The frankness again. It disarmed me.
“Both,” I confessed. “I’m interested because you’re interested. And I’m pretending to understand more than I actually do so I can keep listening to you.”
That answer seemed to satisfy her. She nodded and went back to the book. For the first time, there was no suspicion in her posture.
Meanwhile, in my other life, the legal and financial machinery was in motion. My lawyers initiated the express divorce proceedings based on William’s confession. He waived everything as promised. The joint accounts were frozen and divided, although the bulk of the money had always been mine. His credit card linked to my accounts was canceled. Frank kept me updated daily. William had tried to get a bank loan without success. He was living with Jessica in Queens, and the tension between them, according to the reports, was palpable. Jessica, used to receiving money, was now demanding he find a job. He, used to living off me, couldn’t find anything he considered up to his standards.
One afternoon, as I was working in my study, the landline rang. Pilar called up from downstairs.
“Mrs. Hayes, it’s for you. A Mr. Hayes.”
“Put him through.”
I picked up the phone on my desk.
“Charlotte.”
His voice sounded worn.
“We need to talk.”
“We’ve already talked. You signed. It’s over.”
“This isn’t about me. It’s about Ethan. He’s my son. He has a right to see me.”
“Custody is mine for now. And given the circumstances and your written confession of committing a serious crime against me and the child, a judge will be more than happy to grant me sole and exclusive custody and restrict your visits to a supervised family center, if they grant you any at all.”
I paused.
“Do you want to start that war, William? Because I have plenty of ammunition.”
His breathing grew agitated.
“He’s a child. You can’t use him as a weapon.”
“I’m not using him. You two used him for eight years. Now it’s time to pay the bill. If you want to see him, you’ll wait until he wants to see you. And if he complies with everything here, maybe I’ll allow a supervised visit. Not before.”
“You’re a heartless witch,” he spat.
“What I am,” I said calmly, “is the person holding all the cards. And you, William, have an empty hand. Don’t call this house again.”
I hung up. Minutes later, my cell phone rang. Private number. I answered.
“Yes?”
“Let me talk to my son.”
It was Jessica, screaming hysterically.
“He’s afraid of you. Pilar told me you treat him like a dog.”
“Pilar no longer works for me. She’s just been fired for violating confidentiality. And you, Jessica, are one step away from having your lover’s signed confession land on the D.A.’s desk. Do you really want to play this game?”
“I don’t care. I want my son.”
“Then start acting like a mother,” I snapped. “A real mother doesn’t abandon her newborn daughter. A real mother doesn’t raise her son to be a liar and a despot. You have what you deserve. Now stop bothering me, or I assure you you won’t see Ethan again until he’s an adult, and by then he might not want to see you.”
I cut the connection and blocked the number. My hands were trembling slightly, but with pure rage. How dare they? How dare they talk about maternal rights?
I went downstairs. Ethan was in the living room, listlessly doing his homework. He looked at me warily.
“That was your father,” I said bluntly. “And after that, Jessica. They wanted to talk to you.”
His eyes lit up with a momentary hope.
“And—and?”
“And I told them no. Not for now.”
The hope died, replaced by anger.
“You can’t stop me from talking to my dad.”
“Yes, I can. And I am, because as long as you are here under my responsibility, I decide what’s best for you. And talking to two people who taught you to lie and despise is not what’s best. If you show that you can be responsible, that you respect the rules, that you change your attitude at school, then I will reconsider a supervised visit. Not before.”
“It’s not fair,” he shouted, standing up.
“Fair?”
My voice became a whisper of ice.
“Was it fair to steal my daughter? Was it fair to make you believe I was the enemy? What’s fair is that now, for the first time in your life, you are facing the consequences of your actions and the actions of your parents. This, Ethan, is the closest to justice you have been in eight years. Take the opportunity.”
I let my words sink in. He bit his lip, staring at the floor, fighting back tears of fury and helplessness.
“Now finish your homework, then go to your room.”
That night, Frank sent me the most rewarding report yet. It included audio recordings obtained, God knows how, of conversations between William and Jessica in their apartment. They were arguing about money, about Ethan, about their future. In one, Jessica was crying.
“This was all your idea. You said it would be easy, that we’d be rich, and now we’re here, trapped with nothing. And my son is with that psycho.”
William, his voice weary, responded,
“Shut up, Jessica. It was both our ideas. You wanted your son to have his inheritance. Well, he has it. Just without the inheritance, and without him.”
