Chapter 8 - Desperate Measures
At seven o’clock that evening, I left the law offices and took a car back toward the south side of town.
I hadn’t officially moved all my personal belongings out of the basement apartment yet. Mark’s old sweater, Toby’s favorite drawing of our family standing under a crooked yellow sun, and Lily’s first pair of pink ballet slippers were still packed in a cardboard box on that damp closet shelf. Those things were worth more to me than ten million dollars.
I walked down the exterior concrete stairs, my heels clicking softly in the shadowy alleyway.
As I reached the rusted iron door, a figure stepped out from the shadows near the trash bins.
“Clara!”
I turned, my hand resting instinctively inside my coat pocket, where my fingers curled around the panic alarm Vance’s security team had given me.
It was Chloe.
Gone was the emerald satin gown. Gone was the perfectly coiffed hair. She wore an oversized beige hoodie, leggings, and sunglasses despite the dusk, her designer baseball cap pulled low. She looked frantic, her breath misting in the cold evening air.
“What are you doing here, Chloe?” I asked, keeping ten feet of distance between us.
Chloe pulled off her sunglasses. Her eyes were red, puffy, and genuine panic replaced the manufactured tears she had shed on her livestream hours earlier.
“Clara, please,” she begged, stepping toward me, her hands clasped together in supplication. “You have to stop this. They came and towed my G-Wagon right out of the grocery store parking lot today! In front of everyone! My credit cards were declined when I tried to buy dinner! The bank says my mortgage is in immediate default!”
“I know,” I replied. “I signed the orders.”
Chloe flinched as if struck. She swallowed hard, forcing her face into an expression of desperate, sisterly affection.
“Clara... look, I know things were tense between us. I know I was selfish about Cabo. Okay? I admit it! I was turning thirty, and it was a big milestone, and I didn’t know how to handle what happened to Mark and the kids! It scared me! Death scared me!”
She took another step closer, reaching out to touch my arm. I stepped back, avoiding her touch entirely. Her hand dropped into empty air.
“You didn’t know how to handle it?” I whispered. “Toby was four, Chloe. He used to call you ‘Auntie Coco.’ He loved you. And you couldn't miss a boat party in Mexico to watch him be lowered into the earth.”
“I made a mistake!” she wailed, tears spilling over her eyelids. “Can’t you forgive me? We’re sisters! We have the same blood! You have ten million dollars now, Clara! Ten million! Five million is nothing to you! Just pay off Dad’s note! Just forgive the loan! What is money compared to family?”
I looked at her—really looked at her. Beneath the expensive skincare and the desperate pleading, there was not an ounce of real sorrow. There was no remorse for my dead babies. There was only panic that her lavish, effortless lifestyle was being ripped from her manicured hands.
“Family?” I asked softly. “My family is buried under six feet of dirt at Oakridge Cemetery. You made sure of that when you boarded that flight.”
Chloe’s expression flickered. The false warmth vanished, replaced by an ugly, venomous sneer.
“You’re an evil, selfish creature,” she spat, her voice dropping into a hiss. “Mark’s dead, and you’re bitter because nobody loves you! Dad is right about you! You’re just a miserable loser trying to drag me down into the mud with you!”
I opened the iron door of my basement apartment, stepped inside, and looked back at her.
“Friday at five p.m., Chloe,” I said quietly. “Make sure you pack your bags before then.”
May you like
I slammed the heavy door and locked the deadbolt. Outside, Chloe screamed curses into the night, kicking the iron frame until her knuckles hurt, before the sound of her frantic footsteps faded down the alley.
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