Chapter 8 - The Depth of the Wound
Eleanor collapsed onto the visitor's bench, weeping inconsolably. For twenty-six years, she had made excuses for Natalie. When Natalie crashed her first car, Eleanor blamed the icy roads. When Natalie flunked out of college, Eleanor blamed cruel professors. When Natalie stole jewelry from my bedroom while I was on deployment, Eleanor claimed it was just an accidental mix-up.
Now, there were no excuses left. The monster Eleanor had coddled stood fully revealed.
"Get out," Eleanor whispered through her tears.
Natalie blinked, startled. "What?"
"Get out of my sight," Eleanor cried, looking up with eyes filled with profound heartbreak and disgust. "You tried to make me destitute. You tried to destroy your sister’s life. You lied about a human child. You are not my daughter. Get out!"
Natalie’s lip curled. She swung her legs over the bed and grabbed her designer handbag.
"Fine," Natalie snapped, marching toward the door. "Keep your miserable old house! David will take care of me! He has offshore accounts, you fools! We're leaving the country tonight!"
"David Vance isn't leaving the country, Natalie," Grant’s voice cut in from the hallway.
He stepped inside, holding a set of legal dispatch notices.
"Two hours ago, State Police intercepted David Vance on Interstate 95 trying to cross into Canada," Grant said calmly. "His offshore accounts were frozen this morning by federal prosecutors investigating wire fraud. When they searched his trunk, they found three stolen company laptops and fifty thousand dollars in cashier's checks belonging to the Ross Living Trust."
Natalie froze, her knuckles turning white around her purse strap.
"He rolled on you in ten minutes, Natalie," Grant added with a cold smirk. "Signed an affidavit stating you were the mastermind behind the elder extortion scheme in exchange for a plea deal on the embezzlement charges. The deputies are waiting downstairs in the main lobby."
The color completely drained from Natalie's skin. The arrogant sneer vanished, replaced by the sheer, unadulterated panic of a cornered predator.
"Diana... please," Natalie turned to me, her voice breaking into a frantic, desperate plead. "You're my sister! You can't let them arrest me! Tell them it was a misunderstanding! Diana, please!"
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I looked at the woman who shared half my DNA. I remembered the nights I spent in field hospitals in Afghanistan, writing letters home, sending thousands of dollars from my hazard pay so Natalie could attend private tutoring and live in comfort.
"You chose your battlefield, Natalie," I said softly, my voice devoid of anger, left only with an infinite, immovable coldness. "Now you have to face the casualties."
