Chapter 9 - WHAT STALLONE HID
The garage smelled of gasoline, leather and rain.
Stallone unlocked the cabinet.
Sarah, Michael and Claire stood behind him.
Inside was a metal file box.
Michael crossed his arms.
“This is starting to feel insane.”
“It should.”
Stallone placed the box on the workbench.
He opened it.
Inside were financial records.
Claire frowned.
“What are we looking at?”
“Money I gave Eleanor’s sister.”
Sarah blinked.
“Aunt Margaret?”
Stallone nodded.
Margaret had disappeared from family life when Sarah was a teenager.
Eleanor always said Margaret was unstable.
Jealous.
Dangerous around children.
Nobody questioned it.
Stallone removed a folder.
“Thirty years ago, Margaret came to me.”
He exhaled.
“She said Eleanor had done to her what she later did to all of you.”
Michael’s face tightened.
“What?”
“When they were children, Eleanor acted like their mother’s enforcer.”
Claire stared.
“Enforcer?”
“If Margaret cried, their mother ordered Eleanor to punish her.”
Sarah whispered, “Just like Ethan.”
Stallone nodded.
“Margaret said Eleanor never stopped believing that pain created obedience.”
Michael asked, “What does the money have to do with it?”
“She wanted help leaving town.”
Stallone opened a bank statement.
“I gave her twenty thousand dollars.”
Claire frowned.
“So why hide it?”
“Because Eleanor found out.”
Sarah stared at her father.
“And?”
“She threatened to tell everybody I was having an affair with Margaret.”
Michael scoffed.
“Were you?”
“No.”
“But you hid the payments, which made it look like you were.”
“Yes.”
Sarah shook her head.
“So you let Mom destroy Margaret’s reputation because you were afraid people might think you cheated?”
Stallone couldn’t defend it.
“Yes.”
Claire paced away.
“My God.”
Sarah whispered, “Where is Margaret now?”
“I don’t know.”
Michael looked through the box.
“Wait.”
He pulled out a postcard.
It was dated six years earlier.
A return address in Oregon.
The message contained only seven words.
YOU WERE RIGHT TO BE AFRAID OF HER.
Claire stared at it.
“Did you ever respond?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Stallone’s shame deepened.
“Eleanor found it first.”
Michael looked toward the house.
“She has been controlling every version of this family story for decades.”
Sarah suddenly grabbed another envelope.
“This is recent.”
Stallone frowned.
The postmark was three months old.
He had never seen it.
Sarah opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
Margaret.
Older now.
Standing beside a woman and two teenagers.
On the back were handwritten words.
STALLONE, IF CHILDREN ARE STILL IN THAT HOUSE, PLEASE CALL ME.
Sarah’s hands began shaking.
Below the message was a phone number.
Michael took out his phone.
Stallone stopped him.
“Wait.”
Michael stared.
“Why?”
“Because if Margaret knows something that could help us, I need to be the one to admit what I did first.”
Sarah looked at him.
“No.”
Stallone frowned.
She shook her head.
“You don’t control the timing anymore.”
Then she dialed the number herself.
It rang twice.
A woman answered.
“Hello?”
Sarah swallowed.
“Aunt Margaret?”
Silence.
Then:
“Who is this?”
“It’s Sarah.”
Another silence.
Longer.
Margaret finally whispered:
“Is Olivia safe?”
Sarah’s blood turned cold.
“How do you know Olivia?”
Margaret answered:
“Because Eleanor called me six weeks ago.”
Sarah looked at Stallone.
May you like
Margaret’s next words changed everything.
“She said she finally found a child she could mold properly.”
