Chapter 43
Chapter 43:
She stared at her own reflection in the rearview mirror, brought her thumb to her mouth, and began biting down on her acrylic manicure, her eyes narrowing into something cold and ugly.
“That is my money,” Alycia said quietly to the empty car. “I am going to make Cole pay me back for every single cent p>
Alycia floored the accelerator. The Porsche Cayenne tore out of the hospital garage and sped toward the Long Island suburbs.
She pulled into the driveway of the Beasley family home — a sprawling McMansion that strained desperately toward the appearance of old money with its fake columns and excessive stucco, and achieved neither.
Alycia stormed through the front door and hurled her Hermès Birkin onto the velvet sofa.
“It’s not fair!” she screamed, dissolving into tears.
Her mother, Susan, walked into the living room in a garish silk robe, a martini glass in hand, her eyes carrying the sharp, calculating gleam that rarely left them.
Her father, Richard, sat slumped in a leather armchair, staring at a stack of financial reports with his face buried in his hands.
“If we don’t secure a new supply chain contract by the end of the month,” Richard groaned, pressing his fingers against his temples, “we won’t be able to cover the Country Club dues. We’re looking at bankruptcy p>
𝗙o𝗅𝗹o𝘸 𝘂ѕ o𝗻
Alycia whirled around and pointed a manicured finger at him.
“That five percent she just received could buy your company ten times over!” Alycia snapped.
Susan crossed the room and placed a cool hand on her daughter’s shoulder.
“Stop crying over money you never had,” Susan said sharply. “Focus on the living ATM p>
She took a measured sip of her martini. “Cole’s greatest weakness isn’t his grandmother. It’s his dead twin brother. Caleb p>
Alycia stopped sniffling. She knew that better than anyone. She had built her entire relationship with Cole on the fabrication that she had been Caleb’s secret soulmate before he died.
“Tomorrow is the eve of Caleb’s death anniversary,” Susan said, a slow, wicked smile spreading across her face. “We are going to host a quiet, intimate dinner. In his memory. And we will invite Cole p>
Richard looked up from his papers. Understanding moved across his face, and the weight of impending bankruptcy lifted from his shoulders, replaced by the familiar, energizing thrill of a well-laid trap. He rose slowly, smoothed his tie, and headed for the wine cellar to retrieve the vintage Bordeaux he had been saving for exactly this kind of occasion.
“Go upstairs and wash your face,” Susan told Alycia. “Put on the plain white sundress. No heavy makeup. You need to look fragile. You need to look like you’re still grieving p>
At exactly seven o’clock that evening, a sleek black Maybach pulled up to the curb outside.
Cole stepped out wearing a dark, tailored suit, his shoulders carrying a heaviness that had nothing to do with the fabric. He looked exhausted. Since watching the security footage of June bleeding on the floor, a suffocating guilt had settled into his chest like sediment. He had not slept in three days.
But he could not ignore this invitation. It was for Caleb.