Chapter 13—Christa #3
I take one step closer to the table. “You tried to steal control with a fake wife and somebody else’s baby.”
Charla makes a strangled sound. I don’t look at her, but Tate does.
The rage that crosses his face is immediate, and she shrinks into her chair.
I should hate seeing that, but I don’t.
I remember her telling me I was leaving him anyway and the car. I remember her wearing my face beside my husband while strangers congratulated them on my pregnancy. My sympathy has limits, and Charla burned through hers days ago.
Tate points at her. “Get your things out of my house.”
Charla jerks upright. “What?”
“You heard me.”
She grips the arms of her chair. “You can’t throw me out.”
“It’s my house.”
“I’m pregnant.”
Tate’s mouth twists. “Not with my child.”
She recoils as if he struck her.
The cruelty is ugly. It also sounds familiar.
Maybe Nichols will have better luck.
I watch Tate turn the same contempt on the woman he betrayed me with, and satisfaction spreads unapologetically through me.
Charla looks at Bernard and Judith. “You know what he’s like.”
Judith’s expression doesn’t soften. “I know what both of you did.”
“Mrs. Meade—”
“Don’t.”
Charla’s face crumples, and she looks at me next.
“No,” I say before she gets a word out.
She closes her mouth. “I haven’t even asked.”
“I know you.”
“Christa, I don’t have anywhere to go.”
“Dad owns your condo. Maybe he’ll let you stay.”
She flinches, and I know why. Dad called her after he called me.
“You talked to him.”
I don’t blink. “Yes.”
“What did you tell him?”
“The truth.”
Charla shoves her chair back. “You always do this.”
I almost admire the nerve. “Do what?”
“Make everyone think you’re the reasonable one.”
“I told Dad you committed identity theft. The lender provided documentation. Your own messages admitted it.”
She lets out a shrill cry. “You’ve been waiting your whole life to turn him against me.”
That accusation might have hurt once. Now it irritates me. “Dad spent our whole lives rescuing you.”
Her chin trembles.
I don’t soften the next part. “He isn’t doing it this time.”
Charla’s face empties. Only now does she look frightened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I pick up my purse. “Ask him.”
Tate laughs from the other side of the table. “Maybe the pool guy has a guest room.”
Charla spins toward him. “Go to hell.”
“Already there.”
I laugh, and Tate doesn’t look at me this time. To my surprise, Judith lets out a sound that could be a laugh but turns it into a sneeze.
“Bless you, Mother,” says Celeste dryly, clearly fighting back her own urge to laugh.
Walter rises before the fight can restart. “This meeting is concluded. Counsel will receive the formal notices this afternoon.”
Tate ignores him and heads for the door, but Bernard stops him.
“Tate.”
His son turns.
Bernard looks older than he did when we walked in. “Don’t come to the office Monday.”
Tate stares at him. “What?”
“The board will meet without you while counsel determines what your conduct has exposed us to.”
Tate takes a step back toward him. “You can’t remove me.”
Bernard stands. “I can put you on administrative leave from every position I control.”
“Dad.”
“Your access will be suspended by the time you reach the lobby.”
The color drains from Tate’s face.
Judith looks down at the table, but Celeste doesn’t. Neither do I.
Tate’s gaze moves around the room, hunting for one person willing to tell him this isn’t happening. He finds none.
Then he looks at me, and I smile. Not kindly. I show a lot of teeth.
His face contorts before he walks out, and the door shuts behind him.
Charla stays seated. For perhaps ten seconds, nobody acknowledges her. Then her phone rings.
She looks at the screen, and whatever she sees makes her start crying harder.
I don’t ask.
She explains anyway just by answering the phone. “Dad?”
Scott’s voice is too faint to understand from across the table. Charla listens with her free hand closed around the strap of her purse. “No. Daddy, please. I can explain.”
I look at Jai, who looks back. Neither of us moves.
Charla stands. “You can’t do that right now. I’m pregnant.”
Dad speaks again.
“I know what I did.” Her voice breaks. “I said I was sorry.”
He apparently has more to say because Charla looks toward me with naked hatred. “This is because of Christa.”
My father raises his voice enough that several of us can hear one sentence.
“No, Charla, this is because of you.”
She closes her eyes.
I enjoy that too.
“Dad, please.” Whatever comes next makes her grip the table. “You can’t cut me off.”
Charla begins pacing near the windows. “How am I supposed to pay for anything? Tate just threw me out.”
Dad answers, but I don’t hear the words. I guess they’re along the lines of too bad.
Her face twists. “My condo isn’t enough. I have expenses.”
Celeste laughs under her breath, and I join her.
Charla glares at both of us before Dad says something that changes her expression.
“The police?” Her voice rises. “No. Dad, what police?”
My attention sharpens. Jai reaches for her folder, while Charla’s anger gives way to fear.
Scott’s answer remains too quiet for me to hear. Charla looks at me again, but I don’t know what he’s telling her.
I can guess. The lender’s fraud investigator called yesterday for a supplemental statement. Jai had warned me the size of the loan and the use of my identifying information could move quickly once the lender turned the file over to law enforcement.
Charla grabs her purse. “I have to go.”
Cynthia looks toward the door. “You may want to wait.”
Charla freezes.
Footsteps approach in the hallway. Two people appear beyond the glass wall, one in a dark suit and one in uniform. The woman in the suit speaks briefly to the receptionist outside.
Charla backs away from the conference-room door. “No.”
Jai stands beside me. I look at her. “Is that for the car?”
“I wasn’t told an arrest would happen here.”
That’s not a no, and I savor the moment when my sister finally encounters consequences.
Charla whirls toward me. “You called the police.”
I keep my voice even. “I cooperated with the lender.”
“You did this.”
I pick up my water and take one last drink. “I told you I wanted consequences.”
The conference-room door opens, and the woman in the suit identifies herself before asking for Charla Kaffey.
My sister looks at me. For most of our lives, that face has been almost mine. Right now, I don’t see myself in her at all.
Charla starts crying before the officer finishes explaining that she’s being taken into custody on charges connected to the fraudulent auto loan and identity documents. She asks for Dad, though she must know he isn’t coming. She asks for Tate, but he already left her.
Then she looks at me, pleading with her eyes. “Please. You’re my twin.”
I stay where I am. “I’m Christa first. Being your twin is an accident of birth, not the defining feature of my life.”
She breaks into a wailing sob as the officer puts on the cuffs. For once, nobody rescues Charla.
I especially enjoy that.