Chapter 18 - The True Victim of the Burden
Eleanor lunged forward, her manicured nails digging into the edge of the table inches from my hands. "You wouldn't do this to me. I am your mother! Blood is blood, Emma! You cannot throw me away over a few harsh words at Christmas dinner! I apologize, alright? Is that what you want? I apologize for what I said to Lily! She was just being loud, and my nerves were frayed, and I was under so much stress about the house—"
"Stop talking about Lily," Daniel snarled, rising from his chair, towering over Eleanor with a ferocity that made her attorney instinctively step back. "Keep our daughter's name out of your filthy mouth."
"I took Lily's presents and walked out on Christmas," I said, leaning in so Eleanor had to look at me, "because for the first time in twenty-five years, I saw the truth. You didn't hate Lily because she spilled cider or played with wrapping paper. You hated her because she was loved without conditions. You hated her because she didn't have to perform, or beg, or apologize just to exist in our home."
Eleanor’s lips trembled, but no sound came out.
"You called a six-year-old girl a burden," I continued, each word cutting through the room like a scalpel. "Because the only thing you have ever understood in your entire parasitic life is the burden of your own lies. You carried forty years of stolen money, terrified that every knock at the door was the police. You were the burden, Eleanor. You weighed down my father, you weighed down this family, and you tried to tie that six-million-dollar anchor around my neck."
Julian stepped up beside Eleanor. He signaled to the lead attorney on his team, who slid a thick document across to Eleanor’s public defender.
"This is the state settlement offer," Julian announced with the dispassionate efficiency of an executioner. "You will surrender all rights to Vance Manor, all offshore accounts, and all inherited heirlooms immediately. You will plead guilty to one count of grand larceny and one count of filing fraudulent estate instruments. In exchange, the district attorney has agreed not to recommend prison time, given your age. You will serve five years of supervised probation, complete five hundred hours of community service, and live off Arthur’s state pension in a subsidized senior living unit in Springfield."
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Eleanor stared at the papers as if they were dipped in venom. "Springfield? Subsidized housing? With... with common people? I am a Vance!"
"No," Julian said, his voice dropping into a devastating whisper. "You are a felon. Sign the agreement, or the state troopers waiting outside this door will take you to the county jail in handcuffs right now."
