Chapter 23 Crying Thief
If being slapped is the official Wolfe family greeting, I’d really like to unsubscribe from their newsletter.
The living room of the Wolfe estate is beginning to feel like a courtroom where the verdict was decided before I even walked through the door. Before I arrived here yesterday, the verdict was that I was a high school dropout who wanted to sleaze her way into a family where she didn’t belong.
And before I got back from the cafe, a verdict was already made for me.
"There she is," Beatrice says. "The girl who was so busy meeting her ex-boyfriend in secret that she let our Lily be snatched away. Mother, I told you she was a liability! She used our Lily as a prop to cover her tracks with Julian Thorne!"
I’m barely able to open my mouth to rebut her statement when a blur of silk and frantic perfume lunges at me. It takes me a second to recognize who she is, and my brain is barely able to catch up with the fact that I’m in a dangerous situation. It’s Martha, Lily’s biological grandmother. Her face is a mess of smeared mascara and raw, jagged grief.
Before I can even open my mouth to stop her, her hand connects with my cheek.
The sound is a sharp, wet crack that echoes off the vaulted ceiling. My head snaps to the side. For a second, the world is just a high-pitched ringing and the sudden, throbbing heat radiating from my skin. I stumble back from the force, my hand flying to my face. I can taste it immediately: the metallic tang of copper. I pull my fingers away and see a streak of dark red blood on my fingertips.
Martha is screaming something about negligence, her voice a shrill, broken thing. I don’t hear the words. I’m too busy staring at the blood on my hand.
I look around the room at the people I’m supposed to call family. Alistair isn’t here. He’s out there, somewhere in the city, playing a high-stakes game of digital chess to find his niece. I’m alone in this den of lions. I think about the storage room. I think about the cold, the hunger, and the way Alistair looked when he finally kicked that door down.
I thought I was trading one prison for a fortress. But standing here, with my jaw aching and my blood dripping onto their pristine floor, I start to wonder if I just picked a more expensive cage.
The slaps, the insults, the accusations, the looks of disgust just for existing. All of it keeps piling up in my chest, and it makes me feel like, soon enough, I won’t be able to breathe. Is Alistair Wolfe worth this? Is a seat at Etlan University worth being the designated punching bag for a pack of bored billionaires?
"You have a lot of nerve, Emily," Beatrice says. She’s standing by the fireplace, looking as if she’s just won the lottery. "To think, you’re carrying Alistair’s child, and yet your first instinct is to run to your ex-boyfriend. Was Lily just a prop for your little romantic getaway? Did you think the bodyguards wouldn’t notice you playing house with Julian Thorne while our Lily was being dragged away by some animal?"
The venom in her voice is so thick that I wonder if maybe she knew me in her past life, and we were mortal enemies. Why does she hate me so much? She isn’t just accusing me of being careless. She’s painting me as a common cheat.
"She’s morally depraved," Alistair’s father, Arthur Sr., bellows from the sofa. He’s gripping his whiskey glass so hard I expect it to shatter. He doesn’t carry as much intensity as his son, but the one he carries is enough to make a person flinch. "To bring that kind of filth into our circles. To use a child to cover up an illicit rendezvous. It’s disgusting."
"It’s more than disgusting," Richard chimes in, his arms crossed over his chest. "It’s a disgrace to the Wolfe name. We should’ve known a girl from her background wouldn’t have the character to handle a responsibility like Lily."
I wipe the blood from the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand. The pain is starting to settle into a dull throb. I want to scream. I want to tell them that I’ve already handled Julian. I want to tell them he’s a ghost I’ve already exorcised. I want to ask them how many times they would look down on me because of my background. I want to ask them if they don’t even want to know what really happened. But I know it won’t matter. They aren’t interested in the truth. They’re interested in a target.
Beatrice moves closer to the Old Madam, leaning down to whisper into her ear. It’s a sight I’ve seen so many times within the past two days that it actually makes my stomach clench. It feels like the closer she leans into the old madam, the more she’s inclined to believe what Beatrice is saying. She isn’t even trying to hide it. Her eyes stay locked on mine, and it almost looks like she is smiling.
She probably would if we weren’t in front of so many people.
"Mother," Beatrice says, her voice loud enough for the entire room to hear. Why did she bother leaning to ’whisper?’ "Think about it. The timing is too perfect. Emily meets the ex, a distraction happens, and the girl is gone. What if this isn’t about an affair? What if she and that Thorne boy conspired to take her? A ransom plot to bleed the family dry before the marriage is even dry on the paper. They’re probably working together to seize what they can."
Richard nods fervently. "It makes sense. Why else would he be there? It’s a coordinated strike."
I feel a cold, sharp clarity wash over me. The anger is there, a white-hot coal in my chest, but I force it down. I need my brain, not my temper. I look at Beatrice’s smug face. I look at the way she’s hovering over Celia, playing the concerned daughter.
I take a breath, ignoring the way it makes my bruised cheek sting.
"Let’s talk about timing, then," I say. My voice is calm, cutting through their murmurs and accusations.
The room goes quiet. Even Martha stops her wailing to glare at me.
"I decided to go to that café a few minutes before we left," I continue, stepping into the center of the rug. "I didn’t plan it this morning. I didn’t plan it yesterday. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision because I wanted to meet Dr. Aris. I only asked for permission to take Lily two minutes before the cars were ready."
I look at the Old Madam. "The kidnappers were already there. They were waiting. They had a surgical mask, a hoodie, and a planned escape route through a side exit. How does a professional kidnapper know exactly which café I’m going to on a whim, unless someone told them?"
I turn my gaze toward Beatrice. She doesn’t flinch, but the smugness in her eyes sharpens.
"Someone within this family must have tipped them off," I say. "Someone who knew exactly when we were leaving and exactly where we were headed. Someone who wanted me to look like a failure. Or someone who wanted Lily gone."
Arthur Sr.’s looks around for a few seconds and his eyebrows dip a little like he’s contemplating something. But before he can fully process that thought, the collective wall of the family rises again.
"How dare you!" Richard roars. "You’re accusing us? You’re the one who lost her! You’re the one in the photograph with a man who isn’t your husband!"
"Tell us where she is, Emily," the Old Madam says. Her voice is trembling, her hands tight on her cane. "If you have any shred of decency left, tell us where they took her. Did you give her to that boy?"
I look at Celia. She looks so old, so broken by the fear for her great-grandchild. I feel a pang of pity for her, but it’s overshadowed by the sight of Beatrice’s hand on her shoulder.
"I don’t have her," I say. I raise my arm and point my finger directly at Beatrice. "But she might. Beatrice was on the balcony when we left. She saw the cars. She saw the direction we headed. She’s the only one who has been desperate to get rid of me since the second I walked in here. She’s the one who stands to gain if Alistair’s favorite person disappears on my watch."
Beatrice’s face goes from smug to a blotchy, insulted red in a heartbeat. "You... you lying little gutter rat! How dare you turn this on me? I love that child!"
"Do you?" I ask, taking a step toward her. "Or do you love the power you get by being the one in control? You’ve been trying to frame me since yesterday. You tried it with the medicine, and you failed. This was your backup plan, wasn’t it? Sacrifice Lily’s safety just to make sure I never cross this threshold again."
"Nonsense!" Beatrice shrieks. She looks at the family, her voice hitting a frantic, high-pitched register that it always does. "She’s spouting nonsense! She’s trying to distract you from her own guilt! She’s crying thief while she’s the one holding the loot!"
"No, Beatrice," I say keeping my voice as calm as posible. "You’re the one crying thief. And you’re doing it because you’re terrified that I’m going to find the scent, and it’s going to lead straight back to you."