In Shari Lapena’s Getting Away with Murder, the desperate need to preserve a wealthy lifestyle triggers a moral collapse. For Ted and Jill Westcott, the threat of financial ruin and a subsequent drop in social status is enough to turn them from a comfortable, house-proud couple into calculated murderers. Lapena structures their downfall as a contemporary reimagining of Macbeth, where ambition, once acted upon, poisons the very partnership and peace it was meant to secure. The novel argues that the pursuit of wealth at any cost ultimately leads not to satisfaction but to a state of perpetual fear, paranoia, and emotional ruin, corrupting not only the perpetrators but everyone within their orbit.

The initial catalyst for the murder is the fear of losing their luxurious lifestyle. Ted is consumed by anxiety over his financial failures and, more importantly, by his fear of disappointing Jill, a woman who he knows despises weakness in men. Their opulent Brooklyn brownstone is the symbol of their success, a sanctuary they “dote on […] the way others dote on their children” (7). The thought of losing it is unbearable, transforming from a financial problem into an existential threat to their identity and marriage. When Ted’s brother Greg refuses them a loan, Jill becomes furious with him. Greed fully takes root as she transitions to an active co-conspirator, demonstrating how quickly the desire to protect their assets overtakes any moral compass. Their partnership in murder is a dark reflection of their partnership in renovating their home; both are projects designed to build and secure their ideal life, but one is creative while the other is irredeemably destructive.

The crime, however, fails to bring them the security they craved. Instead, their ill-gotten fortune acts as a corrupting agent, attracting parasites and exposing the transactional nature of their social world. Just as their attorneys predicted, a figure from Ted’s past, the ex-convict John Burnley, immediately appears, hoping to capitalize on the inheritance. More devastatingly, their closest friend, Lara Donleavy, is revealed to have her own price. After her husband Ben is killed as a result of the Westcotts’ actions, Lara’s grief quickly morphs into an opportunity for extortion. The presence of the massive inheritance erodes loyalty and friendship, suggesting that such a sum of money inevitably poisons human relationships, reducing them to a calculus of leverage and profit.

Ultimately, like the Macbeths, Ted and Jill gain their prize only to lose their peace of mind and, eventually, each other. Their shared guilt and the constant threat of exposure from their blackmailer do not strengthen their bond but corrode it. Jill’s admiration for Ted curdles into contempt for his mistakes, while Ted grows disappointed in her lack of fortitude. They become prisoners in the very house they killed to keep, haunted not by ghosts but by hidden cameras and the knowledge of their own monstrosity. They get away with murder legally, but the novel’s ending makes it clear they have not truly won. Their greed costs them their love, their friendships, and their sanctuary, leaving them with nothing but a fortune they can never truly enjoy.