Chapter 9 - The Fall of the Golden Child
The courthouse corridor was cavernous and cold, filled with the echo of hurried footsteps and low legal murmurings.
I walked toward the elevators, Owen Hayes by my side carrying his leather briefcase.
"Maeve."
The voice was weak, cracked, stripped of all arrogance.
I stopped and turned.
Camille stood twenty feet away, outside the public restrooms. Her makeup was gone, her eyes swollen and bloodshot. She looked like an abandoned child standing in the middle of a winter storm. Ten feet behind her, Lydia hovered near the marble pillar, wringing her hands, too cowardly to approach me directly.
"Owen," I said softly. "Give me two minutes."
"I’ll have the car waiting downstairs," Owen replied, nodding respectfully before stepping into the elevator bank.
I walked slowly toward Camille. My medals clinked softly against my uniform breast with every measured step.
"Maeve..." Camille choked out, reaching into her purse and pulling out a wad of tissues. "I... I just wanted to say... I'm sorry. I didn't know what Bennett was really doing. He told me you were sick! He told me—"
"Stop, Camille," I said.
The silence fell between us, thick and heavy.
"You knew exactly what you were doing," I told her, my voice level, measured, and calm. "You stood on my frosted lawn at three in the morning, wearing a thousand-dollar trench coat, and mouthed that you wanted me to die in a cage so you could have my house."
Camille flinched, pulling her arms around her chest. "I was terrified! I was bankrupt! My store was failing, Bennett said the collectors were coming for our apartment... I lost my mind, Maeve!"
"No," I said. "You didn't lose your mind. You simply revealed who you always were. When we were children, you let Mother take my dinner so you could have two desserts. You let her take my college savings so you could go to fashion camp. You spent thirty years believing that other people exist solely to be burned as fuel for your vanity."
Camille looked down at the marble floor, fresh tears dripping onto the stone. "What am I supposed to do now? Everything is gone. The boutique is shut down. My friends won't return my calls. My landlord evicted me this morning. I have to work at a VA hospital emptying bedpans, Maeve! They're going to treat me like dirt!"
"They won't treat you like dirt," I said. "They will treat you like a worker. A concept you have managed to avoid for thirty-two years. You will learn what it feels like to earn a dollar with the sweat of your brow instead of stealing it from someone else's blood."
Lydia finally took a tentative step forward, her voice trembling with aged fragility. "Maeve... she has nowhere to live. I had to surrender my condo deposit... I'm moving into a one-bedroom subsidized apartment in Berwyn. Can't Camille... can't she stay in your guest room? Just until she gets on her feet?"
I looked at Lydia. Then I looked at Camille.
The audacity of the parasite is truly infinite. Even after the federal indictments, even after the arrests, the handcuffs, and the gavel, they still looked at my home as an unearned shelter.
"If either of you steps foot on Shoreline Drive," I said, "the Cook County Sheriff will enforce the permanent restraining order Judge Vance signed twenty minutes ago. You will serve ninety days in Cook County Jail for criminal trespass."
Lydia took half a step back, her hand flying to her mouth. "You're throwing your own sister out onto the street? She’s family!"
"Family is built on blood, loyalty, and sacrifice," I said, looking both of them in the eyes. "You three were just a collection of thieves who shared my last name."
I turned my back on them.
"Maeve, please!" Camille cried out, her voice echoing off the marble walls of the courthouse. "Please don't leave me alone!"
I didn't turn around.
May you like
I stepped into the open elevator, pressed the ground floor button, and watched the brass doors slide shut, cutting them out of my life forever.
***