My life swiftly became unrecognizable, both practically and emotionally. Our own daughter had taken
everything from us. She had exploited our trust in her – the fact she’d been trained and nurtured by the
family business – to destroy everything that we’d built for all of us. She’d called the bank as soon as the
money for the sale had hit Nick’s client account, smoothly lying about where it was headed. The fact
that it was a Friday, that we were off celebrating that very same deal, provided the perfect cover. She
had it all worked out: there was a digit wrong; could they in fact transfer it to the following account for
her? In the dark of the night, I often imagine the call.
How charming and witty she can be, how beguiling that is. No wonder they didn’t ask any awkward
questions. We traced her complicated flight path. She’d gone from London to Ireland, from Ireland to
Switzerland, and there she had met her money. Part of me marvelled at her ingenuity, at the reminder it
provided that she was always the brightest of my children. She would read whole novels to herself at
ten, while the other two were so bovine at the same age that they virtually mooed. It was why I had to be
so hard on her: it was always difficult to steer her path when she was ten st eps ahead. Sophie would
agree with my assessment. ‘She was the one who always saw through your bullshit,’ she shouts when I
see her, red-faced and ugly in her grief.
That Swiss bank account provided an important clue: her co-signatory was one Amber Greville. Amber
had been looking forward to her share of the cash, but my clever girl was one st ep ahead. The money
briefly landed in the bank, one of the few that opened on a Saturday, before she swiftly withdrew it and
turned it into Bitcoin. Then she boarded a plane to San Diego, upgrading to business class at the airport.
I study these little clues like a spurned lover, trying to
imagine her state of mind at each pivotal juncture: was she thinking of me? Did she know how much I
yearned for her to come back to me? After that, the trail goes cold. It’s close to Mexico, easy perhaps to
smuggle yourself over the border without too much fuss. Or did she fly further into South America,
Costa Rica perhaps, hiring a discreet private plane with her fistfuls of money?
What about me, I hope you’re asking. What about the mother, who tried to do everything right for her
children and faced some impossible choices along the way? Perhaps what I tell you next will win me
some redemption in your eyes. Nick’s situation was extremely precarious: as a lawyer who was now in
breach of contract, having failed to protect his client’s funds, his entire livelihood was left in jeopardy.
Our daughter, and the cash, were nowhere to be seen. Amber Greville claimed total ignorance as to her
whereabouts, and I felt, with a grim sense of satisfaction, that she was telling the truth. Rachel had
summarily rejected her, leaving her to face the music without a penny to show for it.
Nick, meanwhile, needed all the money he could get to buy his way out of jail. Unluckily for him, I’d
finally had enough – had made enough sacrifices, had cleaned up enough shit. He’d always been a
whizz with taxes, determined to ensure we paid the least possible amount. One of those ruses was
ke eping our home solely in my name. The revelation about Amber Greville’s real identity was the last
straw and I point-blank refused to make myself homeless to save his skin. He had the nerve to blame me
for ‘hiding’ Esther’s pregnancy, like he really would have been wise or noble enough to turn that awful
mess into something we could have all survived. There are no winners here, only different levels of loss.
I’m not a total monster – I include Esther in that sad equation.
The truth – her version of the truth – was her mother’s legal defence. Her daughter’s life had been
ruined by our family, and she’d had no choice but to seek revenge. As it was Rachel who’d pulled it off,
and ultimately left her with nothing, Amber got away with little more than a slap on the wrist. My
daughter, meanwhile, is an international fugitive – I wonder if she finds something rather exciting in
that? After all, convention never handcuffed her the way it did me.
I’d been right all along about Amber: she’d been trying to steal my child away from me from day one.
And lest we forget, her clock started ticking on our
family many years before we even knew she existed. When I finally knew the whole truth, it infuriated
me that I hadn’t worked it all out for myself, but they were emotional tinkers, the pair of them – masters
of dec eption. Despite the years they spent estranged, Amber moulded her daughter just as much as I did
mine. At least my clever girl ultimately outwitted her.
Nick had no choice but to declare bankruptcy, holing up in Josh’s basement once I’d kicked him out,
like he’d fast-forwarded twenty years into geriatric neediness. He’s still obsessively trying to trace the
money, but I know in my bones that it’s fruitless. Rachel defeated us all. I can’t help but be proud of
what she pulled off, even as my heart breaks in half at the loss of her.
She was always the one. She was my shining star.
Eight Months Later