Chapter 5 - Cold Porcelain
The drive to my parents’ gated estate in Mount Pleasant was suffocating. The hum of the engine felt like a countdown. Beside me in the back of Marcus’s unmarked cruiser, my father stared blankly out the window, his chest heaving with silent, ragged breaths.
"I gave Eleanor everything," Arthur whispered, speaking more to the glass than to me. "When my father left the real estate trust to me, I put her name on the accounts. I let her dictate our social circle. I let her turn our home into a showroom for people who never cared whether we lived or died. And all the while, she was poisoning Lauren against you."
"She didn't just poison Lauren, Dad," I said, staring at my reflection in the dark glass—the bandage wrapping from my jaw down to my collarbone, a stark white badge of survivorship. "Lauren was willing to become a monster because Mother promised her she would never face consequences."
When Marcus pulled the vehicle through the wrought-iron gates of the estate, the scent of burning paper hit us before we even reached the circular driveway.
A stone fire pit on the back patio was billowing thick, gray smoke into the humid South Carolina sky.
Arthur was out of the car before it had fully stopped. He threw open the iron garden gate, his aging frame moving with a sudden, ferocious urgency. Marcus and I followed closely behind, Marcus drawing his service weapon to the low-ready position.
Eleanor was standing by the stone hearth, wearing a tailored cream knit cardigan and dark sunglasses, holding an iron poker. Beside her stood two leather travel bags, fully zipped. She was methodically feeding thick manila folders and bound ledgers into the flames.
"Eleanor!" Arthur roared.
My mother didn't jump. She didn't scream. She simply turned her head, slowly lowering her sunglasses to the bridge of her nose, her eyes cold, calculating, and utterly barren of remorse.
"You're making a scene, Arthur," she said smoothly, tossing another batch of receipts into the fire. "As usual. The neighbors will talk."
"Step away from the fire pit, Mrs. Vance," Detective Reed commanded, stepping forward with his badge raised. "Keep your hands where I can see them. Right now."
Eleanor gave Marcus an amused, disdainful smirk. "Detective. Have you come to arrest me for burning old utility bills? This is my private property. My husband and I are in the middle of a private domestic matter."
"Those aren't utility bills," I said, walking past Marcus until I stood ten feet from her. The smell of the smoke caught in my throat, irritating my raw skin, but I refused to flinch. "Those are Dr. Robert Sterling’s pharmaceutical distribution logs, aren't they?"
Eleanor’s gaze shifted to me. For the briefest instant, a flicker of panic darted across her porcelain features, quickly masked by haughty contempt. "You look hideous in that dressing, Claire. Did they tell you the graft will leave a permanent ridge? You always had such delicate bone structure. What a tragedy."
Arthur stepped forward and slapped the iron poker straight out of her hand. The metal clattered against the flagstones with a deafening ring.
"Answer her!" Arthur screamed, veins bulging along his temples. "Did you take chemicals from Robert? Did you give them to Lauren to throw in our daughter's face?"
"I gave her nothing!" Eleanor spat back, her aristocratic veneer finally cracking, revealing the snarling predator beneath. "Lauren was desperate! She came to me sobbing because David was losing his nerve! She needed something that would show this little ungrateful brat that she couldn't outshine her! It was supposed to be a diluted rinse! Just enough to ruin her dress and cause a mild rash! It wasn't supposed to be concentrated!"
The courtyard fell dead silent.
Marcus clicked his handcuffs off his belt. "Eleanor Vance, you are under arrest for accessory before the fact to aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, and tampering with physical evidence."
"Don't you dare touch me!" Eleanor shrieked, backing away toward the patio doors. "Arthur, stop him! Robert took the fall for your father's company twenty years ago! If you let this detective arrest me, Robert will release the real audit! He will ruin this entire family!"
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"Let him," Arthur said coldly, turning his back on his wife of thirty-four years. "Because this family was already ruined the day you decided my daughter’s blood was cheaper than your pride."
***