The Switch – A Short Story

  * * *

  When I got home that evening, Andy and Mary and their kids were at our house. Rita and Andy both began to grill me, but I cut them off. “I’ll fill you in after dinner. I need some time to chill out before I can talk about it.”

  The next couple of hours, we hung out, had a few beers, watched the kids play together, and sat down to a big spaghetti dinner. As I sat at the head of the table, surrounded by this big, happy group, I realized that this was my real family. Besides Rita and our kids, Andy and Mary were like the brother and sister I never had. I would do anything for them and I knew the feeling was mutual.

  After eating, we sent the kids to the family room to watch a movie. We adults cleared the dishes and then sat down at the kitchen table.

  “Are you ready to talk about it?” Rita asked.

  I looked around the table, felt the love and support of the people gathered there. I was ready. I told them everything that had happened at my parent’s house. I didn’t hold anything back. I knew it would hurt Rita and her brother, but I couldn’t lie to them. They needed to know how horrible my parents were. They needed to know that there was no way my parents would be willing to help us out.

  “That’s just sick, man,” Andy said. “Your parents have all this money and they’re going to just sit back and let Rita die, allow their own grandchildren to lose their mother. So what? So you can marry some blue blood they’d approve of.” He pounded his fist on the table. “That’s totally twisted.”

  “I know.” I turned to Rita. “I’m so sorry, honey. I had no idea how cruel my parents could be. I didn’t realize how much they hated us.”

  Rita shook her head. “They don’t hate you. It’s just me they hate.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, that’s the same thing. You’re my wife; you’re everything to me.”

  “Your parents see it differently. You even said they want to get to know their grandchildren. I guess even though they’re my kids too, your parents can separate them from me. Apparently, they can accept them even if they can’t accept me.”

  We all sat in silence, a mixture of anger and sadness and hopelessness filling the room. As I looked around the table, I knew I had to do something. I couldn’t sit back and let my wife die.

  “I wish I could get my hands on my trust fund,” I said.

  “Are you sure you can’t?” Andy asked.

  “Yes. After my parents disowned me, I contacted an attorney. I gave him the trust fund documents to review. They’re unbreakable. I can’t get access to the money until I’m thirty, unless my parents give me authorization. And there’s no way that’s going to happen.”

  “All right,” Andy said. “Your trust fund is locked up tight. But there’s more family money than just your trust fund. How about your parent’s other assets?”

  “You mean steal from them?” Rita asked. “Michael can’t do that.”

  “It’s all in the way you look at it,” Andy said. “Michael is entitled to some portion of his family’s money. That’s the whole point of a trust fund. The fact that he has to wait a couple of years to get it doesn’t mean that it’s not his. So, the way I look at it, if he were to take something now, he’s really just borrowing against his future assets.”

  Everyone looked at me, waiting for my response. “I buy that argument. I’m just not sure how it helps us. I can’t think of anything I can take from my parents that wouldn’t result in my getting thrown in jail. I mean maybe I could steal the keys to their yacht or make off with their Rolls Royce, but I’m sure I’d be caught.”

  “What if you weren’t?” Andy asked. “What if you took something that couldn’t be traced back to you?”

  “Like what?” Rita asked.

  “There’s got to be something,” Andy said. “What other assets do your parents own?”

  I thought about it for a while, then it dawned on me. “They own a pretty significant art collection.”

  Mary, who’d been silent this whole time, jumped in. “Are any of the paintings valuable?”

  I laughed. “Are you kidding? Some of them are worth millions. They own a couple of Renoirs, a few Monets, Picassos...”

  “And where are all these paintings?” Mary asked. “Don’t tell me they’re just hanging on their walls?”

  I laughed. “Well, yeah, that’s exactly where they are. You have to understand, rich people like to show off. They want their friends to see what they own. But on the other hand, it’s not like I can just waltz in there and grab one. My parent’s house is a fortress. They have a state-of-the-art security system; they have a staff of people living at the house so there’s always someone around. And frankly, the way I left things with them today, I’m not sure I could even get back inside their house.”

  “Maybe you can’t get back in, but what about your kids?” Andy asked.

  “I think they’re a little young to pull off an art heist,” Rita said.

  “Maybe there’s another way, though,” I said. “Andy, in your art classes, did you ever try to replicate any of the masters?”

  “Sure, all the time. A number of the classes I took involved studying their work and learning their techniques.”

  “Do you think you could paint a forgery that would be good enough to pass for the real thing?” I asked.

  Andy’s eyes lit up. “I’d sure like to try. But how do I gain access to the painting to study it?”

  “That’s where the kids come in,” I said. “My parents want to see them. What if we set up visits with you taking them over there? I think my parents would understand Rita and my not wanting to see them and sending you instead. While the kids are distracting my parents, you could check out their collection, see what you think you’d have the best shot at forging.”

  “That could work. I could take pictures of the painting -- maybe even do some sketches while I’m there.”

  “There are a few paintings in the library I think would be suitable,” I said. “If you told my parents you needed a quiet place to do some work while they were visiting, they’d probably put you in there. That could give you an hour or two of uninterrupted time. And we could schedule as many visits as it would take.”

  “And then when I had the forgery finished, I could substitute it for the real thing,” Andy said.

  “I don’t know about this,” Mary said, looking at Rita and me. “You know I love you guys, but I don’t want Andy thrown in jail.”

  “No,” I said. “When the forgery’s ready, I’ll be the one to switch the paintings. That way if we get caught, I’ll be the one to take the fall.”

  Rita held up her hands like a cop stopping traffic. “I think this plan is too risky. I don’t want you going to jail because of me.”

  I reached out and took her hands. I drew them down to the table and held them tight. “I’m willing to take the risk. I would risk everything, even my life, to save yours.”

  Rita closed her eyes and nodded. “Okay,” she whispered.

  I turned to Andy and Mary. “How about you guys? Are you on board?”

  I watched them look at each other and then, as though they’d spoken telegraphically, they both nodded at the same time.

  “Yeah,” Andy said. “We’re in. I’ll do whatever it takes to help my sister.”

  “All right,” I said. “I’ll call my parents tomorrow and set up a schedule.”