Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
KALEB
The holding cell reeked of stale sweat, industrial cleaner, and desperation. I stood outside the reinforced glass, watching the woman who'd given birth to me pace like a caged animal.
Patrice looked... diminished. Her designer clothes were rumpled, makeup smeared, hair disheveled. The carefully constructed mask of sophistication had cracked, revealing the ugliness beneath.
Lottie had wanted to come with me. Begged, actually, those storm-blue eyes pleading as she gripped my hand.
"No," I'd said firmly, cupping her cheek. "I don't want her poison touching you again, baby girl. This is something I need to do alone."
That wasn't entirely true. Marshall stood beside me now, his leather briefcase in hand, his expression professionally neutral. But I could see the disgust flickering in his light green eyes as he watched Patrice through the glass.
Sergeant Davies, Marshall's friend on the force, approached from down the corridor. "Mr. Wulf. Mr. Caine. You sure you want to do this?"
I nodded. "I need to see her. Need to..." What? Say goodbye? Tell her what a monster she'd become? I wasn't even sure anymore.
Davies punched in the security code. The door buzzed open with a harsh electronic sound.
Patrice whirled at the noise, her face transforming when she saw me. For a split second, something almost human flickered across her features—hope, maybe, or relief.
Then her expression twisted into pure venom.
"Come to gloat?" she spat, stalking toward the glass partition that separated us. "Come to see your mother locked up like a common criminal?"
I settled into the metal chair across from her, Marshall standing slightly behind me like a silent sentinel. "You kidnapped a two-year-old, Patrice. That's about as common a crime as it gets."
"Don't call me that." Her hands slammed against the plexiglass. "I'm your mother."
"No." The word came out calm. Final. "You stopped being my mother the day you chose Rupert's money over your own children."
Her laugh was harsh, brittle. "Oh, please. Don't act like you're some wounded victim, Kaleb. You had everything handed to you. The company. The trust fund. Your father's precious legacy."
"Because he worked for it," I shot back. "Because he built something worth leaving behind. What did you build, Patrice? Besides debt and destruction?"
Her face flushed red. "I gave you life! I carried you for nine months, I—"
"You abandoned me when I was barely old enough to walk," I interrupted, keeping my voice level despite the rage simmering beneath. "You left me alone with a dying father while you fucked your way through the country club. Don't talk to me about what you gave."
Silence crashed between us. Patrice's chest heaved with angry breaths.
"You were always his favorite," she said finally, her voice turning plaintive. Manipulative. "He never loved me the way he loved you. Always Kaleb this, Kaleb that. Such a smart boy. Such a good son."
"Because I was a good son," I said quietly. "I took care of him when he got sick. I held his hand when he died. Where were you? Shopping? Fucking Rupert in some hotel?"
Her hand lashed out, slapping the glass. "You don't know what it was like! Being married to a drunk who cared more about his business than his wife!"
"Dad drank because of you!" The words exploded from me before I could stop them.
"Because you made him miserable. Because no matter what he did, it was never enough.
He worked himself into an early grave trying to make you happy, and you repaid him by spreading your legs for anyone with a bigger bank account! "
Marshall's hand settled on my shoulder—grounding, calming.
Patrice's face had gone pale. "How dare you—"
"I dare because it's true." I leaned forward, holding her gaze. "You destroyed him. Piece by piece, year by year. And when he finally couldn't take it anymore, when the alcohol became his only escape, you used that as justification for your affairs."
"He was weak," she hissed.
"He was human." My voice dropped. "And he deserved better than you."
Tears welled in her eyes—crocodile tears, I knew. She'd always been good at those. "Kaleb, please. I'm still your mother. I made mistakes, I know, but—"
"Mistakes?" I laughed without humor. "Mistakes are forgetting someone's birthday. Mistakes are saying the wrong thing at dinner. You didn't make mistakes, Patrice. You made choices. You chose Rupert. You chose debt over responsibility. You chose to threaten Lottie. You chose to kidnap Keeley."
"I was desperate!" Her voice pitched higher, hysteria creeping in. "The debt collectors were threatening to—I had no choice!"
"You always had a choice," Marshall interjected coolly. "You chose to live beyond your means. You chose to ignore Mr. Wulf's repeated warnings about your spending. Every consequence you're facing is a direct result of your own actions."
Patrice's gaze swung to Marshall, her expression turning calculating. "I could tell them things. About all of you. About that perverted club you run. About Kaleb's unnatural relationship—"
"Say one more word about Lottie," I said softly, "and I will dedicate every resource I have to ensuring you never see daylight again."
Something in my tone made her falter. Good. Let her see the steel beneath.
"The DA has more than enough evidence," Marshall added. "Extortion. Assault with a deadly weapon. Kidnapping. Attempted poisoning. Conspiracy. You're looking at twenty-five to life, Mrs. Huntington. Minimum."
The color drained from Patrice's face. "Twenty-five—no. No, that can't be right. I didn't—it wasn't supposed to—"
"What wasn't it supposed to be?" I asked. "You held a gun to Lottie's head. You took my niece from daycare. You tried to poison us at a restaurant. What exactly wasn't it supposed to be, Patrice?"
"I just wanted what was owed to me!" she shrieked, her carefully maintained composure finally shattering completely. "I deserve that money! I'm your mother! You're supposed to take care of me!"
"I did take care of you," I said, exhaustion bleeding into my voice. "For years. I paid off your debts. I funded your lifestyle. I made excuse after excuse for your behavior. But I'm done."
"Kaleb, please—"
"The house is paid off," I continued, speaking over her. "Signed over to you and Rupert. That's your settlement. Your final payment. After that, we're done. No more money. No more contact. You're out of my life. Out of all our lives."
Tears streamed down her face now, her expensive makeup running in dark rivulets. "You can't mean that. I'm your mother. You can't just abandon me!"
"You abandoned me first," I said simply. "When I was fifteen and terrified and watching my father die. You taught me that family is conditional. That love has a price tag. Well, congratulations, Patrice. You finally taught me a lesson that stuck."
Marshall cleared his throat. "Sergeant Davies is waiting to escort us out. Do you have anything else you need to say, Kaleb?"
I looked at the woman across from me—this stranger wearing my mother's face. Tried to find some remnant of the person she'd been before greed and narcissism consumed her.
Found nothing.
"I hope it was worth it," I said finally, rising from the chair. "The affairs. The spending. The lies. I hope whatever satisfaction you got from it was worth losing your children."
"Kaleb!" Her hands slammed against the glass again as I turned away. "Kaleb, don't you walk away from me! I'm your mother! You owe me! Kaleb!"
Her screams followed me down the corridor, bouncing off the concrete walls. But I didn't look back.
Couldn't look back.
Not anymore.
Sergeant Davies met us near the exit. "She's something else," he muttered, shaking his head. "For what it's worth, Mr. Wulf, you handled that better than most would."
"Thank you, Sergeant." My voice sounded hollow to my own ears. "What happens now?"
"Arraignment's set for Friday. Given the severity of the charges and her demonstrated flight risk, DA's pushing for no bail." He glanced back toward the holding cells. "She'll serve a long time, Mr. Wulf. Multiple counts of kidnapping, attempted murder, extortion—the judge won't be lenient."
Good. The word whispered through my mind, cold and certain. Let her rot in prison. Let her finally face consequences for once in her miserable life.
Marshall and I walked out into the afternoon sunshine. I stood on the courthouse steps, breathing in air that didn't smell like desperation and failure.
"You okay?" Marshall asked quietly.
Was I? I'd just cut ties with my mother completely. Walked away from the last thread connecting us.
And I felt... lighter. Like I'd been carrying a weight I hadn't realized was there until it was gone.
"Yeah," I said, and meant it. "I really am."
Marshall clapped me on the shoulder. "I'll keep on the DA about the maximum sentence. Between the kidnapping and the attempted poisoning, we're looking at serious time. She won't be bothering you or your family again."
"Thank you, Marshall. For everything."
"That's what lawyers are for." He grinned, the expression transforming his usually serious face. "Well, that and completely unnecessary billable hours. Speaking of which..."
I laughed—actually laughed—for the first time since Patrice had called about Keeley. "Send me the invoice. I'll have accounting cut a check."
"Already done." He winked. "I know you, Wulf. You'd forget otherwise."
We said our goodbyes. I climbed into Oscar's waiting car, sinking into the leather seats with a bone-deep exhaustion.
"Home, sir?" Oscar asked, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror.
Home. Where Lottie, Andrei, and Colby were waiting. Where my family—my real family—would be ready to hold me when I fell apart.
Because I would fall apart. I knew that. The adrenaline keeping me upright would fade, and the reality of what I'd just done would crash over me like a wave.
But I also knew they'd be there to catch me.
"Home," I confirmed. "Take me home, Oscar."
As we pulled away from the courthouse, I caught a glimpse of Patrice through a barred window. She stood pressed against the glass, her mouth moving in what I assumed were curses or pleas.
I looked away.
Forward was the only direction worth going.
And Patrice—she was firmly, finally, in the past where she belonged.
The car ride passed in a blur. I stared out the window without really seeing the familiar Portland streets. My phone buzzed several times—texts from Lottie, probably, or Andrei checking in.
I ignored them all. Needed a few more minutes of silence before facing everything waiting at home.
When Oscar pulled into the driveway, I saw them through the front windows. Lottie pacing. Andrei standing sentinel. Colby reaching out to still her frantic movements.
They'd been worried. Of course they had.
I climbed from the car on legs that felt weak. Made it halfway up the front walk before the door flew open.
Lottie.
She took one look at my face and started crying. "Daddy K—"
I caught her as she launched herself at me, burying my face in her honey-brown hair. The dam I'd been holding back finally broke.
"I did it," I choked out. "I walked away from her. From all of it."
"I know." Her arms tightened around me. "I'm so proud of you, Kaleb. So damn proud."
Andrei and Colby joined us on the front lawn, their arms wrapping around us both. Creating a cocoon of safety and love.
"Come inside," Colby murmured. "Let's get you settled."
They guided me into the house, onto the couch. Lottie crawled into my lap, her head tucked under my chin. Andrei sat beside us, his hand heavy on my shoulder. Colby disappeared into the kitchen, returning with water and something stronger.
"Bourbon?" he offered.
I shook my head. "Just water. I want to feel this. All of it."
Because that was the difference between me and Patrice. Between me and my father. I wouldn't numb the pain. Wouldn't run from it.
I'd face it head-on, with the people I loved beside me.
"She looked so small," I said finally, breaking the silence. "In that cell. Without all her designer clothes and expensive jewelry. She looked..." I struggled for the right word. "Pathetic."
"She is pathetic," Andrei said bluntly. "She always has been. The clothes and jewelry were just camouflage."
"I know." I pressed my lips to Lottie's hair. "Doesn't make it easier though."
"It's not supposed to be easy," Colby said gently. "You're grieving, Kaleb. Not for who she is, but for who you wished she could be."
Damn him for being right. Damn him for seeing straight through me like he always did.
"Tell us what happened," Lottie urged softly. "If you want to. If it helps."
So I did. I told them everything—Patrice's manipulation attempts, her screaming, her final desperate pleas. The cold finality of walking away.
They listened without interruption. Without judgment. Just... listened.
"Marshall says she's looking at twenty-five to life minimum," I finished. "Between the kidnapping, attempted poisoning, and extortion. The DA's going for the maximum."
"Good," Lottie said fiercely. "She deserves worse."
"Agreed," Andrei rumbled. "She threatened our family. She should count herself lucky she's only facing prison."
The protective fury in his voice should have scared me. Instead, it made me feel safe. Cherished.
"What about Rupert?" Colby asked.
"Separate trial. Marshall thinks he'll flip on Patrice to reduce his sentence." I shrugged. "Doesn't matter either way. They're both out of our lives now."
Silence settled over us again, but this time it was comfortable. Healing.
"I need to call Sierra and Monica," I said after a while. "Let them know it's over."
"Later," Lottie insisted, snuggling closer. "Right now, you need to rest. Let us take care of you for a change, Daddy K."
My throat tightened. "I love you. All of you. So fucking much."
"Language," Lottie teased weakly.
That startled a laugh from me—rough and watery, but genuine. "Brat."
"Always," she agreed.
We stayed like that for a long time. The four of us tangled together on the couch, holding each other as the afternoon sun streamed through the windows.
Outside, life continued. Cars passed. Birds sang. The world turned.
But in here, in this moment, we were everything.
And that was enough.
More than enough.
That was everything.