The Cost of Ivory

The wrought-iron gates of my estate were wide open when I arrived. The security cameras had been disabled; their little red lights were dark in the rain.

I parked my car in the driveway and walked up the stone steps to the front door. It was unlocked.

Inside, the house was silent. The only sound was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer.

“Florence!” I shouted, my voice echoing off the marble floors.

“In the study, Jonathan,” her voice drifted from down the hall.

I walked slowly toward the study, my heart pounding. When I pushed the mahogany doors open, I saw her.

Florence was standing by my desk. She had finally taken off the ivory wedding gown, replaced by a sleek, black travel suit. But she was still wearing my wife’s emerald clasp.

Sitting in my heavy leather desk chair was Leo. He was clutching a small, framed photograph he had taken from my desk—a picture of Christina and me.

“Grandpa!” Leo cried, trying to jump down.

Florence placed a firm hand on his shoulder, keeping him in the chair. “Stay seated, Leo. Grandpa has work to do.”

I kept my eyes locked on hers. “Let him go, Florence. I’m here.”

“The vault, Jonathan,” she said, gesturing toward the large oil painting on the far wall that concealed the biometric wall safe. “Open it. Pack the bonds into the duffel bag on the floor. Then you can have him.”

I walked over to the painting and swung it open. The steel face of the vault gleamed in the dim light. I placed my thumb on the scanner. It beeped green, and the heavy door clicked open.

Inside sat stacks of bearer bonds, emergency cash, and gold bars. A lifetime of safety.

I picked up the black duffel bag from the floor and began loading it.

“You know, Jonathan, it didn’t have to be this messy,” Florence said, watching me pack. “If your daughter hadn’t been so snoopy, checking your bank statements, we could have had a lovely wedding. I would have drained the accounts slowly. You would have died happy and ignorant.”

“You don’t love me,” I said, not looking back at her. “I know about Arthur. I know you were working together.”

Florence laughed, a sharp, ugly sound. “Arthur is an idiot. He thought he was the mastermind because his daddy got screwed in a real estate deal. He wanted revenge. I just wanted the cash. I let him do all the heavy lifting with the forged signatures.”

I zipped the duffel bag shut and turned around. I didn’t hand it to her. I held it by my side.

“Then why did you betray him?” I asked.

“Because Arthur got greedy. He wanted the building. I knew property transfers took too long, too much red tape. I just wanted the liquid assets. So I tipped you off.”

I frowned. “What do you mean, you tipped me off?”

Florence smiled, tapping the emerald necklace. “Who do you think told Leo to give you that USB drive before the wedding?”

The room seemed to spin. “Christina gave it to him.”

“Christina was unconscious on her living room floor,” Florence sneered. “I put the USB in Leo’s pocket. I told him to give it to you right before the ceremony. I needed you distracted, angry at Arthur, freezing the property assets so Arthur would be left with nothing, while I slipped away with the vault money.”

She had orchestrated the entire revelation. She used my three-year-old grandson as a pawn to eliminate her own partner.

“You’re a monster,” I whispered.

“I’m wealthy,” she corrected. “Now, give me the bag.”

“No,” a new voice said from the doorway.

Florence whipped around.

Standing in the doorway of the study, dripping wet and holding a heavy iron fireplace poker, was Arthur.

His face was bruised, and he looked furious.

“You thought you could leave me holding the bag, Florence?” Arthur snarled, stepping into the room.

Florence’s hand instinctively tightened on Leo’s shoulder. The boy whimpered.