Chapter 6 - The Sister from Bakersfield
Brenda Mercer—Virginia’s younger sister and the freelance investigator’s assistant who had compiled my digital dossier—stepped forward, her heels clicking smartly against the polished linoleum floor. She looked remarkably like Virginia, sharing the same aristocratic bone structure and sharp, assessing eyes, but where Virginia radiated the stern, suffocating energy of a small-town matriarch, Brenda possessed the sharp, unapologetic swagger of someone who spent her life working in legal offices and knowing everyone's secrets.
"I drove up from Bakersfield yesterday, Ginny," Brenda said smoothly, kissing her sister on both cheeks with the enthusiasm of a tax auditor. "Walter invited me to stay for the weekend to celebrate your clean medical results. Didn't he tell you?"
Virginia looked as though she had swallowed a live lemon. "Walter... invited you? Without consulting me?"
"You know Walter. He’s a soft touch," Brenda laughed, her gaze sliding past Virginia to land directly on me. She offered a slow, measuring smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. "And you must be Chloe. The infamous Chloe."
I didn't flinch. I held my ground, keeping the emerald silk blouse draped over my arm. "And you must be Aunt Brenda. The private investigator's assistant. Thank you for the thorough background check, by the way. I was flattered to learn my credit score meets your high standards."
Virginia gasped, her hand flying to her throat. "Brenda! You told her?!"
"I didn't tell her a damn thing," Brenda retorted defensively, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow at her sister. "Though how you expected to keep a forensic background check secret from a corporate finance professional in the digital age is beyond me, Ginny. You always did have the operational security of a wet paper bag."
Virginia looked like she was about to have a stroke right there between the designer handbags and the fragrance counter. Her face turned a mottled shade of magenta, her lips trembling as she tried to marshal her outrage into coherent sentences.
"We are in public!" Virginia hissed, glancing nervously around the department store to ensure no passing shoppers were witnessing her domestic embarrassment. "You do not discuss private family business in the middle of a department store, Brenda!"
"Oh, please, Ginny," Brenda scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Stop acting like the Queen Mother. Chloe knows the score. And honestly, from what I read in that dossier before I compiled it, you were barking up the wrong tree anyway. The girl’s cleaner than a whistle. I told you that in my invoice notes."
I raised an eyebrow, looking from Brenda to Virginia. "Invoice notes? You charged her for the background check?"
"Of course I did," Brenda said matter-of-factly. "Time is money, honey. Even when doing dirty work for my sister."
Virginia looked ready to dissolve into a puddle of pure mortification. "Brenda, I swear to heaven, if you don't shut your mouth right now—"
"Actually, Brenda," I interrupted, stepping forward with a bright, welcoming smile that was entirely devoid of warmth, "since you're already here and you clearly enjoy discussing family business in public, why don't the three of us go grab a coffee at the atrium bistro? I think there are a few things we should clear up before Sunday dinner."
Brenda’s eyes lit up with the predatory glee of a woman who loved high-stakes family drama more than life itself. "Oh, honey. I thought you'd never ask."
Ten minutes later, we were sitting at a small round table in the department store’s atrium bistro. Virginia sat rigidly on her chair, clutching her handbag as if it were a shield against an incoming artillery shell, while Brenda stirred an artificial sweetener into her iced latte with an expression of supreme contentment. I sat across from them, sipping my iced black coffee with slow, deliberate calm.
"So," Brenda said, leaning her elbows on the table and fixing me with a direct stare. "Let's get down to brass tacks. Ginny here hired me because she was terrified her precious only son was marrying a city girl who would chew him up, spit him out, and take him to the cleaners in a divorce settlement."
Virginia let out a strangled cry. "Brenda Marie Mercer, I am warning you!"
"Relax, Ginny, she already knows!" Brenda snapped back cheerfully. "Anyway, Chloe, I read every line of your personal history. High school valedictorian, UC Davis graduate, steady employment history, zero criminal record, active retirement savings account, and a credit score north of 800. I told Ginny you were a catch. I told her she should be bringing you flowers instead of nitpicking your spice rack."
I blinked, genuinely surprised. "You told her that?"
"Of course I did," Brenda said, taking a sip of her latte. "I've been divorced twice. I know a high-maintenance disaster when I see one, and you’re solid gold. But Ginny here has this fixed idea in her head that no woman on earth is good enough for Justin except some imaginary farm girl from Kern County who bakes bread from scratch while reciting Bible verses."
Virginia was trembling with suppressed fury, her face now a striking shade of plum. "I wanted the best for my son. Is it a crime for a mother to ensure her only child is entering a stable partnership?"
"There's a difference between ensuring stability and running a covert intelligence operation out of a guest room, Virginia," I said, my voice cutting through the table like a laser beam. I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the table, maintaining unbroken eye contact. "For two weeks, I have bent over backward to accommodate you. I cleaned this apartment from top to bottom, I welcomed you into my home, I swallowed my pride when you insulted my cooking, rearranged my kitchen, criticized my laundry, and treated me like an incompetent maid. And all the while, you were treating me like a hostile witness in a federal trial."
Virginia opened her mouth to interrupt, but I held up a single finger, and the sheer authority in my gaze froze her in place.
"No. Listen to me," I continued, my voice steady, cold, and ringing with absolute power. "Your medical tests came back clean this week. That’s wonderful. I am genuinely glad you are healthy. But your time playing general in my home is officially over. When we walk back to this apartment today, you are going to pack your bags. All of them. And you and Walter are going to check into a hotel downtown for the remaining two weeks of your stay, or you are going to drive back to Bakersfield tonight."
Virginia went completely rigid. "You are kicking us out? After we traveled all this way for medical care?"
"You are not receiving medical care in Sacramento anymore, Virginia. Your tests are done. You are healthy," I said, my voice unyielding as iron. "And you have proven that you cannot be trusted to live under our roof with basic human respect. If you stay in my guest room for one more night, I will tell Justin that either you leave or I do. And unlike your son, I don't negotiate when my dignity is on the line."
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Brenda let out a low, appreciative whistle, leaning back in her chair with a grin. "Damn, girl. Remind me never to audit your taxes."
Virginia sat frozen, staring at me as if she were seeing a completely different species. The haughty, untouchable matriarch of Bakersfield had finally collided with an immovable object, and for the first time in her life, her armor had shattered completely.
