Chapter 5 - THE CHILD'S DRAWING
The heavy wooden door clicked open.
Edward stepped into the coat check room, followed by two large men in dark suits—his private security.
His tuxedo was perfectly pressed, but his eyes were frantic, wide with a desperate anger I had never seen before.
He looked at Sarah weeping on the floor, then at me.
“Give me the envelope, Catherine,” Edward said, holding out his hand.
“You’re a monster,” I spat, holding the documents and my mother’s rosary tightly against my chest.
“I’m a businessman,” he corrected, stepping closer. “You and your mother had a nice little bed-and-breakfast. I turned it into an empire. I earned this. You were just along for the ride.”
“My mother’s money funded your vision! I worked eighteen-hour shifts while you drank scotch with investors!”
Edward scoffed. “And you lived like a queen for twenty years. Now it’s Olivia’s turn. Hand over the papers. If you do, I’ll make sure you get a generous alimony. If you fight me, I will tie you up in court for the next ten years until you can’t afford groceries.”
Emma stepped out from behind me.
“You’re a liar, Dad.”
Edward’s face hardened. “Mind your manners, Emma.”
“You lied to Mom. You lied to Grandma. You’re just a thief in a nice suit.”
Edward’s hand twitched. For a horrifying second, I thought he was going to strike our daughter.
“Take the envelope,” Edward ordered his security guards.
The two massive men stepped forward.
I braced myself, ready to fight them tooth and nail.
But before they could touch me, the fire alarm directly above our heads erupted with a deafening, piercing shriek.
Strobe lights flashed violently.
The sprinklers in the coat room suddenly activated, raining cold, black, stagnant water down on all of us.
Edward yelled in shock, covering his face.
The guards stumbled backward, temporarily blinded by the flashing lights and sudden deluge.
I didn't hesitate.
I grabbed Emma’s hand and bolted past them, bursting out of the coat room and into the flooded hallway.
Standing by the pulled fire alarm was Marcus Thorne, soaking wet, holding a heavy brass fire extinguisher.
“Run!” Marcus shouted over the blaring sirens. “My car is out back! Black Lincoln!”
I didn't stop to thank him.
Emma and I ran through the panicked crowds, slipping on the wet marble floors, pushing through the heavy glass service doors into the cold Chicago night air.
The black Lincoln was idling in the alley. The driver threw open the back door.
We dove inside, and the car sped off before the doors were even fully closed.
I sat back against the leather seats, gasping for air, clutching the manila envelope and the rosary to my wet chest.
Emma was shaking, her beautiful dress ruined.
“Are you okay?” I asked, wrapping my arms around her.
She nodded, burying her face in my shoulder. “Where are we going, Mom?”
I looked at the driver.
“Take us to Milwaukee. The old Lancaster Inn on 4th Street.”
The drive took an hour and forty-five minutes.
The adrenaline slowly faded, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion. I stared out the window at the passing highway lights, thinking about the man I had married.
He hadn't just stopped loving me. He had methodically planned my destruction.
We arrived at the old Milwaukee inn just past midnight.
It was the only property Edward hadn't modernized. It still looked like a quaint, rustic bed-and-breakfast.
The night manager was a young kid who didn't recognize me.
“I need the key to room 7429,” I said, placing a hundred-dollar bill on the counter.
He looked confused. “Ma'am, our rooms only go up to the third floor. The 300s.”
I froze.
“What?”
“We don't have a room 7429.”
I looked down at the tiny piece of paper from my mother's rosary.
7-4-2-9.
If it wasn't a room number, what was it?
Emma looked over my shoulder at the paper.
“Mom,” she said quietly. “Grandma didn't write those numbers. I did.”
I turned to her, stunned. “What do you mean?”
Emma reached into her silver purse again.
She pulled out a crumpled, faded piece of construction paper.
It was a child’s drawing. A drawing she had made when she was six years old.
It was a picture of our family. Me, Edward, and Emma standing in front of a house.
But in the corner of the drawing, written in crayon, were four numbers.
7-4-2-9.
“I drew this for Grandma,” Emma explained, her voice thick with emotion. “I asked her what her favorite numbers were, and she told me. She said they were the most important numbers in the world. I wrote them on the drawing, and she hung it on her fridge.”
I stared at the child's drawing.
The most important numbers in the world.
Not a room number.
A date.
July 4, 1929.
My grandfather’s birth date.
My mother had always used it for her most secure passwords.
“The safety deposit box,” I whispered, realization dawning on me.
My mother didn't use a bank. She didn't trust them.
She used a private vault service in downtown Milwaukee. The same one where she kept my father’s old war medals.
“Come on,” I said, grabbing Emma’s hand. “We’re going to the vault.”
We arrived at the private security facility at 1:00 AM.
Because my name was still on my mother’s account, the guard let me in, leading me to the underground rows of steel boxes.
Box 7429.
I used my driver's license and fingerprint to authorize the access.
The guard pulled the heavy metal box from the wall and left us alone in a small viewing room.
My hands were shaking as I lifted the lid.
Inside was a thick stack of yellowed papers, bound by a rubber band.
And resting on top of the papers was a heavy, antique gold pocket watch.
I picked it up.
It was a beautiful piece, intricate and heavy.
I flipped it over.
Engraved on the back were the words:
Property of Arthur Bennett.
Bennett.
Olivia Bennett's father.
I opened the stack of papers beneath the watch.
They were old police reports, bankruptcy filings, and a confession letter written in Edward’s handwriting, dated thirty-one years ago.
My husband hadn't borrowed the seed money from my mother to start our business.
He had embezzled it from Arthur Bennett's firm, destroying the man's life and driving him to suicide.
And Olivia wasn't just a mistress.
She was Arthur Bennett's daughter.
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She hadn't spent fourteen years sleeping with Edward out of love.
She had spent fourteen years plotting to take everything he had ever built.
