Chapter 7 - Unraveling the Mother's Web
Eleanor was trembling so hard her diamond necklace clicked against her collarbone. “Arthur... you can’t prove any of this. The statutes of limitations have expired! Whatever happened in Paris is dead and buried!”
“The statute on fraud does not expire when the fraud is ongoing, Eleanor,” Detective Martinez said calmly, taking out a pair of steel handcuffs. “And your latest fraudulent loan against the Sterling archives was finalized forty-eight hours ago. You used the stolen gown as physical collateral for a six-million-dollar bridge loan from an offshore hedge fund.”
Vanessa let out a strangled wail. “Six million? Mom, what did you do to me? What did you make me wear?”
“I made you wear what you wanted!” Eleanor turned on her daughter with pure venom, the mask of the loving matriarch completely discarded. “You wanted Julian! You wanted Clara’s life! You begged me to find a way to get between them! Don’t play the innocent victim now, Vanessa! You were more than happy to steal her happiness!”
Vanessa shrank back against the floral columns, sobbing hysterically. Her hands clawed at the lace of the dress, as if the fabric were burning her skin. “Take it off me! Clara, please, take it off me! I don’t want it! I don’t want the debt!”
“It’s too late, Vanessa,” I said softly, looking down at my broken sister. “The loan agreement you co-signed last Tuesday had an activation clause. You signed a document stating that the moment you wore The Mirror in public, you accepted full co-liability for Eleanor’s foreign defaults. You didn’t even read what you signed, did you?”
Vanessa stared blankly, tears streaming over her cheeks, her chest heaving.
“She told me it was an insurance waiver for the wedding jewelry,” Vanessa whispered. “She told me it was just standard paperwork...”
“She used you,” I said. “Just like she used our father. And just like she tried to use Julian.”
Eleanor attempted to pull away, but Detective Martinez deftly caught her wrists behind her back. Click. Click. The sound of the handcuffs engaging was shockingly loud in the silent room.
“Clara!” Eleanor screamed as she was pulled backward toward the aisle. “You ungrateful bitch! I gave you life! I raised you! Everything I did was for this family! You will rot in hell for this! Julian, tell them! Tell them to stop!”
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No one moved. Not a single friend stepped forward to defend her. Not a single relative offered a word of comfort. The society women who had shared tea with Eleanor yesterday turned their faces away, murmuring among themselves in disgust.
As Eleanor was led down the aisle, her heels dragging against the runner, she spat insults at everyone she passed. But the doors soon opened, and she was swallowed by the flashing lights of police cruisers waiting outside in the rainy evening.
