Chapter 8 - The Matriarch's Arrival
"What are you doing in my private quarters?"
The voice was like ice cutting through glass.
I spun around. Eleanor stood in the doorway of the pantry, wearing a floor-length velvet dressing gown. In her right hand, she held an ivory-handled cane; in her left, she held her smartphone, its screen illuminated with the speed-dial for the Lake Forest Police Department.
Beside her stood my younger brother, Bradley—a thirty-two-year-old perpetual failure who lived off our mother’s handouts and drove a Maserati paid for by the trust.
"Julian," Bradley said, nervously shifting his weight. "You’re trespassing, bro. Mom’s already calling the chief of police. You made a massive scene at the Drake. Do you know how bad that looks for our investments?"
I didn't answer Bradley. I took three steps forward, grabbed Eleanor by the throat with one hand, and slammed her back against the pantry wall, knocking a row of imported olive oils crashing to the floor.
"Julian!" Henry yelled, rushing forward to grab my arm. "Don't! If you touch her, you lose custody! Julian, let go!"
Every muscle in my body begged me to squeeze until the life drained out of her pale, Botox-frozen eyes. Eleanor gasped, her manicured fingers clawing at my wrists, but her eyes weren't filled with fear. They were filled with venomous, unadulterated hatred.
"Do it," she choked out, a grotesque smirk forming on her lips. "Kill your own mother. Prove to the world that you're just as violent and unstable as you were after your wife died. Then Maya goes to Bradley."
I looked at Bradley. The cowardly boy stepped back, refusing to meet my eyes, clutching his car keys.
"You knew," I whispered, the realization hitting me like a sledgehammer. "Bradley, you lived in this house. You walked past this pantry every day."
"She said Maya had severe autism!" Bradley stammered, his face turning crimson. "She said the doctor ordered sensory deprivation! I didn't know, Julian! I just didn't ask questions!"
"Because she was paying your car payments with Maya's child support," I said coldly.
May you like
Slowly, deliberately, I released Eleanor’s neck. She slid down the wall, coughing theatrically, clutching her pearls.
"Get out of my house," Eleanor hissed, her voice hoarse. "You have no proof of anything. I am her legal guardian under Illinois emergency court orders you signed three years ago. By tomorrow morning, I will have the police drag her out of that hospital and back into this house, where she belongs!"
