Chapter 2 - The Mother's Apology
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The drive back to the small, cozy house I had bought for my mother two years ago was suffocatingly quiet. The heater blasted in the car, but the chill from the Parker mansion seemed to linger in the upholstery.
When I finally parked in the driveway, my mother didn't immediately unbuckle her seatbelt. She sat staring at the dashboard, her hands folded tightly in her lap, her knuckles white.
“Claire,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I ruined everything. You were supposed to marry into a good family. You were supposed to be set for life.”
I turned the engine off and shifted in my seat to look at her. The streetlights illuminated the faint silver strands in her dark hair, and the exhausted lines around her eyes—lines she had earned working twelve-hour shifts on her feet so I could have a laptop for college.
“Mom, look at me,” I said firmly.
She turned her head, a tear escaping and trailing down her cheek.
“They are not a good family,” I told her, reaching out and taking her rough, hardworking hands in mine. “A good family doesn't look at the woman who sacrificed everything for her daughter and treat her like dirt on their expensive shoes. I don't need their money. I have my own.”
“But Ethan—”
“Ethan stood there and let them do it,” I interrupted gently. “He laughed. He proved exactly who he is when the cameras were off. I am so glad I saw it tonight, before I signed a marriage certificate. You didn't ruin anything, Mom. You saved me.”
She swallowed hard, looking down at the navy dress she had spent so much time altering. “I just wanted to look nice for them. I wanted them to think you came from someone they could be proud of.”
“I am proud of you,” I said fiercely, my voice vibrating with an anger that wasn't directed at her, but at the monsters we had just left behind. “And tomorrow morning, the Parkers are going to find out exactly how much power the daughter of an alterations seamstress actually holds in this city.”
I walked her inside, made her a cup of chamomile tea, and waited until she finally fell asleep.
Then, I opened my laptop at the kitchen table. It was 1:00 AM.
I called Susan. She answered on the second ring.
May you like
“Are you ready to burn it down?” Susan asked, her voice crackling with anticipation.
“Every single bridge,” I replied, opening the Parker Industries financial dossier. “Pull the Riverstone funding. Call their primary creditors. Let everyone in the financial district know that the Parkers are over-leveraged and unsupported. By 9:00 AM, I want them drowning.”
