Chapter 7 - The Confrontation at the Estate
The rain was pouring in sheets as Ethan’s SUV pulled up the long, winding driveway of the Blackwood ancestral estate. The grand stone mansion sat on top of a dark hill, its windows dark except for a single glowing light on the second floor.
Ethan’s face was grim as he gripped the steering wheel. "If this is another trap..."
"It doesn't matter if it is," I said quietly, checking my phone. "The police are five minutes behind us. But you need to shut this down yourself, Ethan. For your own peace of mind."
We squeezed past the heavy wrought-iron front doors, which were sitting wide open. The house was cold and smelled faintly of stale wine and woodsmoke.
We walked up the grand staircase toward the master study. Inside, Margaret sat in a high-backed leather chair, a half-empty glass of scotch on the table next to a small amber prescription bottle. Olivia was huddled in the corner, holding her head in her hands.
Margaret looked up as we entered. Her eyes were sunken, bloodshot, and hollow. The regal, proud woman who had laughed at my bald head twenty-four hours ago was completely shattered.
"You came," Margaret whispered, her voice dry. "To watch me die?"
"Don't do this dramatic performance, Margaret," I said softly, stepping into the dim light of the room. "The bottle of pills on your table is blood pressure medication. You took two. You’re not trying to end your life. You’re trying to leverage Ethan’s guilt one last time."
Margaret’s face twisted into an ugly, furious scowl. "You heartless little bitch."
"No," Ethan said, stepping in front of me. "She’s right. I knew the moment Olivia called. You’ve used guilt to control me my entire life. When my father died, when I wanted to leave the company, whenever I tried to have a life of my own—you played the victim."
May you like
Ethan walked over to the desk, picked up the pill bottle, and threw it into the cold fireplace.
"It ends tonight, Mother."
