Olivia I stay in the hospital for almost a week for observation. Technically I don’t need to
stay, but I’m hoping that Liam will stop by to see how I’m doing. He doesn’t, though. No
flowers. No calls. I even ask the nurses if anybody’s come by or asked about me, but they
just shake their heads. I try texting him. –Me: Thank you for saving my life. And our baby.
Without you, I don’t dare imagine what would’ve happened. –Me: Hey, the doctors say the
baby’s fine. Want to stop by? They’re going to do an ultrasound tomorrow. –Me: I miss your
crystallized ginger. –Me: I think the baby wants to have oranges. Nothing. He probably
doesn’t bother reading any of them. That evening, the hospital meal includes a few orange
slices, like it’s mocking me. Here, eat them since you said you wanted them. Exc ept I don’t
want citrus. I want Liam. It kills me that he doesn’t even care about the baby. Before, if I
jokingly said the baby seems to want cupcakes from Bobbi’s Sweet Things, he’d bring a
couple, no questions asked. I was certain even if I was no longer anybody in his world, our
baby would still mean something. I place a hand over my belly and rub the spot gently.
Mommy will ke ep you safe, my love. I’ll do everything to make this up to you. But I can’t
linger in the hospital indefinitely, so I discharge myself. I have a company to run, the family
trust to deal with. And justice to carry out. John Highsmith works fast. Prescott probably
put some pressure on him. John sends me daily updates on what’s going on with the trust.
The
disbursement has been frozen. Hugh and his fellow parasites need to vacate the mansion by
today. Tyler’s action isn’t something John can overlook, even if he wanted to. So although
I’m still technically without offspring, the mansion and the annual income from the trust
now belong to me as the sole beneficiary-in- waiting. I make a call to a private security firm
I’ve used before and arrange for backup—it’s a pretty good bet that Mom’s murderers won’t
go quietly. The firm agrees to send a team to the Whitmore mansion. Afterward, I text our
longtime houseke eper Mrs. Moore. –Me: Please ensure that Hugh, Deena and Brielle aren’t
taking anything that they shouldn’t. –Mrs. Moore: That probably isn’t necessary. I don’t
think they’re leaving. –Me: In that case, let the people I send past the gates in. I’ll deal with
Hugh myself. I slip inside my car. I don’t know who brought it over, but I’m grateful as I
grip the steering wheel to hide the tremors running through me. Finally! Exhilaration
pumps me up, and I grit my teeth. I inhale to settle myself, then stop by my condo to change
into proper battle attire. I can’t show up in a wrinkled party dress, looking pale and weak.
Hugh, Deena and Brielle are going to know exactly who punished them and why. They’ll
learn there’s nothing they can do to weasel out of their consequences. With care, I put on a
black dress—I never got to wear one when I lost my mother or dog—and slip into matching
slingbacks. I pull my hair back into a chignon and put on a black pillbox hat with a veil. To
hide the pallor of my face, I dab some liquid blush on my cheeks and drag blood-red lipstick
across my mouth. I stand in front of the mirror, then straighten my back and lift my chin.
There are two messages to be delivered today: grief and justice. I have to be strong for
both. Satisfied, I stop before the portrait of Mom, Pochi and me, then run my hand along the
frame. “Thank you for being so patient. We’re almost done. They’re going to pay now.”
It might be my imagination, but Mom’s smile looks brighter. Pochi’s eyes seem to sparkle. I
walk out, head held high, then drive to the childhood home that Hugh and his mistress
desecrated. The traffic is surprisingly light—it’s like the universe can’t wait for me to right
all the wrongs done to my mother and dog. Neither can I. This is it. My nerves go taut with
anxiety. I’ve wanted this for twenty years, but now that it’s about to happen, my legs shake
uncontrollably. Get rid of all the nervous energy now, so you can be firm and strong in front
of your enemies. The W on the wrought-iron gates comes into view. A bunch of shiny black
SUVs are driving through, up the winding path to the house. I frown a little. I didn’t expect
the company to send so many people. Well, a little extra manpower can’t hurt. I follow them
in. The old oaks look shockingly taller today. Their branches seem to arch over, the leaves
greener than the last time I visited, as though they’re dying to witness me carry out my
mission. I park my car among the black SUVs and st ep out. Despite the nervous twitching of
my thighs during the drive, my feet plant themselves on the ground with a surprising
surety. The men come over. “Ms. Kingswood?” one of them says. He’s tall, blond and built
like a mountain, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. He doesn’t smile, but then I didn’t ask
for friendly security. “Thanks for coming on such short notice. I need to get rid of some
trespassers and avoid any... physical unpleasantness. This way.” I try the door. It’s locked.
Seriously? Does Hugh honestly believe this will stop me? I enter the code, but it still won’t
budge. I input the master code and override the system. Hugh, Deena and Brielle don’t
realize that they’re interlopers, people who never belonged in my mother’s home in the first
place. The only reason I haven’t already locked them out is that I couldn’t do it legally. But
now? Hold my champagne. I enter with the security men and look around. The house is
quiet, like it’s holding its breath. I st ep further inside, then stop at the bottom of the stairs
where Mom fell. My vision blurs for a moment at the old memory of her rolling down the
st eps, and me watching helplessly from this very spot. The old rage and
terror chill my heart, and I clench my teeth as a bone-de ep loathing surges through me.
“The master bedroom is up over there—where a man and his wife should be—you can’t miss
it. And their daughter’s room is next to it. Don’t worry, she’s an adult, not some poor child.”
She was never a poor child, but I add that for the men’s benefit. “Drag them out, but don’t
hurt them. Can’t have them claiming injuries. And make sure they don’t take anything.
Nothing in this house belongs to them.” I turn to Mrs. Moore and the rest of the household
staff that has assembled in the foyer. “If you could act as witnesses, I’d appreciate it.” They
nod, their eyes wide. The men start up the stairs. I wait. My spine is straight, my eyes
unblinking. I want to see those three dragged to the top of the stairs. I want to see them
humiliated and reduced to nothing from the very spot I watched them murder Mom. There’s
a commotion, then screams and shouts come from upstairs. I close my eyes briefly, savoring
the sounds. Did they think this day would never arrive? Finally, Hugh, Deena and Brielle
appear at the top of the staircase. All three look disheveled. His white polo shirt is wrinkled
and his hair messy. Deena isn’t much better with her hair half-falling over her face. She
struggles against the men’s hold. I’m surprised her boobs haven’t popped out of her
extra-low-cut top. Brielle’s eyes shoot venom at me. I smile. “What’s the meaning of this?
I’m your father!” Hugh’s loud voice rings out. “Well, Dad, it’s time you moved out. Didn’t
John Highsmith tell you?” “Is this about Tyler? He didn’t mean to hurt you,” Deena says. I
narrow my eyes. “You sound just like Brielle. Nobody ever means to do anything. Oops, I
killed your mom, but I didn’t mean to—” “I can just divorce him! I was planning to anyway!”
Brielle says. “Exactly!” Hugh nods decisively, trying to project control. “Then he won’t be
part of the family. And this won’t be necessary.” “This isn’t about Tyler, Hugh.” I look at the
two women. “Deena. Brielle.” Hugh frowns in genuine confusion. “Then what?” “That’s
exactly where my mother stood when your mistress and your bastard child showed up and
provoked her.”
He flinches. “It was an accident!” “They provoked her until she fainted.” Deena shakes her
head. “Just bad luck—” “You knew Mom had high blood pressure. You knew she couldn’t
handle stress well, and agitating her wouldn’t be good.” “I didn’t—” “I heard you, Deena.
You got careless because you thought I was just a helpless child, too scared to do anything
but cling to what she had. But guess what? I heard everything you told Hugh.” She turns
white. Hugh stares at me like he’s seeing a vengeful ghoul crawling out of hell. If only you
knew what I really want to do to you... “And Hugh, you know perfectly well that her death
wasn’t accidental. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have cremated her too fast to have an autopsy.
It was so quick, you didn’t even let me attend her funeral.” “You were only ten!” he shouts.
“It wasn’t appropriate for you to be there! You didn’t understand the situation, just lashed
out! And now you’re making stuff up over what you misheard!” I grind my teeth. Did he
think I’d always be young, powerless and ignorant? That I’d just let go of what they did to
Mom? “I checked when I was old enough. Everyone said Mom fainted because her health
was fragile, but I always wondered—was that it? Nothing more? Now, we’ll never know, so I
won’t speculate too much, but isn’t it reasonable to ask a question or two...? A vibrant
young mother, so conveniently provoked by her husband’s mistress and their illegitimate
child, just happened to faint and fall...” Deena shakes. “You... You...!” “Right here.” I tap the
floor. “This is where I stood and watched her tumble down the stairs. And then you”—I look
at Deena—“and your daughter decided not to call 911.” “I didn’t want to get us into trouble
with Dad!” Brielle shrieks. My voice turns icy. “No. You and your mom hoped the delayed
rescue would kill her.” “Nonsense! You just imagined everything because you were upset
your mother passed away and needed to blame someone!” Deena shouts. “You’re just
jealous that I have my mom, while you don’t,” Brielle adds.
“The only reason I don’t is because you murdered her.” “You crazy bitch!” Deena screams.
“We should’ve committed you!” “Shut up, Dee!” Hugh shouts, then turns to me, an
ingratiating smile on his face. “Look, Olivia. I know you’re still grieving for your mother,
but... She was never in the best of health. There’s no guarantee that if Deena had called 911
sooner, she would’ve survived.” “But she definitely died because Deena chose not to call,” I
counter, my voice low and tight. I look at the security team. “Please take them outside.”
They drag the trio out. Deena and Brielle start cursing, while Hugh displays a bit more
intelligence. “I’m your father!” How many times is he going to say that? I ignore him and
start walking out into the garden. The men follow with the despicable three. I stop at the
broken fountain and inhale the scent of stagnant water. “Remember this place?” I say softly.
“What?” Hugh looks confused. Of course. He probably forgot about Pochi the day he turned
her into ashes. How dare he forget and live his life guilt-free? It’s tempting to get in my car
and run him over, just to show him the kind of pain my dog must’ve been in. “I’m sure
Brielle remembers it.” Deena pastes on a fawning smile. “Olivia, we’re family. Think of your
sister—!” “When did Mom have my sister?” “What?” “You said think of my sister. Who
would that be? Mom only had me as far as I know.” Hugh huffs a breath. “You know
perfectly well that Brielle—” I snort. “Has nothing to do with me. She’s your daughter.” His
voice grows tight. “You’ve made your point, okay? You’ve humiliated us enough. Don’t be
cold, Olivia. It isn’t attractive.” I chuckle. “Oh, you think I should be generous? Continue to
support your mistress and her daughter with my mother’s money?” “Olivia!” “Hugh, you
should’ve expected this when you betrayed my mom—and our family.” “I loved your
mother!” “No, you loved her money. Her greatest mistake was marrying you.” “If it weren’t
for me marrying your mother, you wouldn’t exist.”
“And my greatest regret in life is having you as my father. Listen, Hugh. I’m not a Desmond.
The blood that flows in my veins is the Whitmore blood. My lawyer is already working on
changing my name.” “This isn’t over!” I scoff. “It’s not? Really? What are you going to do?
Have me fall down the stairs just like Mom? Run me over like Brielle did to Pochi?” His
breathing grows audibly loud. Deena turns whiter than the flowers behind her. “Are you
trying to send us to jail?” Her voice shakes. “You can’t do that! You have no evidence!”
Brielle screams. I ignore them. “This is where you killed my dog, Brielle.” She shuts up.
“You ran her over. And I’m never going to forget that because you meant to kill her. And
you”—I turn to Hugh—“you covered for her. Washed the car, then cremated Pochi before I
could say a word. Even got rid of the ashes before I could claim them.” “You were
hysterical! It was for your own good,” Hugh says. “Look at you. Even now you’re paranoid.
Claiming everyone was out to kill your mother and your dog. They were both accidental
deaths.” “Exactly!” Brielle adds. “I didn’t mean to—” She stops abruptly. I sneer. They
sound like a bunch of broken records. “I know. Nobody ever means to. But does it matter?
The outcome is the same—my mom died, then my dog died. At your hands.” Deena and
Brielle stare at me like I’m the boogeyman they never knew lived in their closet. “Let’s be
honest. Mom was your ATM. So was I. You’re just pissed that your card is about to be cut
up. Will Winston still act like your buddy and let you test drive all those expensive Lambos?
Will you still be welcomed into those parties you love when you’re penniless?” “You’ve
become so materialistic. Constance would be ashamed of how you’re acting,” Hugh says
bitterly. Does he honestly believe he can hurt me with words, after what he’s put me
through over the last twenty years? “Yes, well, I’m going to love to see the three of you try
to support yourselves without Mom’s money. You know, you being so nonmaterialistic and
all.” They glare at me for a moment, then deflate like popped balloons as they realize that I
won’t budge. I stare at them. How pathetic they are now.
And they took away so much from me. All because I was too weak to protect those I loved
the most. I put a hand over my belly. I’ll never allow them to touch my baby. I’ll make sure
of it. “Throw them off the property,” I tell the blond security guard. “Yes, ma’am.” He moves
over to Hugh. “Time to go.” “You wouldn’t dare! You can’t just kick us out. We have rights
as tenants,” Brielle says suddenly. “Good luck proving that. I don’t recall you paying rent.
You were never tenants, just little leeching trust beneficiaries.” I stand and watch the men
drag them, struggling, down the driveway and throw them out beyond the gates like trash,
then form a human wall to prevent them from coming back inside. Once that’s done, I turn
to the house. It stands like a relic of my innocence and happiness I can never get back. I
look down at the broken fountain, then back at the house. Through the open door I can see
the stairs. “Hugh’s finished,” I murmur. “Justice is served, Mom.” My voice cracks. “And
now... You can rest in peace with Pochi.” A warm breeze strokes my cheeks. I feel like I can
smell Mom’s roses, even though the garden doesn’t have them anymore. Mrs. Moore hands
me a Kleenex. “Are you all right?” she whispers, her voice shaky. I smile through the tears.
“I’ll be fine. I always am.”