Chapter 17 - MARGARET’S TRUTH
Margaret looked smaller in prison clothing.
That did not make her less dangerous.
We sat across from each other with glass between us.
She picked up the phone.
“So much like Eleanor.”
“I’m not here for compliments.”
“You never were patient.”
“Who ordered the explosion?”
Margaret smiled faintly.
“Malcolm.”
“I know.”
“No.”
She leaned closer.
“He ordered a fire.”
“What does that mean?”
“Adrian changed the plan.”
My skin prickled.
Malcolm wanted the lake house burned after Eleanor left.
Adrian arrived early.
He knew Eleanor was still inside.
He triggered the explosion anyway.
My mother survived by chance.
“Why?”
I whispered.
“Because if Eleanor died, Malcolm became easier to control.”
Margaret looked almost proud.
“Adrian understood leverage before the rest of us.”
“Did you know?”
“Afterward.”
“And you helped fake her death.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Adrian was my son.”
I stared at her.
“That is your answer?”
“Yes.”
She did not cry.
Did not apologize.
Some people eventually confront what they did.
Margaret simply justified it.
“Did you ever care what happened to me?”
She hesitated.
Then answered honestly.
“Not enough.”
That honesty hurt less than fake love.
I stood.
She tapped the glass.
“One more thing.”
I stopped.
“Adrian loved you.”
I laughed.
“No.”
“He did.”
“You don’t know what that word means.”
Margaret’s expression changed.
“Maybe.”
I picked up the phone again.
“He loved owning the version of me that made him powerful.”
Then I hung up.
Her testimony strengthened the case.
So did Malcolm’s.
So did Serena’s.
So did Dr. Cross’s.
Adrian’s attorneys changed strategy.
They claimed he had been manipulated by Malcolm as a young man.
Then by Margaret.
Everyone was responsible except Adrian.
The jury would eventually decide.
Before trial, my mother asked whether I wanted to move out of the mansion permanently.
I looked around the ballroom.
The chandelier.
The ruined memories.
The place where guests laughed at my bruises.
“No.”
She looked surprised.
“I want to keep it.”
“Why?”
“Because he spent years making me afraid inside my own house.”
I touched the wall.
“He does not get the house too.”
We renovated.
Not everything.
The ballroom stayed.
So did the front doors.
May you like
And above them, the security camera remained.
Still blinking.
