Chapter 5 - THE EVIL IN THE ELEGANCE
My mother had visited my mangled, blood-stained car in a junkyard instead of visiting her injured daughter and grandchildren in the hospital.
“Why was she at the car?” I asked, my voice trembling as Adrian handed me the yellow receipt.
“She was looking for something,” Adrian said grimly. “And considering you found that train ticket hidden in the diaper bag, I’d wager she was looking for exactly that.”
I stared at the blue stuffed elephant. The message was clear. It wasn't a gift of comfort; it was a threat. We have access to your things. We know where you are.
“Adrian, my parents don't have the capacity for this kind of corporate sabotage,” I argued, though the evidence in my hands felt suffocating. “My mother cares about country club gossip and her pickleball backhand. My father cares about golf. They aren't criminal masterminds.”
“Desperation makes people smart, Tessa,” Adrian said, sliding the documents into his briefcase. “I’m going to run a full audit on the holding trust. In the meantime, do not sign anything Vanessa brings you. Do not let her near the babies.”
“Bethany already placed a security hold on the pediatric wing,” I assured him. “Only I can authorize release.”
Adrian nodded and left to make calls.
I lay in the quiet room for an hour, the blue elephant resting on my chest. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the headlights of the delivery van. The memory felt different now. It didn't feel like an accident.
Around four in the afternoon, the door opened without a knock.
My mother walked in.
She wore a cashmere sweater set, perfectly tailored slacks, and a string of pearls. She looked immaculate, completely untouched by the trauma that had shattered my life. She didn't rush to my side. She didn't cry.
She stopped at the end of my bed and crossed her arms.
“Your father’s car was towed from the club in front of the entire board,” she said, her voice tight with suppressed rage. “And my cards were declined at the tennis pro shop. Have you lost your mind, Tessa?”
I looked at the woman who had given birth to me. I looked for a trace of maternal love, a hint of concern for the tubes running into my arms or the bruising painting my neck purple. There was nothing.
“My children could have died three nights ago, Mom,” I said softly.
“But they didn't,” she replied effortlessly, waving a hand in the air. “You’re all fine. What isn't fine is you trying to financially abuse your own parents to punish us for having a life.”
“Financially abuse?” I let out a dry, painful laugh. “I bought your life.”
“You owed us that life!” she snapped, taking a step closer. “We raised you! We paid for your college! And how do you repay us? By cutting us off just when Vanessa finally has a chance to make something of herself?”
I reached beside me and picked up the small velvet pouch containing the train ticket. I tossed it onto the tray table over my lap.
“Did you buy this ticket for Luke, Mom?” I asked.
My mother’s eyes darted to the velvet pouch. For a fraction of a second, the polished country-club facade cracked, revealing a terrified, desperate woman underneath.
“I don't know what that is,” she lied, recovering quickly.
“It’s a one-way ticket to Montreal, purchased on your credit card the day Luke died,” I said, staring her down. “And it was hidden in the car you illegally searched yesterday at the tow yard.”
She stepped back, her hand flying to her pearls. “You don't understand what you're meddling in, Tessa. Luke was stealing from us. He was going to ruin everything.”
“Luke didn't steal anything!” I yelled, pain flaring in my fractured ribs. “He leveraged the house to cover Vanessa's debts!”
“You think Vanessa actually owns a decor shop?” my mother laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. “Oh, Tessa. You are so smart with your computers, but so incredibly blind to the real world.”
In her agitation, she reached into her designer handbag to grab a tissue. As she pulled her hand out, she snagged the lining. The bag tipped, spilling its contents across the linoleum floor.
Lipstick, a gold compact, and a cell phone scattered across the tiles.
But it was the small stack of plastic cards bound by a rubber band that caught my eye.
I leaned over as far as the pain would allow.
They were Northline Risk Systems security badges. Six of them.
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They weren't guest passes. They were Level 4 administrative access cards. The kind only my executive team possessed. The kind that granted unhindered access to the most secure data servers in my company.
And my mother was carrying them in her purse.
