Chapter 4
At seven in the morning, I walked into the master bedroom of my own house.
Brenda was still in bed.
She was wearing a silk nightgown I had bought her for Mother’s Day.
Her hair was done up in curlers.
A half-empty glass of champagne sat on the nightstand beside her.
She opened her eyes when she heard me come in.
She smiled.
Like nothing had happened.
Like she had not spent the previous day torturing my wife.
Like she had not almost gotten her and my son killed.
“Lucas, baby,” she said, sitting up, holding her arms out. “I was so worried about you. You left so suddenly yesterday. That silly girl overreacted, as usual. I hope you didn’t let her little drama make you late for your big meeting. I already told the cleaning crew to have the dining room spotless by —”
I did not hug her.
I did not sit down.
I stood in the doorway, and behind me stood my lawyer, two security guards, and a uniformed police officer the chief of police had sent over personally as a favor.
I held up a tablet.
I pressed play.
The first clip started.
Brenda slapping Gwen in the kitchen.
Her smile died.
Her face went white.
“What is that?” she whispered.
“Six months of footage from every camera in this house,” I said. “Every slap. Every kick. Every time you starved her. Every time you flushed her vitamins. Every party where you made her eat off the floor under the table while you and your friends laughed. Every conversation where you bragged about how you were going to have Gwen locked up and take my son and my money for yourself and Gavin.”
I paused.
“Gavin knew, by the way,” I said. “He stood right outside that dining room and watched. And he walked away. I fired him this morning. He’s gone. You’re next.”
Brenda stared at me.
For a second, I thought she might actually apologize.
I thought she might cry.
I thought she might finally, for one second, be the mother I had grown up believing in.
I was wrong.
Her face twisted.
The mask slipped completely.
And I saw the woman Gwen had been living with for six months.
Cruel.
Cold.
Entitled.
“How dare you,” she hissed, throwing the covers back and jumping out of bed. “How dare you spy on me in my own house! After everything I did for you! I worked three jobs so you could have shoes on your feet! I went hungry so you could eat! I gave up my whole life for you! And this is how you repay me? You take the word of some ungrateful little gold digger over your own flesh and blood?”
She took a step toward me, her hand raised to slap me just like she had slapped Gwen a hundred times.
The police officer stepped forward.
He put a hand on her shoulder.
“Ma’am,” he said, quiet and firm. “Don’t.”
She rounded on him.
“Don’t you dare touch me! Do you know who I am? My son owns half this city! He will have your badge for this! I will sue you! I will sue everyone!”
She turned back to me.
Her eyes were wild.
“You think you can just throw me out?” she screamed. “This house is as much mine as it is yours! I raised you! I sacrificed my youth! You owe me! You owe me everything! And if you think I’m going to go quietly, you are sadly mistaken. I will go to every news station in this city. I will cry on every camera. I will tell them how my rich, ungrateful son threw his poor widowed mother out into the street after everything she did for him. I will tell them you’re controlled by your evil, gold-digging wife who hates me because I’m in the way of her getting all your money. I will ruin you, Lucas. I will ruin your company. I will ruin your name. And I will take that baby. I swear to God, I will take that baby from you both, and you will never see him again.”
I did not flinch.
I had been expecting this.
I handed her a thick manila envelope.
“You have two hours to pack your things,” I said. “Only the things you brought with you when you moved in. Everything bought with the Amex — the bags, the jewelry, the clothes — stays. It was purchased under false pretenses, with money meant for my wife and child. It belongs to the company now.”
I handed her a second envelope.
“This is a temporary restraining order,” I said. “You are not to come within five hundred feet of this house, of Gwen, of our son, or of any property owned by Dawson Logistics. If you so much as drive past the gate, you will be arrested. And this is just the start. Tomorrow morning, my lawyers are filing suit against you for financial fraud, elder abuse — yes, you read that right, you tried to file fake claims against me first, it’s all on tape — intentional infliction of emotional distress, and a dozen other counts. We will get back every single dollar you stole. And then some.”
I leaned down slightly, so I was eye level with her.
“You want to go to the press?” I said. “Be my guest. But I will release every second of that footage. Every slap. Every cruel word. Every confession. And the whole world will see exactly who you are. And then? Then you will go to prison. Do we understand each other?”
She stared at me.
The envelope slipped out of her hand and fluttered to the floor.
For the first time in my life, I saw genuine fear in my mother’s eyes.
Good.
Now she knew exactly how Gwen had felt every single day for six months.
“Two hours,” I repeated.
May you like
Then I turned around and walked out.
I did not look back.
