Chapter Fifty-Two
Olivia
I stay in the hospital for almost a week for observation. Technically I don’t need to stay, but I’m hoping that Liam will stop by to see how I’m doing.
He doesn’t, though. No flowers. No calls. I even ask the nurses if anybody’s come by or asked about me, but they just shake their heads.
I try texting him.
–Me: Thank you for saving my life. And our baby. Without you, I don’t dare imagine what would’ve happened.
–Me: Hey, the doctors say the baby’s fine. Want to stop by? They’re going to do an ultrasound tomorrow.
–Me: I miss your crystallized ginger.
–Me: I think the baby wants to have oranges.
Nothing. He probably doesn’t bother reading any of them. That evening, the hospital meal includes a few orange slices, like it’s mocking me. Here, eat them since you said you wanted them.
Except I don’t want citrus. I want Liam.
It kills me that he doesn’t even care about the baby.
Before, if I jokingly said the baby seems to want cupcakes from Bobbi’s Sweet Things, he’d bring a couple, no questions asked.
I was certain even if I was no longer anybody in his world, our baby would still mean something.
I place a hand over my belly and rub the spot gently.
Mommy will keep you safe, my love. I’ll do everything to make this up to you.
But I can’t linger in the hospital indefinitely, so I discharge myself. I have a company to run, the family trust to deal with.
And justice to carry out.
John Highsmith works fast. Prescott probably put some pressure on him.
John sends me daily updates on what’s going on with the trust. The disbursement has been frozen.
Hugh and his fellow parasites need to vacate the mansion by today.
Tyler’s action isn’t something John can overlook, even if he wanted to.
So although I’m still technically without offspring, the mansion and the annual income from the trust now belong to me as the sole beneficiary-in-waiting.
I make a call to a private security firm I’ve used before and arrange for backup—it’s a pretty good bet that Mom’s murderers won’t go quietly. The firm agrees to send a team to the Whitmore mansion. Afterward, I text our longtime housekeeper Mrs. Moore.
–Me: Please ensure that Hugh, Deena and Brielle aren’t taking anything that they shouldn’t.
–Mrs. Moore: That probably isn’t necessary. I don’t think they’re leaving.
–Me: In that case, let the people I send past the gates in. I’ll deal with Hugh myself.
I slip inside my car. I don’t know who brought it over, but I’m grateful as I grip the steering wheel to hide the tremors running through me.
Finally!
Exhilaration pumps me up, and I grit my teeth. I inhale to settle myself, then stop by my condo to change into proper battle attire. I can’t show up in a wrinkled party dress, looking pale and weak.
Hugh, Deena and Brielle are going to know exactly who punished them and why. They’ll learn there’s nothing they can do to weasel out of their consequences.
With care, I put on a black dress—I never got to wear one when I lost my mother or dog—and slip into matching slingbacks.
I pull my hair back into a chignon and put on a black pillbox hat with a veil.
To hide the pallor of my face, I dab some liquid blush on my cheeks and drag blood-red lipstick across my mouth.
I stand in front of the mirror, then straighten my back and lift my chin. There are two messages to be delivered today: grief and justice. I have to be strong for both.
Satisfied, I stop before the portrait of Mom, Pochi and me, then run my hand along the frame. “Thank you for being so patient. We’re almost done. They’re going to pay now.”
It might be my imagination, but Mom’s smile looks brighter. Pochi’s eyes seem to sparkle.
I walk out, head held high, then drive to the childhood home that Hugh and his mistress desecrated. The traffic is surprisingly light—it’s like the universe can’t wait for me to right all the wrongs done to my mother and dog.
Neither can I. This is it. My nerves go taut with anxiety. I’ve wanted this for twenty years, but now that it’s about to happen, my legs shake uncontrollably.
Get rid of all the nervous energy now, so you can be firm and strong in front of your enemies.
The W on the wrought-iron gates comes into view. A bunch of shiny black SUVs are driving through, up the winding path to the house. I frown a little. I didn’t expect the company to send so many people. Well, a little extra manpower can’t hurt. I follow them in.
The old oaks look shockingly taller today.
Their branches seem to arch over, the leaves greener than the last time I visited, as though they’re dying to witness me carry out my mission.
I park my car among the black SUVs and step out.
Despite the nervous twitching of my thighs during the drive, my feet plant themselves on the ground with a surprising surety.
The men come over. “Ms. Kingswood?” one of them says. He’s tall, blond and built like a mountain, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. He doesn’t smile, but then I didn’t ask for friendly security.
“Thanks for coming on such short notice. I need to get rid of some trespassers and avoid any…physical unpleasantness. This way.”
I try the door. It’s locked. Seriously? Does Hugh honestly believe this will stop me?
I enter the code, but it still won’t budge.
I input the master code and override the system.
Hugh, Deena and Brielle don’t realize that they’re interlopers, people who never belonged in my mother’s home in the first place.
The only reason I haven’t already locked them out is that I couldn’t do it legally. But now?
Hold my champagne.
I enter with the security men and look around. The house is quiet, like it’s holding its breath.
I step further inside, then stop at the bottom of the stairs where Mom fell.
My vision blurs for a moment at the old memory of her rolling down the steps, and me watching helplessly from this very spot.
The old rage and terror chill my heart, and I clench my teeth as a bone-deep loathing surges through me.
“The master bedroom is up over there—where a man and his wife should be—you can’t miss it.
And their daughter’s room is next to it.
Don’t worry, she’s an adult, not some poor child.
” She was never a poor child, but I add that for the men’s benefit.
“Drag them out, but don’t hurt them. Can’t have them claiming injuries.
And make sure they don’t take anything. Nothing in this house belongs to them.
” I turn to Mrs. Moore and the rest of the household staff that has assembled in the foyer.
“If you could act as witnesses, I’d appreciate it. ”
They nod, their eyes wide. The men start up the stairs.
I wait. My spine is straight, my eyes unblinking. I want to see those three dragged to the top of the stairs. I want to see them humiliated and reduced to nothing from the very spot I watched them murder Mom.
There’s a commotion, then screams and shouts come from upstairs. I close my eyes briefly, savoring the sounds. Did they think this day would never arrive?
Finally, Hugh, Deena and Brielle appear at the top of the staircase.
All three look disheveled. His white polo shirt is wrinkled and his hair messy.
Deena isn’t much better with her hair half-falling over her face.
She struggles against the men’s hold. I’m surprised her boobs haven’t popped out of her extra-low-cut top. Brielle’s eyes shoot venom at me.
I smile.
“What’s the meaning of this? I’m your father!” Hugh’s loud voice rings out.
“Well, Dad, it’s time you moved out. Didn’t John Highsmith tell you?”
“Is this about Tyler? He didn’t mean to hurt you,” Deena says.
I narrow my eyes. “You sound just like Brielle. Nobody ever means to do anything. Oops, I killed your mom, but I didn’t mean to—”
“I can just divorce him! I was planning to anyway!” Brielle says.
“Exactly!” Hugh nods decisively, trying to project control. “Then he won’t be part of the family. And this won’t be necessary.”
“This isn’t about Tyler, Hugh.” I look at the two women. “Deena. Brielle.”
Hugh frowns in genuine confusion. “Then what?”
“That’s exactly where my mother stood when your mistress and your bastard child showed up and provoked her.”
He flinches. “It was an accident!”
“They provoked her until she fainted.”
Deena shakes her head. “Just bad luck—”
“You knew Mom had high blood pressure. You knew she couldn’t handle stress well, and agitating her wouldn’t be good.”
“I didn’t—”
“I heard you, Deena. You got careless because you thought I was just a helpless child, too scared to do anything but cling to what she had. But guess what? I heard everything you told Hugh.”
She turns white. Hugh stares at me like he’s seeing a vengeful ghoul crawling out of hell.
If only you knew what I really want to do to you…
“And Hugh, you know perfectly well that her death wasn’t accidental. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have cremated her too fast to have an autopsy. It was so quick, you didn’t even let me attend her funeral.”
“You were only ten!” he shouts. “It wasn’t appropriate for you to be there! You didn’t understand the situation, just lashed out! And now you’re making stuff up over what you misheard!”
I grind my teeth. Did he think I’d always be young, powerless and ignorant?
That I’d just let go of what they did to Mom?
“I checked when I was old enough. Everyone said Mom fainted because her health was fragile, but I always wondered—was that it? Nothing more? Now, we’ll never know, so I won’t speculate too much, but isn’t it reasonable to ask a question or two…
? A vibrant young mother, so conveniently provoked by her husband’s mistress and their illegitimate child, just happened to faint and fall… ”
Deena shakes. “You… You…!”
“Right here.” I tap the floor. “This is where I stood and watched her tumble down the stairs. And then you”—I look at Deena—“and your daughter decided not to call 911.”