Chapter 7 - THE PEOPLE AT THE TABLE
There had been six women at my mother’s luncheon.
I knew every one of them.
I had donated to their charities.
Sponsored their events.
Helped their children secure internships.
Now I watched the dining room recordings one by one.
Some laughed.
Some participated.
One woman, Patricia Wells, threw food onto the floor.
Another, Susan Meyer, told Clara to “earn her meal.”
But one guest did something different.
Margaret Lane sat near the end of the table.
She did not laugh.
She looked uncomfortable.
Twice, she tried to offer Clara food.
Both times Eleanor stopped her.
After the luncheon, Margaret remained behind.
The camera captured their conversation.
“This has gone too far.”
My mother poured another glass of wine.
“She needs discipline.”
“She’s pregnant.”
“She’s manipulative.”
“Eleanor, I saw bruises on her arm.”
“She bumps into everything.”
Margaret lowered her voice.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“If Sebastian finds out—”
“He won’t.”
Margaret looked toward the hallway.
“You can’t control everything.”
My mother smiled.
“Watch me.”
I contacted Margaret.
She agreed to meet immediately.
When she arrived, she looked like she had not slept.
“I should have stopped it.”
“Yes.”
My answer surprised her.
“I expected you to tell me I wasn’t responsible.”
“You were responsible for what you saw.”
She nodded slowly.
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“Eleanor told us Clara was mentally ill.”
“And you believed her?”
“At first.”
“What changed?”
“The hunger.”
Margaret’s voice shook.
“She watched Clara eat scraps.”
“That wasn’t treatment.”
“That was cruelty.”
I said nothing.
Margaret opened her handbag.
“I took these.”
She placed printed photographs on the table.
They showed Eleanor meeting Gerald in a restaurant.
Another showed them outside a bank.
A third showed Gerald handing my mother a folder.
“Why were you following them?”
“I wasn’t.”
“I saw them by accident.”
“But after what I witnessed with Clara, I started paying attention.”
“When were these taken?”
“Two weeks ago.”
One photograph showed the sign behind them.
FIRST CHICAGO PRIVATE BANK.
Daniel immediately called a contact.
Within hours, we learned Eleanor had opened a safe deposit box there under a trust name.
The trust belonged to my late father.
That should have been impossible.
His estate was supposedly closed twelve years earlier.
We obtained a court order the next morning.
Inside the box was no jewelry.
No cash.
Only documents.
The original partnership agreement for my father’s company.
An unsigned divorce petition.
Letters.
And a handwritten notebook.
My father’s notebook.
The final entry was dated nine days before his death.
Eleanor wants the company sold.
Gerald says she has debts.
I refused.
She threatened to make sure Sebastian never knows the truth.
I turned the page.
May you like
The next sentence made my hands go cold.
Julian is not my biological son.
