Chapter 22 #3
He regards me more severely, as if I’ve disappointed him. “You know better than that. How many times did I explain to you that we still loved each other? That just because we had decided to go our separate ways, it didn’t mean I wouldn’t always take care of her—”
“Your emails with Mr. Castellano say differently, Dad. What’s this?” I ask, brandishing the printouts of his emails. “He advised you to hold off on paying for any more treatment. From upgrading her care to something better. That being a widower was a better look than being divorced.”
He snatches the printout from me and then grits his teeth. “What is this? You’ve been reading my private emails? How dare you!”
“Answer the question!” I snap back louder. “What is this about? What does this mean?”
“You have no right! This was my private correspondence with my lawyer. I’ve already told you—”
“You ran out the clock, didn’t you? You were waiting for her to die!”
As I hurl the accusations at him, my voice shakes and emotion creeps in, slowly taking over. Dad seems to sense this as his outrage fades for fatherly concern.
He starts toward me to close the gap, arms partially outstretched as if seeking an embrace.
“Sweetheart, you’re clearly upset and not thinking straight.
It’s been a tough past few months—hell, past few years—for you.
But I assure you, you’re misinterpreting the situation.
Those emails were taken out of context. Legal proceedings are complicated, and sometimes attorneys use language that sounds harsher than—”
“Don’t come near me!” I jump back to dodge him. “Don’t try to gaslight me! I read the emails, Dad. All of them. There’s no context that makes ‘let her treatment lapse because it’s cheaper’ okay.”
“I would never do that to your mother! She was the love of my life. Of course I paid for her care! I spared no expense—”
“Is that why while she was dying, you were off fucking your intern? The one who was almost my age?” I explode.
“Yeah, that’s right, Dad—I know all about that!
I know about the affairs. I know how it broke Mom’s heart, but she stuck it out with you anyway.
But… but I never thought… I didn’t think you’d ever…
that you’d rather let her die because it was a better look than divorcing her! ”
“You watch your tone with me, young lady!” he roars, finally raising his voice to match mine.
“I’m in the middle of planning for my major donor’s gala and you think I need you adding more stress?
What went on between your mother and I—and anyone else I was involved with—is none of your goddamn business! ”
“None of my business? She was my MOTHER!” I scream at the top of my lungs, tears slipping free. “And you’re my father and you lied! You’ve been lying all these years!”
“Chantal, I’m telling you, you’re confused! You don’t understand.”
“I understand perfectly!” I answer. “I understand that all you’ve ever cared about is yourself and your stupid image! Your stupid fucking career!”
“Now hold on—”
“You think I don’t know about the ransom situation, Dad?
That you had the money to pay, but you refused to do so!
Record donations. Deposit on renovations for the beach house in the Hamptons.
You had every opportunity to bring me home.
But instead you put on the waterworks for your voters and your donors, milking my kidnapping for sympathy points while I was out there wondering if I was ever going to see you again! ”
His face goes slack with shock, obviously caught off guard by me revealing what I know. He blinks it off and then stammers, “Chantal… that’s… I can explain…”
“There’s nothing left to explain, Daddy.
Not to me. But maybe the public would want to know what’s really going on.
They’d be interested to know that Senator Keith Banks let his wife die to avoid a divorce settlement and public scandal for his cheating.
That he refused to pay his daughter’s kidnapping ransom but was more than happy to do press conferences and collect donations. ”
Dad’s features contort in rage, and he raises his hand for a split second as if about to strike.
My heart flips inside my chest as I watch his composure vanish and him almost give into his temper. He almost backhands me but catches himself just in time.
Instead his nostrils flare, and his throat bobs with a tight swallow. His eyes have darkened, going completely cold and icy, as if I’m no longer his daughter.
I’m an adversary.
“You need to be very careful about the accusations you’re making, Chantal,” he says cryptically.
“Be very careful about how you want to proceed. You’re my daughter, and I love you, but I will not tolerate anyone ruining what I’ve built.
Even you. If you choose to do so, be prepared for the consequences. ”
I shake my head, scoffing at the not-so-thinly veiled threat. It shouldn’t surprise me at this point, yet it still does.
“Don’t worry,” I say quietly. “Your skeletons are safe in your closet. But I’m leaving.”
“Chantal—”
“I’m done pretending everything’s perfect when it’s really a fucking mess!
” I call from over my shoulder. I’ve started for the hall that leads to the other end of the penthouse where the bedrooms are located.
“You don’t have to worry about seeing me at your gala either.
In fact, you don’t have to worry about ever seeing me again. ”
After confronting Dad, I move back into my apartment on the Upper East Side. It hurts knowing how he’s been deceptive for so many years, but it’s also time I stand on my own two feet anyway.
I couldn’t stay living in his fake curated world forever, and that’s exactly what staying in his penthouse was like.
But I’m not about to lie—it’s intimidating and a little scary returning to my old apartment. Like with my art gallery, the last time I was here, I was a different Chantal.
I hadn’t had my luxurious life stripped away, and I hadn’t been forced to survive in a grim situation. I hadn’t met Lochlan Callahan and had him steal my heart in every sense of the word.
Now that I have, my tastefully decorated, soft glam apartment feels a little hollow. It has more to do with the fact that everything is still so unresolved more than it has to do with me no longer enjoying the decor.
Dad didn’t try to stop me as I had my stuff packed and moved out. He regarded me coldly and didn’t utter a peep. He probably figures it’s better for him and his precious optics if he allows me to go without any fuss. Especially with his big donor gala coming up.
But I don’t give a damn about his image anymore. I don’t even care about mine.
At the end of the day, none of it matters.
It reminds me of what Lochlan once told me—when you die, everyone moves on and forgets about you.
I refuse to let that be the case for Mom. So I’m going to honor her by holding Dad accountable. By never forgiving him for what he did to her.
Simone’s checked in on me several times. She apologizes for how things went down in Callahan House and admits she’ll never really understand what I’ve been through. But there’s an awkwardness between us now, as it occurs to me we’re basically on two separate sides.
She’s standing by her husband… and I’m loyal to Lochlan.
Monique also tries to cheer me up, inviting me to gallery mixers and a fashion show for the designer she works for. But I turn her down on both occasions. She’s aware of the drama between me and her uncle and has already told me she’s got my back.
I appreciate it, but it still doesn’t fix anything. I’m not sure if anything can.
About a week into my new solo life, my cast finally comes off, and I have use of both arms again. I decide to return to the gallery so I can bury myself in work. A distraction to keep my mind off everything else.
I’m standing on the curb outside my building trying to hail a taxi because I’m no longer using Dad’s private driver and haven’t had energy to hire my own.
The May sun is warm on my face, and under normal circumstances this would be the kind of gorgeous spring afternoon where I’d call up Simone and Monique for rooftop drinks somewhere cute and trendy.
Given recent circumstances, that’s out of the question.
A taxi slows down, and I raise my hand to flag it when I feel eyes on me from across the street.
I glance over and go still at who I find watching me.
It’s one of the icy blonds from the Vodka Room. He’s on the other side of the road, his gaze unmistakably set on me, his face chillingly empty.
My skin crawls as my insides twist. I’m so disturbed it doesn’t even register that the taxi has braked and the driver is waiting for me to get in.
I’m instead staring back at the blond as dark memories flash through my head.
He had been present the night Lochlan sold me to the Bratva. He and his twin brother seemed used to women being put up for sale. He didn’t bat an eyelash as Rurik barked at them to take me away…
“Hey!” snaps the taxi driver. “You getting in or what, lady? I’ve got places to be!”
I blink out of my stupor and then rush to open the door and slide in. “Um, sorry… I… um, never mind. Can you take me to West Broadway? Thanks.”
He grunts in answer and clicks on his turn signal to re-merge with traffic.
But I’m much more preoccupied by the blond across the street. I twist around to look out the rear window as we drive off.
He remains where he is, pale eyes tracking me the entire way until I slip out of view.