Chapter 36 She’s In Your Hands
BEATRICE
The name Daniel hangs in the air like a noose, and I can feel the rope tightening around my neck with every heartbeat.
My brother, Arthur Sr., stares at Alistair as if he’s speaking a dead language. The color has completely drained from his face, leaving his skin looking really pale.
He looks at me, then back at the screen, his mouth working but no sound coming out.
"Nonsense!" I scream, the word tearing out of my throat before I can stop it. I force myself to stand up, though my knees feel like they’re made of wet cardboard. "Alistair, this is a lie! It’s a setup! That girl, that little viper Emily probably stole Daniel’s phone. Or she used some computer trick to make it look like his number. You know she’s some weird scientist girl that knows how to manipulate things! She’s probably been planning this since the day she arrived!"
My voice is high and reedy, echoing off the high ceilings of the living room. I sound like a crazy person. I know I do. But if I stop talking, the silence will swallow me whole. I can feel the sweat trickling down my spine, cold and oily against my silk robe. My hands are shaking so violently I have to shove them into my pockets.
Alistair doesn’t even blink. He stands there, tall and terrifying, his broad shoulders casting a shadow that seems to cover the entire room. He looks at me with an expression of pure, clinical boredom.
"If it’s nonsense, Beatrice, then you won’t mind if I bring Daniel in here right now," Alistair says. "He’s in the holding room downstairs. I’m sure he’ll be happy to tell us exactly who gave him the orders once he sees the evidence I have. Should I call him up?"
The room tilts. The heavy mahogany furniture, the crystal lamps, the faces of my family—it all starts to blur into a whirlwind of shapes and colors. The strength leaves my legs so suddenly I feel like I’ve been unplugged. I go limp, my body crashing back onto the velvet sofa with a dull thud.
I can’t breathe. My chest feels like it’s being crushed by a giant hand. I stare at the rug, the intricate patterns swimming before my eyes. My face is hot, then cold, then hot again. I’m pale as paper, and I know I look guilty. I know everyone can see the truth written in the sweat on my forehead.
"Beatrice?" Arthur Sr.’s voice is frantic now. He grabs my shoulder, shaking me. "Beatrice, look at me! What is he talking about? Tell him he’s wrong! Why is Daniel’s name on that screen?"
Martha, steps forward. She’s always been the quiet one, the one who hides behind the Old Madam’s shadow. Even when she slapped Emily earlier, it came as a surprise to everyone because of how calm she usually is. But now, her eyes are wide with an incredulous, burning light. She looks at me as if I’m a monster that just crawled out of the floorboards.
"Beatrice," Martha whispers, her voice shaking. "Did you do this? Did you really order those men to take Little Lily?"
"No!" I gasp, the air finally returning to my lungs in a sharp, painful burst. "No, it wasn’t like that! I never meant for her to be hurt! I just... I just wanted to scare Emily! I wanted her to look incompetent! I wanted her gone from this house!"
The words are out before I can pull them back. A collective gasp ripples through the room. I’ve just handed Alistair the keys to my coffin.
Martha’s face transforms. The gentle, hovering grandmother disappears, replaced by a woman possessed by a primal, maternal rage. She raises her hand and strikes me so hard that I stumble back.
"How could you?" Martha screams at me, her voice raw. She ignores everyone’s stunned expression. "How could you use a child? How could you do that to Little Lily? She’s your own niece! She’s family!"
"I didn’t order the cage!" I shriek, cowering back into the cushions. I’m crying now, the tears hot and messy, ruining my makeup. I’m sure I look like a pathetic, broken bird. "I told them to keep her safe! I told them it was just for a few hours! I didn’t know they’d put her in a dog cage! You have to believe me!"
Martha doesn’t listen. She grabs my shoulders and shoves me back down as I try to stand, her strength fueled by pure hatred. "You’re a snake! You’ve lived in this house like a queen, and this is how you repay us? By traumatizing a little girl?"
I struggle to get back to my feet, my hair falling into my face in tangled, damp clumps. I reach out for Arthur Sr., hoping for some kind of protection, but he just stares at me with a look of profound, broken disappointment.
Suddenly, Richard lets out a roar of fury. He’s a man of short temper and even shorter patience. He grabs a heavy crystal ashtray from the side table, his knuckles white as he lifts it high above his head.
"You’ve shamed us!" Richard bellows, his face a deep, mottled purple. "You’ve dragged the Wolfe name through the mud for your own petty jealousy!"
He lunges at me, the heavy glass aimed directly at my temple. I let out a thin, piercing scream and scramble behind Arthur Sr., using one brother as a human shield against the other.
"Stop it!" Martha cries, rushing over to grab Richard’s arm before he can throw the ashtray. "Don’t kill her! It’s not worth it! Let the Old Madam decide!"
I huddle behind my brother’s back, my fingers digging into the expensive fabric of his suit. I’m shaking so hard I can barely stay upright.
EMILY
I watch the scene from my armchair, my hands resting quietly on my lap. It’s like watching a high-stakes drama where the actors have finally lost the script. There’s a cold, hard satisfaction blooming in my chest, a feeling of absolute vindication. I’ve spent so long being the target, the outsider, the social climber. Now, the roles have flipped.
Beatrice looks pathetic. Her silk robe is wrinkled, her eyes are puffy and red, and she’s literally hiding behind her brother like a frightened toddler. This is the woman who tried to have me slapped. This is the woman who accused me of being a fraud in the lab. Seeing her fall this far... It’s better than any apology she could ever give.
I’ve always believed that if you let people show you who they are, you should believe them. And Beatrice has finally shown everyone the rot at her core. I don’t feel sorry for her. Not for a single second. You don’t get to use a child as a pawn and expect mercy.
I glance at Alistair. He hasn’t moved from his spot by the screen. He’s watching the chaos with the same detached, icy focus he always has.
But something doesn’t add up.
Did he really hack the phone? Did he actually get Daniels’ registration details in under an hour? And...can he do all that with a broken phone? I think he just knew exactly which buttons to push to make Beatrice crumble. He knew her guilt would do the heavy lifting for him. It’s a terrifying thought—that he can manipulate a room this easily. But for now, he’s manipulating it in my favor, so I keep my mouth shut.
The Old Madam, Celia, finally has enough. She raps her heavy mahogany walking stick against the hardwood floor.
"Silence!" Celia commands. Everyone freezes, even Richard with his ashtray, go still.
The room goes quiet, the only sound being the soft hiss of the rain against the window and Beatrice’s muffled, wet sobs.
Richard lowers the ashtray, his chest still heaving with exertion. He points a trembling finger at Beatrice, who is still peeking out from behind Arthur Sr. "She has to be punished, Mother. Severely. We can’t let this go. If the word gets out that a Wolfe did this to a Wolfe... we’ll be the laughingstock of the city."
"I agree," Martha says, her voice cold and steady. She stands with her arms crossed, looking at her sister in law with pure disgust. "She’s a danger to this family. She’s proven that today."
Celia looks at Beatrice. The Old Madam’s face is a mask of deep, weary disappointment. She looks like she’s aged ten years in the last ten minutes.
"Beatrice," Celia says, her voice heavy with grief. "Do you have anything left to say for yourself?"
Beatrice lets go of her brother’s suit and falls to her knees on the rug. The movement is jerky, desperate. She crawls toward Celia, her silk skirts bunching around her.
"Please," Beatrice weeps, the tears carving tracks through the smeared mascara on her cheeks. "Please, Mother. I was blind. I was jealous. I saw how much attention Alistair was giving her when she’s a nobody. I wanted to protect this family. I was desperate. I didn’t think it through. Please, spare me just this once. I’ll do anything. I’ll leave. I’ll go to the country house. Just don’t let Alistair... don’t let him ruin me."
She’s a mess of snot and silk, her forehead pressed against the floor at Celia’s feet. It’s a complete and total surrender.
Celia looks down at Beatrice, and for a moment, I see a flash of pity in the Old Madam’s eyes. But it’s quickly replaced by a hard, clinical resolve. She looks at the broken woman on the floor, then turns her gaze toward me, and finally settles on Alistair.
"This is a dark day for our family," Celia says, her voice echoing in the silent room. "I am deeply disheartened that such a poison has been growing in our own garden."
She looks at Alistair, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Alistair, you are the head of the Wolfe clan. You are the one who uncovered this truth, and you are the one who will have to live with the consequences of whatever happens next."
The Old Madam grips her walking stick and stands up, her back straight and her chin high.
"The manner of Beatrice’s punishment," Celia declares, her voice ringing out like a final judgment, "will be decided by you. She is in your hands now."