Chapter 4 - The Golden Son's Golden Lie
At dawn, my phone began to vibrate against the glass conference table.
The caller ID displayed a picture of Eli: square jaw, sun-bleached hair, dressed in pristine white naval dress uniform against a backdrop of Annapolis brick. The picture was three years old. He had forced me to take it for his campaign flyers when he briefly considered running for the state legislature.
Dalia signaled Marcus, who instantly jacked a recording patch into the phone's auxiliary port.
"Put it on speaker," Dalia commanded silently.
I swiped the green button, my pulse thrumming in my ears like a war drum. "Hello, Eli."
"Cora," his voice came through the speaker, smooth, dripping with that rehearsed, southern-gentleman condescension that made my skin crawl. "Thank God you picked up. Where are you? Mom has been crying all night. Dad’s blood pressure is through the roof."
"Has it occurred to you to call an ambulance for him?" I asked, my voice completely devoid of inflection. "Or is he busy picking my hair out from under his fingernails?"
There was a three-second silence on the line. When Eli spoke again, the faux-concern was gone, replaced by the low, venomous cadence he used whenever we were behind closed doors.
"You really made an ass of yourself last night, Cora. Throwing a hysterical tantrum in front of the governor’s chief of staff? Dad had to restrain you so you wouldn't hurt yourself on the glass table. Do you have any idea how much damage control we’re doing right now?"
"You stole my money, Eli."
A sharp, humorless bark of laughter came through the receiver. "Your money? You think an ungrateful, directionless brat like you deserves five million dollars of Eleanor’s blood money? You paint canvases in a warehouse. I have a career. I have a legacy to build."
"You have a dishonorable discharge waiting for you if that wire doesn't clear," I said.
The line went dead silent. The sudden stillness on Eli’s end was so heavy I could hear the faint hum of an air conditioner in the background of the Vance family estate.
"Who did you talk to?" Eli snarled, his voice dropping an octave. The aristocratic veneer was shattered. "Who gave you that lie, Cora?"
"The money left my account at eleven forty-two," I said, staring at the monitor where Dalia was already drafting the emergency ex-parte filing. "While you held my hand down on the carpet and pressed my thumb against your phone’s biometric reader. You thought I was too concussed to realize what you were doing."
"You listen to me, you little bitch," Eli whispered, the malice radiating through the speakers. "You come back to Pinerove Lane right now. You sign the hard-copy affidavit confirming the transfer was voluntary, or I swear to God, Dad will have you committed to the Oak Creek Psychiatric Facility before lunch. You know Dr. Sterling is on the board. One signature from him, and you won't see daylight until you're fifty."
"Eli?" I said softly.
"What?"
"I'm not coming home."
"Then you’re dead to this family."
"No," I replied, catching Dalia’s gaze across the table. Her eyes were burning with an icy, merciless fire. "You're dead to me. And the federal marshals will be at the gate by nine."
I hit the red button.
Marcus let out a low whistle. "Audio captured. Clean, uncompressed WAV file. He admitted to the involuntary transfer, confirmed the father's restraint, and made a direct extortion threat regarding psychiatric commitment."
Dalia stood up, smoothing the front of her charcoal-grey slacks. She picked up a thick manila folder stamped with the seal of the Travis County District Court.
May you like
"Dr. Chen's medical report is attached," Dalia said, looking at her watch. "It’s seven-fifteen. Judge Harrison opens her chambers at eight. By nine-thirty, the Vance family won't even be able to sell their lawnmower without my written permission."
***
