Chapter 16 - The Face of the Monster
"She will never step foot in your house again, Patricia," I said, stepping forward, refusing to drop my gaze. The fear that had paralyzed me on Christmas night was completely gone, replaced by a pure, unyielding resolve. "You laid your hands on me for the last time."
Patricia let out a high, mocking laugh that bounced off the marble walls. Several nurses stopped in the hallway to stare.
"You foolish, insolent little girl," Patricia snapped, her aristocratic facade cracking to reveal the raw, vicious hatred beneath. "You think you won something because Ethan moved some family paperwork around? You are nothing. You were a barista when he found you, and you’ll be an outcast when I’m done with you. The judge has already reviewed the preliminary filings. You don't have the pedigree, you don't have the resources, and after Charles presents the Bahia DNA report, you won't even have custody."
"The Bahia report is a forgery," Ethan said, his voice deadly calm. "And you know it."
"Prove it," Patricia sneered, taking a step toward him. "In two weeks? A month? While your precious little bastard is sitting in my custody? Do you know what three weeks in my home will do, Ethan? By the time the real tests come back, I’ll have social workers documenting every flaw in your household. I’ll make sure Clara never gets unsupervised visitation again. You will sign the Carter land trust back to me, or you will never see that child grow up."
Charles Vance cleared his throat nervously, adjusting his glasses. "Patricia... perhaps we shouldn't discuss specific litigation strategies in the public lobby—"
"Shut up, Charles!" Patricia hissed, not taking her eyes off Ethan. "He needs to understand who holds the cards. He lived under my roof for twenty-five years. He knows what happens to people who cross me."
"Like Thomas?" Ethan asked quietly.
The air was sucked out of the room.
Patricia froze. Every drop of color drained from her face, leaving her foundation looking like cracked chalk. Her red lips parted, but no sound came out.
"What... what did you say?" she whispered, her hands suddenly trembling beneath her sable wrap.
"Room 402," Ethan said, stepping closer to her until he towered over her by half a foot. "St. Jude's private wing. August 14th, 2002. Arthur Vance was in London, wasn't he, Charles? You knew. You helped her draft the non-disclosure agreements for the private nursing staff."
Charles Vance looked like he had been struck by lightning. He stepped back, clutching his briefcase against his chest, his eyes darting frantically toward the security cameras in the ceiling. "Ethan... that was twenty years ago. That has nothing to do with this conservatorship."
"It has everything to do with her moral fitness to hold custody of any living human being," a frail, gravelly voice echoed from the hallway.
We all turned.
Pushing an IV pole with trembling hands, dressed in a light blue hospital gown and a faded cardigan, was Richard Carter.
He was emaciated, his skin pale and translucent, but his eyes—the same gentle blue eyes as Lily's—were clearer than I had ever seen them. Behind him stood a young physician wearing a stethoscope, looking deeply uncomfortable.
"Richard?" Patricia gasped, recovering her shrill tone. "What are you doing out of bed? Doctor, why is my husband out of his room? He is suffering from acute cognitive impairment! He is not competent to—"
"I am entirely competent, Patricia," Richard said, his voice growing stronger with every step he took toward us. "The doctors here ran their own toxicology screening this morning when I refused my lunch. They found two hundred milligrams of unprescribed sedatives in my bloodstream. The very pills you’ve been slipping into my nightly tea since the day after Christmas."
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The facility director, who had just rushed down the hallway in a white coat, stopped dead in his tracks. "Mr. Carter... is this true?"
"It is in your lab computer right now, Dr. Morrison," Richard said, stopping beside Ethan and laying a fragile, trembling hand on his son's shoulder. "My wife has been poisoning me to manufacture grounds for mental incompetence. And I am officially requesting that the Bellevue Police Department be called to this lobby immediately to take my criminal complaint."
