Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Beckett
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that no one ever mentioned my mother’s death to Daisy.
Why would they?
Astrid didn’t care. Neither did my father. His silence made that blatantly obvious.
I’m the one who found my mother.
When I woke up that morning, I heard her crying. My grandmother was at work. It was a Saturday. We were the only two at home, and it was my job to look after my mother that day.
I told her I was there for her if she needed me and I sat outside her closed door for hours. I did my homework. I read. I guarded her door from the hallway as if that would ensure her safety.
Maybe if I’d gone into her room, I could have prevented her death.
Maybe if I’d called for help, a medical professional could have saved her.
Instead, I fell asleep and when I woke up, it was dark outside. The house was so still. So silent. And I had a knot of dread in my stomach. I think I knew what I would find when I opened that door.
Her note was brief: I love you. I’m sorry.
Weeks later, when we cleaned out my mother’s room, we found an entire drawer filled with letters she wrote to my father.
Letters she never sent that all said basically the same thing. I loved you. I would have done anything in the world for you. I thought we’d grow old together. What can I do to make you love me again?
She went on and on criticizing herself, blaming everything that went wrong on herself, and asking why he fell out of love with her.
She talked about Astrid in her letters too. The betrayal had cut even deeper because she’d considered Astrid a friend.
I burned the letters. Every last one.
But the words will forever be imprinted on my mind.
Something inside me hardened that day. Withered and died right along with my mother. I lost faith in people. Knew better than to take them at their word or trust their motives.
Promises are empty. Actions speak volumes.
I learned that love is ephemeral. Not something you can rely on. Not something you should aspire to or even desire.
My mother always used to tell me she loved me. Spoke the words freely.
And yet…she didn’t love me enough to stay and fight.
But she allegedly loved my father so much that she would have done anything to win him back, despite the fact that he’d washed his hands of her, and had all but forgotten that she ever existed.
What’s the opposite of love? Contrary to popular belief, it is not hate. It’s indifference.
Indifference is the opposite of love, and my apathy knows no bounds.
I have no need for messy emotions, condolences, displays of affection, or hugs from the daughter of my sworn enemy .
But here’s what I do need. Revenge.
I’m on a mission to ensure that the people who hurt my mother pay for their actions.
And as luck would have it, the trail got hotter.
The private investigator I hired finally earned the exorbitant rates I paid him to track down Astrid’s whereabouts.
Once he found her in London living under an assumed name, and got me the information I needed, I turned to the dark web and hired a hacker.
I scan the password-protected file on my laptop one more time before closing it out and leaning back in my leather swivel chair with a smile.
Points to Astrid. She’s always had a knack for creative accounting.
Not sure the name of her shell company is accurate though. Lagom. “Just enough” in Swedish.
Is it ever enough for you, Astrid?
After I’ve drained her off-shore account, it certainly won’t be.
But for now, I’m starting small. Ten cents. She won’t even notice it’s missing.
From one shell company to another, we thank you for your contributions to charity, Astrid.
How benevolent of you to fund a not-for-profit mental health organization.
Your dirty money will be put to great use.
Nothing beats a revenge plot for turning my frown upside down.
Step one. Bankrupt Astrid Larsson .
Step two. Ruin her.
Who said technology wouldn’t make me happy?