tall and slender woman dressed in an impeccable corporate dress. She stood right in front of us, adjusting her glasses.

“Good morning, everyone,” she said formally. “ We're here to go through the last will of Dominic Ashford.”

I straightened, and then I heard Harlan’s annoying voice behind me. “Good! So we can get this over with.”

I fought the urge to tell him to shut the f**k up and that his brother was missing and not dead but instead I kept my eyes on the lawyer.

She began reading, “Dominic wrote that all assets and properties are to be passed down to his offspring, but if he doesn’t have any, then they are to be passed to his… kin.”

My heart skipped a beat. What about me? No single mention of his wife.

Harlan grinned, “Too sad you're barren to give him an heir,” he teased, “I told you Marlowe, you don’t belong here, this just proves everything. Even Dominic never rated you.”

I clenched my fists under the table, letting my breathing stay steady. I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing me emotional.

The lawyer continued, her voice stern. “However, execution of this will cannot proceed until Dominic Ashford is legally declared deceased. A death certificate must be issued. Until that time, the assets remain frozen.”

I let the breath I didn’t realize I was holding, thank Goodness. Finally, I had time to sort this out. Hopefully, Dominic returns and this madness stops.

Eleanor doesn't say a word, she just sat at the corner, watching the whole thing unfold but Harlan wasn’t having it.

“How long are we going to wait for a death certificate? This is bullshit!”

“A month… The meeting is dispersed,” the lawyer said.

I couldn’t believe I had almost a month before everything I’d worked so hard for could be stripped away.

I gasped. No, now was not the time to panic. I needed to act fast.

Dominic may be missing, but he wasn’t gone. And I wasn’t about to let my life, my hard work, slip through my fingers.

As I prepared to leave, Harlan’s voice sliced through my thoughts:

“This isn’t over yet, Marlowe. I can’t wait to see every single thing stripped from you.”

I didn’t answer. I simply walked away.

Back at the penthouse, I pulled out my laptop and typed: Dimitri Williams. Nothing. No social media, no news, no trace. Not surprisingly, he wasn’t a social person. But I refused to give up.

I typed again: Dimitri Williams bartender. Finally, an old Facegram profile appeared. Only one picture. He was hugging a woman who looked like his sister. 2014. My mind raced. That was the year Dominic and I got married. He had been telling the truth.

Even if he wasn’t my husband, he was useful. Dimitri Williams was my only option.

I waited until nightfall, slipped into the flashiest, skimpiest gown I could find, and returned to the bar.

There he was. My heart leapt, and this time I didn’t wait for him to approach me. I strode confidently to the counter, leaning in close.

“It’s nice to see you again, ma’am,” he said, winking with that easy, charming smile.

I forced a nervous smile of my own. “I have a deal for you.”

“A deal?” His eyebrows rose.

“Trust me. It’s juicy, and I have a feeling you’ll love it.”

He leaned back slightly, curious. “Okay… go ahead.”

“I need you to pretend to be my husband until he returns,” I blurted, my voice trembling with desperation. “I’m offering sixty million dollars.”

He blinked twice, like he was suddenly assessing me in a new light. “I know you. You’re the one who just lost her husband… the one everyone thinks you killed.”