Chapter 8 - The Favorite Daughter
Fiona stared at our mother.
“What does that mean?”
Mom covered her face.
Dad shouted from behind us.
“Don’t listen to her.”
My mother turned.
“You said you would implicate Fiona.”
“You’re confused.”
“You showed me the documents!”
Fiona’s voice rose.
“What documents?”
My mother started crying.
Real crying this time.
Not the delicate tears she used when guests were watching.
Ugly, frightened tears.
“Your father put property and companies in your name too.”
Fiona went still.
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“How many, Mom?”
“I don’t know!”
Fiona looked at our father.
He stared back at her.
And finally, finally, she understood.
Dad had never protected her because she was special.
He had protected her because she was useful.
Just like me.
He had simply used us differently.
I was the daughter he could sacrifice.
Fiona was the daughter he could display.
Neither of us had ever been free.
The police officer cleared his throat.
“Mrs. Callahan, did you place the bracelet in Mabel’s coat?”
Mom whispered, “Yes.”
Fiona closed her eyes.
The officer continued.
“Where is it now?”
“In the left inside pocket.”
The second officer looked toward me.
“May we retrieve it?”
I nodded.
The bracelet was exactly where she said.
A forty-thousand-dollar Cartier piece.
My mother had tried to frame me for felony theft.
At my sister’s wedding.
To protect my sister from our father.
I should have hated her.
Maybe part of me did.
But mostly I felt tired.
I looked at Fiona.
Her makeup had streaked.
Her perfect wedding hair was coming loose.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
“About the bracelet.”
“No.”
“About Dad’s companies.”
“No.”
“About the waiter?”
Her face collapsed.
“Yes.”
At least she admitted it.
“Why?”
She looked around the room.
Then whispered, “Because I was angry.”
“About what?”
“You.”
I almost laughed.
“Of course.”
“No, you don’t understand.”
She wiped her cheeks.
“All my life, Mom and Dad compared me to you too.”
That stopped me.
She continued.
“You were smarter. Grandma loved you more. Teachers loved you. You got scholarships. You moved to New York, then Washington, then back here. You never needed anyone.”
“That’s what you thought?”
“That’s what they told me.”
I looked at Mom.
She lowered her eyes.
Fiona’s voice cracked.
“Dad always said you thought you were better than us. Mom said you stayed away because you were embarrassed by me.”
“That’s not true.”
“I know that now.”
She laughed through her tears.
“What a great time to figure it out.”
Connor moved toward her.
She held up a hand.
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
She looked at him.
“How much did you know?”
“Not enough.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“I knew your father was moving money between entities.”
“And you stayed.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Connor looked ashamed.
“Because he made me rich.”
That answer destroyed whatever was left of their wedding night.
Fiona pulled off her wedding ring.
Connor’s face changed.
“Fiona.”
She set it on the desk.
“I don’t know who anyone is anymore.”
Dad scoffed.
“This is pathetic.”
We all turned.
He was smiling again.
“I built everything you people have.”
My mother stared at him.
“You built it by stealing.”
“I built it by doing what weak people are too afraid to do.”
His eyes moved to me.
“And you.”
I stepped forward.
“What about me?”
“You think your husband makes you powerful?”
“No.”
“Without him, you’re nothing.”
Adrian started to speak.
I stopped him.
I wanted this answer myself.
I looked at the man who had spent my entire childhood making me small.
Then I smiled.
“You still don’t know what I do, do you?”
He frowned.
I took out my phone.
“Three years ago, I helped uncover a $600 million procurement fraud case.”
Dad’s expression changed.
“Last year, I traced shell-company payments across eight countries for a federal investigation.”
Nobody moved.
“Two months ago, I was promoted to partner.”
My father stared at me.
“Partner?”
“My ‘little desk job’ pays more than your salary.”
His face reddened.
I stepped closer.
“So no, Dad. Adrian doesn’t make me powerful.”
I pointed at my chest.
“I was powerful before he ever met me.”
And for the first time in my life, my father had nothing to say.
Then Daniel’s phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
His eyes found mine.
“Mabel.”
Something about his face scared me.
“What?”
“The eleven-million-dollar wire wasn’t the only transfer.”
My stomach sank.
“How many?”
“Thirty-eight.”
“Total?”
Daniel swallowed.
“Just under ninety-two million dollars.”
The room went silent.
“And Mabel?”
May you like
“Yes?”
“Every one of them is tied to your Social Security number.”
