Chapter 4 - The Golden Child's Plea
I expected Lorraine to call next, or perhaps another desperate visit from Charles. Instead, on Thursday afternoon, my assistant announced an unscheduled visitor in the private reception lounge.
It was Emily.
I stood in the doorway of the lounge, watching her. She was wearing a cream-colored cashmere coat, a designer handbag slung over her arm, her hair perfectly blown out. Despite facing a federal indictment in twenty-four hours, she still looked like a woman on her way to a high-tea luncheon.
When she saw me, her face contorted into a dramatic expression of grief. She rushed forward, reaching out with manicured hands. "Rebecca! Oh thank God!"
I stepped back, keeping two feet of distance between us. "Don't, Emily."
She stopped, her hands hovering in the air before dropping to her side. She pulled a silk handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at the corners of her dry eyes. "Mom and Dad told me what happened. They said you were angry, but I knew if I came to see you myself, woman to woman, sister to sister..."
"We aren't sisters," I said flatly. "We haven't spoken in nineteen years."
"That wasn't my fault!" Emily cried out softly, looking around nervously to see if any of my employees were watching. "I was just a kid when Dad threw you out! I didn't have any power!"
"You were fourteen," I reminded her. "And when I was standing in the snow holding a trash bag, you were sitting on the couch watching TV. You didn't say a word. And when you turned eighteen, you let them buy you a BMW using credit cards opened in my name."
Emily’s eyes narrowed slightly, the fragile, damsel-in-distress act slipping away for a brief second. "You survived, didn't you? Look at this place! You’re rich! You have everything!"
"I built this place out of blood, sweat, and tears," I said coldly. "While you built your life out of other people's life savings."
Emily took a step closer, lowering her voice into an urgent, frantic tone. "Rebecca, you don't understand what it's like! Dr. Pendelton is going to the authorities tomorrow! The FBI was at my house yesterday! They served a warrant on my computer files! If I don't give Pendelton the million dollars by 5:00 PM tomorrow, I'm going to be arrested!"
"Then I suggest you hire a good defense attorney," I said.
Emily reached out and grabbed my arm, her manicured nails digging into the fabric of my blazer. "You don't get it! I can't go to prison! I won't survive in a place like that! You're the only one who can fix this! You have the money!"
I looked down at her hand on my arm, then locked eyes with her. "Do you know what it felt like to walk three miles through a blizzard on one leg, Emily?"
She blinked, confused by the question. "What?"
"My foot was so frozen I couldn't feel my toes for two days," I said, my voice steady and cold as steel. "My shoulder was dislocated from leaning on cheap crutches. And when I reached Aunt Sylvia's house, I had to sleep on a cot in her basement because she couldn't afford a bed for me. Nobody came to save me. Nobody paid my way out."
"That's not fair!" Emily shouted, her composure shattering completely. "You’re doing this out of revenge! You hate me because Mom and Dad loved me more!"
I almost felt pity for her in that moment. She was thirty-three years old, yet completely trapped in the distorted reality our parents had built for her.
"I don't hate you, Emily," I said softly. "Hate takes energy. To me, you're just a stranger who committed a crime. And actions have consequences."
I turned to my assistant. "Sarah, please escort Miss Whitaker to the elevator."
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Emily stood frozen in the hallway as Sarah stepped forward. As the elevator doors opened, Emily screamed back at me, her voice echoing down the corridor. "You're a monster, Rebecca! A crippled, heartless monster!"
I watched the doors close without blinking.
