Chapter 29 #2
Like Moses and the Red Sea, a wide berth forms between the officers, a path cleared without anyone needing to be asked.
Through it, with purposeful steps made in tall, black alligator boots, walks Caia Caldwell.
She carries a thick stack of manila folders under her arm and a self-satisfied smirk on her lips, and a random thought occurs to Grace—inappropriate given the situation at hand, but she can’t help but wonder if part of the reason Caia left is because she and her mother had started to become almost indistinguishable.
They must’ve gotten mistaken for each other constantly—and right now, with Grace’s vision blurred and hazy, it could very well be Renata walking toward them.
Renata—a pang of sorrow clenches in Grace’s gut. Is she all right? Will Grace ever have the chance to tell her how sorry she is? How stupid she was? How she’ll regret not speaking up every day for the rest of her life?
Caia’s perfume hits Grace’s nose, pulling her back to the present.
The middle Caldwell child is standing just in front of Bellamy now; she’s practically toe-to-toe with the bastard, and though she is a little shorter, she towers over him in every way that matters.
She folds her arms over her chest as she appraises him, nostrils flaring as her eyes make their way back up his old, run-down form.
She tilts her head, considers for a beat, then says, “I thought you’d be bigger. ”
Bellamy grits his teeth. “You must be the daughter,” he spits, echoing Caia’s look with one of his own. “How’s Mommy doin’, by the way?”
A growl rumbles in Crew’s chest—Grace can feel the vibration of it against her skin.
She peeks up at him to find him enraged, a murderous look on his face.
She burrows farther into his arms on instinct; she doesn’t want him to give Bellamy the satisfaction of knowing he’s pushed the right button.
Cooper, equally as furious, rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet like a coiling spring, ready to be unleashed.
Caia is less affected by Bellamy’s question—or, rather, she’s better at hiding it than her brothers. A smile blooms on her lips as she says, “Actually, you’ll be relieved to know she’s recovering quite well. Out of the ICU in record time, considering her injuries.”
He’s quiet for a half second too long, clearly surprised by the update. “Isn’t that just the sweetest blessing,” he says darkly.
Caia nods, her expression even. “My mother is very dear to me and my family. She’s very special to a lot of people, actually.
So, yes—it’s a blessing that an entirely preventable accident didn’t take her from us.
And you know what else is a blessing, Mr. Whitlock?
” Bellamy jerks his head upward, keeping his chin high.
He grunts in acknowledgment. The smile on Caia’s face shifts into something more sardonic, something slightly more terrifying.
“My mother’s social circle.” A silence settles throughout the swaths of people gathered around them, all enraptured by Caia’s speech.
“Growing up, I thought it was the pointiest, sharpest thorn in my side. Always getting stopped at the grocery store, the mall, the playground. The gynecologist, for crying out loud.” The theatricality of it all—the dramatic shake of her head, the huff of indignant laughter—is masterful.
All eyes are glued to her; everyone around them is enamored with the way this spider of a woman is spinning, trapping Bellamy in her web.
“Everybody wanted to talk to Renata Caldwell. It didn’t matter that I was tugging on her arm and begging her to stop.
She never did.” Caia smiles, a little wistful, a little mischievous.
“She never cut anyone off. She never lied and said she had to run. She greeted everyone like an old friend, even if she didn’t remember meeting them in the first place. ”
Something dark and fast-moving breaks through the westward thicket of trees, and once Grace realizes what it is, her breath shudders in her throat.
The entrance is less dramatic than the local police had been—their entire battalion could be counted on one hand—but some things clearly need no ceremony or introduction.
Black SUVs roll onto the field in a neat, methodical line.
They hum as they close in, and murmurs begin to echo throughout the crowd.
Caia has yet to look over her shoulder, but she doesn’t have to.
She knows exactly what’s unfolding behind her.
“She’s always been great at listening. Networking, as the fancier kind would say. And you want to know what makes her so good at it? It’s not some big secret, I’ll tell you that. It’s not about the money, or the name, or the legacy.”
Bellamy’s eyes are wide as he watches men in bulletproof vests and blue raid jackets begin to climb out of the vehicles. Twenty or more, all armed to the teeth.
“It’s about kindness,” Caia says, firm and unmoving.
“Generosity. Community.” With this statement, she takes a step forward, and all pretense of decorum slips out of her expression.
She wears the same face as her brothers now—icy and cutting and battle ready.
“Things you know nothing about. You abuse people, lie to them, cheat and steal from them. It’s all you’ve ever done.
” Her lip curls, as if she’s letting all of the disgust she feels for this monster of a man finally come to the surface.
“You’ll rot behind bars for the rest of your life for what you did to my mother, and what you did to the thousands of people you scammed.
” She lets that sink in, and her tone is darker and more scathing when she adds, “But if I had a vote, I’d put you in front of a firing squad for what you did to that girl.
” Caia doesn’t look at Grace as she says this, but she points to her with a stiff, exacting finger.
“What you made her believe. What you stole from her.”
Crew holds Grace tighter, but something about Caia’s words ignites a vestige of strength Grace must’ve been holding on to, because she wiggles in his arms, and he seems to understand—seems to get that she wants to be on her own two feet for this.
To face it standing up. When her boots hit the ground, she is slightly wobbly, but Crew’s already there, straightening her up, and then lacing his fingers with her own.
“I saved that ungrateful brat,” Bellamy argues, flecks of spit flinging from his lips. “Without me, she would’ve wound up in foster care. Think she would’ve had some normal, apple-pie kind of life then? She would’ve gotten it a lot worse than she ever got it here.”
Caia huffs out a mirthless laugh. “Of course. How noble of you to pull a child out of school and turn her into your own personal slave. They should give out medals for such selflessness. I’m sure the check you collected every month had nothing to do with it.”
With a snarl, Bellamy lunges forward. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, bitch.”
Caia is unmoved. Unfazed completely by this act of hobbled aggression.
“I do, actually.” She pulls the folders from under her arm and holds them up.
“You see, this is a highlight reel of your greatest hits, Mr. Whitlock. Spanning all across our lovely state, from Saracen County to the Rio Grande. There’s enough in here to put you away for five lifetimes.
And I’ll let you in on a little secret.” She takes a step closer, not caring at all for the way Bellamy is practically heaving now, a pathetic excuse for a growl sounding on his every exhale.
“There’s not a single thing in here about a little girl in Graywood murdering anyone.
But we kept digging and digging and finally found a dusty case file in an abandoned file cabinet at GCPD.
” Caia swallows, then looks directly at Grace.
She holds her eyes as she says, even and clear, “Warren Underwood’s death was ruled accidental nine years ago.
No suspects, no investigation. Case closed. ”
An onslaught of emotion races through Grace’s ragged body at the words.
The declaration that would’ve changed the entire trajectory of her life.
She doesn’t look at Bellamy, sees only from the corner of her eye as his head begins to bow, his chin dipping to his chest. Whether in shame or embarrassment, she doesn’t know—doesn’t care.
What he took from her, what he planted in her young, trusting, vulnerable mind—she can’t see straight through the vermillion that seeps into her vision.
The red rage of indignation, of horror and understanding.
Her lips tremble with all the words she wants to say, all the loathing she wants to unleash.
But she stays silent, breathing roughly through gritted teeth, and Caia seems to understand.
On some molecular level, she seems to get it.
And so, she takes it home. For Grace, for Renata, for every woman and girl who has been taken advantage of by a cruel man. By a cruel world.
“You’re going to die in Everlake County,” she promises.
“And you’ll be forgotten. Just like this place will be.
No obituary. No legacy.” With one final look of detestation, of lip-curling abhorrence, Caia Caldwell makes her kill shot.
“And when they incinerate your rotting corpse, not a single soul on this planet will mourn.”