Chapter 35 – Finn – Receipts of Blood
The dining room is a stage. And tonight, I’m ripping the set to shreds.
The chandelier hums above us, gold light catching the silver in Dad’s hair, the gleam of Eleanor’s pearls, the glassy shine of Ariane’s wide eyes. The air tastes like iron and varnish, like something perfected for show but rotten underneath.
And me? I’m the executioner.
Ariane’s eyes snap to me, lips parting like she’s choking on air. Richard jerks in his chair, fork clattering to his plate, soup sloshing like blood in a basin. The maid by the sideboard goes rigid, hands trembling so hard she nearly drops the silver.
Eleanor doesn’t blink. Her mouth tightens, and then, God help me, she laughs. A brittle, glassy sound. “Oh, Finn. Always the dramatist. Always desperate for an audience. Do you really think this is appropriate?”
“Appropriate?” My hands flatten against the wood. The shiny surface creaks under the pressure. “You murdered my mother.”
Dad gasps like a man sucker-punched. “What?” His voice cracks.
Ariane whispers, “No…” shaking her head, once, then again, faster, as if that might erase the words hanging between us.
“Stop it,” Eleanor snaps. Her fingers twitch around her napkin. She folds it precisely in half, then again, like control is a shield. “That is a filthy accusation, and you should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Accusation?” My laugh is hollow, jagged. “No, Eleanor. Let me show you receipts.”
I pull my phone from my jacket, thumb swiping to the folder I’ve been carrying like a loaded gun. I toss it onto the table. The glow spills across the linen like floodlights at a crime scene.
“Waren. Rhode Island. Gallery ledgers. Cash transfers. Witness testimony. You thought you could bury it. But ghosts don’t stay buried when you pay them in cash.”
Dad leans forward, squinting at the screen. His lips move soundlessly as he reads the numbers, the dates, the names. His hand trembles when he reaches for his glass, missing it entirely.
Ariane’s gaze darts between me and the phone. “Finn,” she breathes, voice trembling. “What are you talking about? What is this?”
I want to look at her, tell her I’ll explain, soften it somehow. But Eleanor’s still alive, and I can’t take my eyes off the monster who’s smiling at me like I’m a child who lost his toy.
“I’m talking about your mother,” I say, voice flat, “hiring a drunk named Waren to poison mine. Pills in her drinks. Night after night, until one morning run became her last.”
Dad surges half out of his chair, face red, eyes bulging. “No. That’s… that’s impossible.”
“Is it?” I swipe again, shoving the screen closer. “Those transfers? Same weeks mom started stumbling. Same week she complained of fatigue. Same week she collapsed in the middle of a run and never got up again.”
The memory shoves into me before I can stop it, my mother’s breath, sharp and ragged beside me on the path, the sudden sound of her body hitting gravel.
My hands shaking as I screamed into the phone for help.
The white coats later telling me there were drugs in her system.
She didn’t take pills. She didn’t drink herself to death. And Eleanor fucking knew it.
Eleanor rises slowly, palms braced against the table, pearls catching the light like a snare. “You are twisting this. Making grief into paranoia. I will not sit here and…”
“I met Waren and Selena.” My words slice through hers. “The woman laughed when she told me how you smiled while Dad swore he’d never leave his wife. You wanted a clean slate, Eleanor, and my mother’s blood bought it for you.”
Ariane covers her mouth with both hands, eyes shining, head shaking violently. “No, no, no…”
Eleanor turns toward her, voice softening like poisoned honey. “Darling, don’t listen to him. He’s always hated me. He wants to tear us apart.”
“You earned that hatred.” My voice rumbles like a storm breaking.
“You came into this house the day of her funeral. You wore black. You held Dad’s hand.
You pretended to mourn while you were already measuring the curtains.
I saw you. How old was I, back then? In my early twenties?
You looked me in the eye as if I was something to sweep aside. ”
Dad’s face crumples. He looks older than I’ve ever seen him, lines deepening like cracks in a crumbling wall. “Eleanor,” he whispers. “Tell me it isn’t true.”
Her lips part. Close. Part again. She looks at him with something that might almost be pity, then squares her shoulders. “I was in love with you.”
The silence is catastrophic.
Ariane makes a strangled sound, tears streaming down her face. Dad grips the back of his chair like it’s the only thing holding him upright.
“I did it for you too, Ari,” Eleanor turns toward Ariane, eyes flashing. “For us. She was never going to leave, Richard. Never. You would’ve been chained forever. I freed you. I gave you a life. I gave you us.”
Dad staggers, pressing a hand to his chest. Seeing him like this is killing me. This isn’t how I wanted to deal with this news, but it is what it is.
“You killed her,” he rasps, voice shattering. “You killed the woman who…” His throat locks. He can’t finish.
“I gave you everything!” Eleanor screams suddenly, pounding the table so hard the glasses rattle. “Your business... It was nothing before me. Look at our picture-perfect family!”
“Every smile, every rule, every goddamn dress you draped on Ariane was bought with blood,” I hiss.
Ariane sobs, trembling, staring at her mother like she’s seeing a stranger. “Mom…” Her voice is broken glass. “Please. Tell me it’s not true.”
Eleanor doesn’t answer her. She can’t. She locks her gaze on me, eyes blazing with hatred and desperation. “You bastard,” she spits. “Do you think dragging me through the dirt will bring her back? She’s gone. And I’m still here.”
Dad’s body seems to fold in on itself. His shoulders hunch. His eyes go dull, hollow.
And then, Eleanor screams, so loud it rattles the chandelier. “I did it for love! For this family! For you!”
The words echo, grotesque.
Dad pushes back from the table, swaying like a tree about to fall. He doesn’t look at any of us. He doesn’t speak. He just turns and walks out, steps dragging, silence clinging to him like a shroud.
Ariane sobs harder, shoulders shaking, hands pressed over her mouth. I want to go to my dad. To Ariane. But my eyes stay locked on Eleanor, and hers on me.