Chapter 6 - Stitches and Hard Truths
The emergency room smelled of antiseptic and floor wax. It was a stark contrast to the gardenia perfume and vintage champagne of the ballroom, but to me, it felt clean. It felt real.
The young doctor who stitched the two-inch gash on my cheek was gentle. He asked three times if I wanted to file a domestic violence report.
"The police are already handling the person responsible, Doctor," Robert Ellis said from the corner of the cubicle, his coat folded neatly over his arm. "She’s currently sitting in central booking."
"Well, Mrs. Mitchell, you have a mild concussion and three stitches," the doctor said, peeling off his latex gloves. "Your cheekbone is heavily bruised, but thankfully there are no fractures. You need forty-eight hours of complete bed rest. No stress."
"Stress is an old acquaintance of mine, Doctor," I replied with a faint smile. "We know how to stay out of each other's way."
By two in the morning, Robert had driven me back to my small, two-story brick home on the edge of the working-class neighborhood where Frank and I had bought our first plot of land in 1978. While Daniel had moved to a gated mansion with an eight-car garage and manicured hedges, I had kept my hydrangeas, my worn oak porch swing, and Frank’s vegetable garden out back.
Robert sat across from me at the kitchen table, boiling water for chamomile tea.
"You don't have to protect him, Eleanor," Robert said, setting a steaming mug in front of me. "The forensic accountants I hired have been working for three weeks. Daniel’s signature appears on four separate corporate guarantees for the loans Vanessa used to float Aura Stone & Oak. If the bank calls those notes due tomorrow, Daniel is personally liable for nearly two million dollars."
I blew gently across the surface of the tea. The steam warmed my face, easing the tension in my bruised jaw.
"Did he know she was stealing from Harbor Light, Robert?" I asked. "Tell me the honest truth. You reviewed the emails."
Robert sighed heavily, pulling a thick folder from his leather briefcase. "From what we can tell... Daniel was willfully blind. He didn't come up with the scheme. Vanessa handled all the bank interfaces. But Daniel signed whatever she put in front of him because he wanted to keep living in a house he couldn't afford. He wanted the country club membership. He wanted the European vacations."
Robert paused, looking at me with deep sympathy. "He stopped asking questions because he didn't want to hear the answers."
"That's what breaks my heart," I murmured. "His father worked until his fingers were permanently stained with machine grease so that Daniel would never have to compromise his soul for a dollar. And Daniel threw it away for an infinity pool."
Before Robert could answer, the headlights of a car swept across my kitchen window, followed by the sound of tires screeching against the curb. A car door slammed with violent force.
Heavy, panicked footsteps pounded up the wooden steps of my front porch. The brass door knocker rattled relentlessly against the wood.
"Mom! Mom, open the door! Please, Mom, I know you're in there!"
Daniel’s voice was ragged, choked with panic.
Robert stood up, his jaw tightening. "I’ll tell him to leave. You need to rest."
"No," I said, placing my hand on Robert’s sleeve. "A mother has to face her child, Robert. Even when he’s holding the knife that cut her."
I walked to the front door, unlocked the deadbolt, and pulled it open.
Daniel stood under the porch light. His tuxedo jacket was gone, his white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar and stained with sweat, and his hair was wildly disheveled. Behind him, parked crookedly across my driveway, was his luxury sports car.
"Mom," he gasped, trying to push his way inside. "Thank God you're home. Vanessa’s lawyer just called me from the precinct. They aren't granting her bail until morning! And two reporters were waiting outside our front gates when I tried to go home! Mom, they know everything!"
I stood firmly in the doorway, blocking his entrance. "What do you want, Daniel?"
Daniel blinked, stunned by my coldness. "What do I want? I want to come inside! I want to talk to you! I need help, Mom! The bank called me thirty minutes ago—they've frozen our joint accounts pending the criminal investigation! I can't even pay Vanessa’s retainer!"
"Why would you pay the retainer for a woman who just told police you were her accomplice?" I asked.
Daniel gripped the doorframe, his knuckles white. "Because if she talks, they'll seize my business! Mom, you have the trust money. Dad left you the proceeds from the factory sale. You have over twenty million dollars in municipal bonds! Robert told me years ago! You have to wire one million dollars to the foundation tomorrow morning to replace the missing funds. If the foundation drops the charges, the DA might reduce it to a civil matter!"
I stared at my son in absolute disbelief. The pain in my face was nothing compared to the ice that settled around my soul.
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"You want me to take the money your father spent forty-six years earning... to bail out the woman who kicked your mother in the face three hours ago?"
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