Chapter 2 - The Three Million Dollar Lie
Madison’s face tightened into a mask of pure ice. She looked at Henry, then at the gold donation box resting in my hands. The ballroom around us had gone completely silent. Even the jazz band had stopped playing.
“Henry,” Madison said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You are out of line. Security will escort you out.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Henry replied, standing his ground. “And neither is Mrs. Bennett. Not until you answer the question. Three million dollars, Madison. Where did it go?”
I looked at my son. Ethan’s eyes were darting between his wife and the gold box. The blood had drained from his face. He looked exactly the way he had at ten years old when he broke the diner’s front window with a baseball—terrified, guilty, and desperate for a way out.
“Ethan?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Did you know about this?”
“Mom, I swear,” he stammered, stepping toward me. “I knew about the memorial fund. Madison suggested it. She said it was a way to honor your memory—”
“But I’m not dead, Ethan!” The words tore from my throat. It was the loudest I had spoken in years. “You told the world I was dead so you could sell my pie and collect donations from strangers. What kind of man have you become?”
“I didn’t know she was withdrawing the money,” Ethan pleaded, turning to his wife. “Madison, tell me he’s wrong. Tell me the money is in the foundation account.”
Madison didn’t look at him. She was staring at the murmuring crowd, calculating her next move. Several investors in expensive suits were already whispering to their assistants. The PR disaster was unfolding in real time.
“This is a private family matter,” Madison announced loudly to the crowd, forcing a smile. She grabbed Ethan’s arm, her perfectly manicured nails digging into his suit jacket. “We are taking this upstairs.”
Before Ethan could resist, Madison gestured to two large security guards near the stage. They moved in quickly, boxing Henry and me in.
“Take them to the service elevator,” Madison ordered the guards. “Now.”
“Don’t touch her,” Henry warned, stepping in front of me.
In the sudden scuffle, Madison stepped forward to push Henry out of the way. As she did, her designer clutch slipped from under her arm and hit the marble floor. The clasp popped open. A gold lipstick, a phone, and a folded piece of heavy construction paper spilled out onto the floor.
I don’t know why, but I reached down and picked up the paper before Madison could grab it.
“Give me that!” she hissed, her composure finally breaking.
But I had already unfolded it.
It was a drawing done in bright, messy crayons. It showed a tall man in a suit holding hands with a little boy. Above the figures, written in the clumsy, backward letters of a child just learning to spell, were the words: To Daddy Ethan. I miss you. Love, Leo.
My breath caught in my throat. I looked up at Ethan.
“Who is Leo?” I asked.
Ethan covered his mouth with his hand, a choked sob escaping his lips.
May you like
Madison snatched the drawing from my hands, her eyes blazing with a hatred I had never seen before.
“He’s the reason you had to die, Ruth,” she sneered.
