Chapter 7
She didn’t point it at Jake.
She pointed it at the ceiling.
Fired once.
The sound was deafening.
Plaster rained down on us.
Jake grabbed me and pulled me behind him.
“Linda, don’t,” he said, his voice calm.
My mom laughed.
A bitter, broken sound.
“You think I’d hurt you?” she said to Jake. “You look exactly like him, you know? Same eyes. Same smile. Every time I see you, I see Tom. I could never hurt you.”
She put the gun down on the table.
Pushed it away.
“I called the police ten minutes ago,” she said. “Told them everything. About Richard killing Tom. About him threatening me. About the thirty-two million. About the ledgers. I gave them copies of everything I had. They’re on their way to arrest him right now.”
She looked at me.
Tears ran down her face.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” she said. “I’m so sorry I chose Vanessa over you. I’m so sorry I let you think I didn’t love you. I did. I do. More than anything. I just didn’t know how to show it. I was so scared all the time. Scared Richard would hurt you. Scared you’d hate me if you knew the truth. I’m sorry.”
I walked over to her.
Knelt down beside her chair.
Took her hand.
It was ice cold.
“I know,” I said. “I know you were scared. It’s okay, Mom. It’s over now.”
She held my hand tight.
Like I’d disappear if she let go.
The sirens started wailing a few minutes later.
Two police cars pulled up outside.
Then three.
Then an unmarked sedan.
Detectives came in.
Took our statements.
Took the ledgers.
Took the medical file.
Took the gun.
An hour later, a detective got a call on his radio.
He hung up and looked at us.
“Richard Whitmore is in custody,” he said. “They picked him up at his penthouse trying to board a private plane to the Bahamas. He’s being charged with murder, fraud, embezzlement, and witness tampering. Your son-in-law, Ethan, turned himself in ten minutes ago. Made a full statement. Says he’s willing to testify against Whitmore in exchange for a reduced sentence.”
I let out a breath.
It was really over.
Or so I thought.
Vanessa showed up at the house an hour after the police left.
She was alone.
No fancy dress.
No jewelry.
No makeup.
Just jeans and an old sweatshirt.
She looked like the little sister I’d grown up with.
Before the money.
Before the Whitmores.
“Mom told me everything,” she said, standing in the doorway. “About Richard. About Tom. About why she did what she did.”
She looked at me.
Her eyes were wet.
“I’m sorry, Sarah,” she said. “For everything. For making fun of Jake. For calling you names. For stealing the money. For being such a horrible sister. I was so jealous of you. You had Jake. You had a man who loved you for you. Who didn’t care what you wore or how much money you had. I had Ethan. And all he cared about was money. And I thought if I had enough of it, I’d finally be happy. I was wrong. I was so wrong.”
She took a step toward me.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” she said. “I just needed you to know I’m sorry. I’m going away for a while. To stay with a friend in California. I’m going to get a job. Figure out who I am without all the money and the fancy clothes. I hope one day, we can be sisters again. Real sisters.”
She turned to leave.
“Vanessa,” I said.
She stopped.
“Stay,” I said. “We have a lot to talk about.”
She turned back.
A small, shaky smile on her face.
“Okay,” she said.
That night, the four of us—me, Jake, Mom, and Vanessa—sat around the kitchen table eating takeout pizza.
It was awkward.
It was messy.
May you like
It was nothing like the fancy dinners Vanessa used to brag about.
But for the first time in my life, it felt like family.
