Chapter 8 - The House on the Hill
A month later, I drove out to the Hamptons.
The sprawling oceanfront estate that Aaron used to boast about as "his sanctuary" now belonged back to the Vance Trust. Crews were removing the massive bronze plaque near the front gates that read THE PRESCOTT ESTATE.
In its place, workers were installing a simple, elegant stone sign: VANCE FOUNDATION FOR WOMEN IN STEM.
As I walked through the manicured gardens toward the beach, a sleek black sedan pulled up near the gates.
An elderly woman stepped out, supported by a cane. It was Eleanor. She wore a faded coat, her former designer clothes completely gone, replaced by cheap off-the-rack attire.
She looked through the iron gates at me, her eyes filled with a mixture of hatred and desperate sorrow.
"Alyssa..." Eleanor called out, her voice raspy.
I walked slowly over to the gate. "Mrs. Prescott. You shouldn't be here. This is private property."
"You took everything from us," Eleanor whimpered, clutching the bars with her withered hands. "Aaron is living in a tiny one-bedroom apartment in Queens, working as a junior sales clerk! My friends won't even take my phone calls! How can you be so heartless after four years of being part of our family?!"
I looked at her with steady, unyielding eyes.
"Family?" I asked quietly. "When I sat on that plane, Eleanor, you looked me in the eye and told me to be considerate while another woman fed my husband fruit in my seat. You treated me like a servant who was lucky to eat your scraps."
Eleanor lowered her head, weeping silently.
May you like
"You didn't lose your lifestyle because I was heartless," I said. "You lost it because you were cruel. You taught your son that people were tools to be used and discarded. He learned that lesson from you. And today, you are both paying the tuition."
I signaled to the gate guard. "Please escort her away."