Chapter 6 - Blood and Betrayal
*“Marcus, stop stressing,”* Megan’s voice purred through the phone’s tiny speaker. *“I told you, Claire is weak. She’s spent her whole pathetic life cleaning up my messes. When she finds the kids alone, she won't call the cops; she’ll play the martyr like she always does. By the time she figures out the sixty grand is gone and Vance files the insurance papers, we’ll be across the border. If she kicks up a fuss, tell Vance to tip off the state about the forged custody document—they’ll think Claire did it to steal the welfare credits. Either way, we get the cash, and I finally get rid of those four anchors around my neck.”*
Marcus’s voice chuckled in the background. *“You’re a cold bitch, Megan.”*
*“I’m a survivor,”* she snapped back. *“Now drive faster. I want to be in Tahoe by sunrise.”*
The recording clicked off.
Silence hung over the kitchen like a funeral shroud.
Ava sat with her head down, tears dripping silently onto her bare knees. She had heard it with her own ears. The final, indisputable proof that her mother viewed her, Noah, Lily, and Ben as nothing more than anchors to be cut loose.
Detective Miller didn't say a word. He pulled out his radio, keyed the mic, and spoke with deadly precision:
“Dispatch, this is Miller. Update the BOLO on the silver Silverado, Nevada plate 8-Echo-Victor-902. Upgrade charges on passenger Megan Hollingsworth to felony grand larceny, felony child abandonment, and conspiracy to commit wire fraud. Notify Nevada Highway Patrol to execute a high-risk felony stop immediately. Suspects are considered armed and dangerous.”
“Copy that, Detective. Transmitting now.”
I closed my eyes, taking a single, ragged breath. It was over. The law would handle Megan.
Or so I thought.
At 7:30 AM, the harsh screech of tires outside broke the morning stillness.
I was at the stove, mechanically flipping pancakes for Noah and Lily, who were sitting at the island in fresh clothes, their eyes still swollen from sleep. Ben was strapped into the highchair, happily smearing strawberry jam across his cheeks.
A car door slammed with the force of a grenade.
Moments later, the front door—held together only by the temporary wooden brace—was shoved open with a violent rattle.
“Claire Marie Hollingsworth!”
A woman stormed into my foyer, her designer trench coat billowing, heavy gold jewelry clinking against her wrists.
It was Evelyn Hollingsworth. Our mother.
She hadn't visited my house in fourteen months. She hadn't sent a Christmas card to her grandchildren in two years. But here she was, her face plastered in expensive foundation, her eyes burning with theatrical outrage.
“Where is she?” Evelyn demanded, marching directly into the kitchen, ignoring the fact that Noah flinched and ducked his head. “Where is your sister? What have you done?”
I set the spatula down slowly. “Good morning, Mother. If you’re looking for Megan, she’s currently running from the state police.”
“Don't you take that tone with me!” Evelyn shrieked, slamming her leather handbag onto the counter, right next to the plate of pancakes. “I just received a call from a bondsman in Reno! Megan was intercepted at a state line checkpoint an hour ago! They have her in handcuffs! In a cage! Like an animal!”
“She belongs in a cage,” I said, my voice dead and cold.
Evelyn gasped, clutching her chest. “She is your sister! She is a mother of four! She made a mistake! She fell in with a bad man, and instead of helping her, you called the police on your own flesh and blood? Have you lost your mind?”
Ava stood up from the stool. “Grandma, she left us. She left us alone in the apartment and took our money.”
Evelyn rounded on Ava, pointing a manicured, accusatory finger at an eleven-year-old child. “You be quiet, Ava! You don't understand adult matters! Your mother was under immense stress! If you kids weren't so difficult, she wouldn't have had to get away!”
The air vanished from the room.
Noah began to sob silently.
Something inside me—the scared, obedient little girl who had spent thirty years trying to win Evelyn’s impossible approval—finally died. And in its place rose a mother who would tear the throat out of anyone who threatened these children.
I picked up the hot iron skillet from the burner and slammed it onto the cold stove grate with a deafening *CLANG*.
Evelyn jumped, stumbling backward.
I took three slow, deliberate steps toward her until I was inches from her face.
“Get out of my house,” I whispered.
Evelyn blinked, stunned. “Excuse me? I am your mother!”
“You are a monster who raised a monster,” I said, every word laced with poison. “You stood there and blamed an eleven-year-old child for being abandoned by a woman who forged my name on a million-dollar life insurance policy and stole her own children’s trust fund. You have never loved Megan, and you have never loved me. You only love the appearance of control.”
“I will take custody of these children!” Evelyn spat, her face contorting with rage. “I have the financial means! I have a five-bedroom home in the hills! The state will never leave them with a single, broke woman whose name is attached to a fraud investigation! I will take them, Claire, and you will never see them again!”
“Try it,” a voice boomed from the front hallway.
Detective Miller stepped into the kitchen, his badge glinting on his belt, flanked by Brenda Diaz from Child Protective Services.
“Evelyn Hollingsworth?” Brenda said, consulting a legal clipboard. “I’m the caseworker assigned to this file. And after reviewing the home inspection report from your 2018 CPS investigation regarding your late husband’s complaints... you won't be getting custody of a houseplant, let alone four minor children.”
Evelyn’s face drained of all color.
“Now,” Detective Miller said, resting his hand on his holster, “step off this property before I cite you for trespassing and obstruction of an ongoing felony investigation.”
Evelyn grabbed her bag, her hands shaking with humiliated rage. She glared at me, then at the children.
“You will regret this, Claire,” she hissed. “Blood always demands payment.”
“Blood paid its debt last night, Evelyn,” I replied. “Get out.”
She turned on her heel and stormed out the door.
As her car tore down the street, Brenda Diaz looked at me with an expression of profound sorrow—and total admiration.
“Claire,” Brenda said gently. “The emergency custody hearing is scheduled for tomorrow at 9:00 AM. Megan is being extradited as we speak. Marcus Kane is in custody. But you have a massive legal battle ahead of you. You need a lawyer. A ruthless one.”
I looked at Ava, Noah, Lily, and little Ben.
May you like
“Then find me the meanest bastard in the county,” I said.
***
