Chapter 4
Vanessa backed away until she hit the refrigerator.
“You can’t prove any of this,” she said, but her voice trembled.
“Try me,” I said. “I’ve already sent copies to my lawyers. They’re filing for an immediate restraining order. The police are on their way.”
“The police?” Her eyes widened. “You’d have me arrested? Daniel, think about the press. Think about what this will do to your image.”
“I don’t care about my image,” I said. “I care about my mother.”
I squeezed her shoulder gently. She was still shaking, but she stood a little straighter now, knowing she wasn’t alone.
Vanessa’s face crumpled. For a moment, I thought she might actually feel remorse. Then her expression shifted, and I saw something else—calculation.
“Wait,” she said, holding up her hands. “Let’s talk about this. We can make a deal. I’ll give the money back. Every penny. I’ll disappear. I’ll never contact either of you again. Just don’t call the police. Don’t ruin my life.”
“Your life?” My mother spoke for the first time, her voice small but steady. “What about mine? You took my money. You told everyone I was crazy. You tried to lock me away.”
Tears streamed down my mother’s face. “I welcomed you into my home. I helped you pick out your wedding dress. I loved you like a daughter.”
Vanessa flinched, but she recovered quickly.
“Love doesn’t pay the bills, Eleanor,” she said coldly. “You had a son worth billions and you lived like a nun. Someone had to take what was there.”
The doorbell rang.
Vanessa jumped as if she’d been shot.
“That’s the police,” I said.
She looked at the front door, then at the kitchen window behind her. I saw the thought form in her mind—run.
“Don’t even think about it,” I said. “The gates are locked. Security is posted around the perimeter. You’re not going anywhere.”
She turned back to me, her eyes wild.
“I’ll fight you,” she said. “I’ll tell them you kidnapped me. I’ll tell them you held me against my will and forced me to confess.”
I nodded toward my phone, which I’d set on the hallway table, still recording.
“Go ahead,” I said. “They’ll love watching this part.”
The doorbell rang again, louder this time.
I walked to the door, unlocked it, and opened it.
Two uniformed officers stood on the porch, rain dripping off their hats. Behind them, I saw my lawyer, Marcus, holding a thick folder of documents.
“Mr. Hale,” one of the officers said. “We received your call.”
May you like
I stepped aside.
“She’s in the kitchen,” I said.
