Chapter 8 - The Ashes of a Lie
The heat of the metal bit into my skin, but I didn’t let go. I wrenched the lighter from Madison’s hand, the flame extinguishing instantly as it clattered against the mahogany desk.
Madison gasped, lunging for the recipe box, but Henry was faster. He reached across the desk, grabbed the box, and pulled it safely out of her reach.
“No!” Madison shrieked, clawing at the empty air.
Ethan stepped forward, his face hardening into something I had never seen before—the ruthless, uncompromising resolve of a father who had finally woken up. He grabbed Madison by the shoulders and pushed her back into her heavy leather executive chair.
“Sit down,” Ethan commanded, his voice echoing in the chaotic room.
Madison stared at him, her chest heaving, the realization finally setting in that she had lost control of her puppet.
Henry opened the wooden lid of the recipe box. He bypassed the yellowed index cards containing my recipes for pecan pie, pot roast, and buttermilk biscuits. Beneath them, shoved tightly against the bottom wood, was a thick stack of envelopes tied with a faded blue ribbon.
Henry handed the stack to me.
My hands trembled as I untied the ribbon. The top envelope was addressed to me, in Ethan’s hurried, familiar scrawl. The postmark date was five years ago.
I tore it open.
Mom, the letter began. I am so sorry I haven’t come to see you. Madison says the press is watching our every move. Leo had a hard day today. He wouldn’t speak, and he cried when the lights were too bright. Madison is sending him away to a special school. She says it’s the only way, but it feels like it’s breaking my heart. I need you. I miss your pie. I miss booth six. I’m so sorry.
Tears blurred my vision. I looked at the next envelope. It was one I had written to him, returned to sender.
“You intercepted his grief,” I said, looking at Madison. “You isolated him when he was terrified for his son, and you used his fear to steal my life’s work.”
Madison crossed her arms, her chin lifting in a desperate show of defiance. “I made him a billionaire. Without me, he would just be a guy running a chain of glorified motels. I polished him. I polished this whole family!”
“At the cost of his son’s childhood,” I fired back.
Suddenly, the heavy sound of boots echoed down the hallway. Two Chicago police detectives, accompanied by Ethan’s head of security, stepped through the shattered doorway.
“Madison Bennett?” the lead detective asked, flashing a badge.
Madison stood up, smoothing her ruined designer skirt. “I am calling my father’s lawyers. This is an illegal entry into my private office.”
“You can call whoever you want from the precinct,” the detective said, pulling a pair of handcuffs from his belt. “We have a warrant for your arrest regarding wire fraud, embezzlement of charity funds, and filing a false police report regarding a minor.”
Madison’s eyes widened. She looked at Ethan, waiting for him to save her. He always saved her.
Ethan turned his back to her and walked over to the window, looking out over the city he had built.
“Ethan!” she screamed as the cold steel snapped around her wrists. “You are nothing without my family’s backing! The board will destroy you! They’ll take the company!”
“Let them,” Ethan said quietly without turning around.
As the detectives led Madison away, her shrill threats echoing down the hall, the silence that fell over the office was deafening.
Henry gently took my burned hand, inspecting the blistering skin on my palm. “We need to get ice on this, Ruth.”
“I’m fine,” I said, though my hand was throbbing.
Ethan finally turned from the window. He looked at the scattered papers, the broken door, and then at me. Slowly, he sank to his knees right there in the middle of the ruined office.
“Mom,” he sobbed, burying his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry. I’m so incredibly sorry. I let her take everything. I let her take you.”
I walked over to him, kneeling despite the ache in my old joints. I put my arms around my massive, powerful son, pulling his head to my chest just like I did when he was a little boy.
“You’re home now, Ethan,” I whispered into his hair. “That’s all that matters. You’re home.”
“Daddy?”
We both looked up. Standing in the doorway, rubbing his eyes and holding his small canvas backpack, was Leo. The bodyguard stood gently behind him.
May you like
Leo looked at his father crying on the floor, then looked at me.
“Are we making pies now?” Leo asked.
