Chapter 4 - The Return to the Nest
When I drove back to the Asheville house later that afternoon, the atmosphere inside was thick with calculated tension. Carol was back from the hospital, miraculously recovered from her simulated cardiac event, sitting regally at the head of the dining table. Thomas sat beside her, his shoulders tense, nursing a glass of bourbon that was far too large for three o'clock on a Tuesday.
Benjamin was there too, pacing near the bay window like a caged animal, his tie loosened and his hair disheveled.
I walked through the front door, unzipping my coat, and stepped into the foyer.
"Jade," Thomas said, his voice sharp, carrying the forced authority of a man trying to regain control of a room slipping through his fingers. "We need to talk. Right now."
"I'm listening," I said, not bothering to take off my shoes as I walked into the living room, standing right on the hardwood floor where Zoey had been struck just days before.
Carol scoffed, dabbing at her dry eyes with a lace handkerchief. "Look at her, Thomas. No remorse. No respect for her elders, no respect for the household. She cuts off my medical lifeline like a common criminal, throwing me into a panic attack that nearly cost me my life, and she walks in here as if she owns the place."
"I do own the place, Carol," I said, my voice cutting through her theatrics like a scalpel. "The deed is in my name. Botanica Pure bought these walls long before your son ever stepped foot through my front door."
Thomas slammed his bourbon glass down on the side table, the amber liquid sloshing over the rim. "Enough! That’s enough, Jade! We are family. You don't lock your mother-in-law out of her healthcare accounts over a petty domestic squabble!"
"A domestic squabble?" I repeated, my eyes locking onto his with a ferocious intensity that made him flinch. "Your mother physically assaulted my two-year-old daughter. She left a handprint on her face and blood under her nose because Zoey touched a sausage. And you call that a squabble?"
"It was an overreaction!" Benjamin chimed in from the window, his voice reeking of jittery desperation. "Look, Jade, kids are clumsy. Carol's old school. She didn't mean any real harm. But cutting off her medical card? Do you have any idea how reckless that is? She has serious conditions!"
I turned my gaze slowly toward Benjamin, letting the silence stretch until beads of sweat began to form on his upper lip. I walked over to the coffee table, picked up the manila folder Vance Porter had prepared, and dropped it squarely in front of him.
Benjamin froze. He didn't touch the folder, but his eyes darted to it like it was a venomous snake.
"Serious conditions, Benjamin?" I asked softly. "Is that what you call four million dollars' worth of industrial-grade respiratory equipment and mobility rigs?"
Benjamin’s face went chalk white. "What... what are you talking about?"
"Ask your mother," I replied, turning my attention back to Carol, whose aristocratic posture faltered for a fraction of a second before she masked it with haughty indignation. "Ask her how many oxygen concentrators fit into the back of a rented Ford Transit. Ask her how many times she signed delivery manifests for phantom medical supplies while your bookies in Atlanta were cashing out your gray-market electronics."
Thomas looked back and forth between us, his brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "What is she talking about, Ben? What folder is that?"
May you like
"She’s lying," Benjamin stammered, his voice cracking into a high-pitched panic. "She’s trying to deflect because she’s a monster who cut off an old woman's healthcare! Don't listen to her, Tom. She's twisting everything!"
"I have the security footage, Benjamin," I said, stepping closer to him. "I have the signed delivery slips. I have the bank routing numbers linking my premium medical expense card directly to your offshore creditors. The federal investigator I hired wrapped up his report this morning. embezzlement, wire fraud, and grand larceny. How long do you think federal prison is going to be for a white-collar amateur like you?"
