Chapter 13 - The Widow of Ambition
Beatrice Sterling was not a woman who went down without a fight.
Even as the walls of her world crumbled,
she spent her last few hundred dollars on a taxi to the Vance headquarters.
She thought she could still charm her way past the front desk.
She thought she could still guilt me into giving her a "pension" for her years of "service" to the family.
When she arrived,
she was stopped at the glass doors by two guards who looked like they were carved out of granite.
“Let me in!”
she shrieked,
her voice attracting the attention of several passersby.
“I am Beatrice Sterling!
I built this company with my son!”
“Actually,
Ma’am,”
one of the guards said,
referring to a tablet,
“you are on the permanent trespass list.
If you don't leave the property immediately,
we are authorized to use force.”
“Force?”
she gasped,
clutching her chest.
“I am an old woman!
Have you no respect?”
Just then,
I walked into the lobby on my way to a lunch meeting.
I saw her there,
pressing her face against the glass like a hungry child at a bakery window.
I signaled for the guards to let her in,
just for a moment.
The doors slid open,
and Beatrice stumbled inside,
nearly falling over.
She scrambled to her feet and rushed toward me,
her hands outstretched.
“Samantha!
Oh,
Samantha,
thank God!”
she cried,
her voice a theatrical sob.
“It was all a misunderstanding!
Carter… he was led astray by that awful Khloe girl!
I tried to tell him,
I swear I did!”
I stood perfectly still,
my hands folded in front of me.
“Is that right,
Beatrice?”
“Yes!
He wouldn't listen to his poor mother!
But you and I… we’ve always been close.
You can’t let me live in that horrible motel.
The sheets are scratchy,
and there’s a man in the next room who plays the drums all night!”
I looked down at her,
feeling a strange mixture of disgust and amusement.
“The sheets are scratchy,”
I repeated,
my voice flat.
“That sounds difficult.
Almost as difficult as being told to sit in the back of a plane while my husband’s mistress took my seat?”
Beatrice’s face flickered for a second,
the mask of the victim slipping.
“That was… that was just a joke,
dear!
A little test of your patience!”
“Well,”
I said,
leaning in close,
“consider this a test of yours.
I’ve reviewed the company’s charitable donations.
It turns out that for the last three years,
you’ve been using the corporate foundation to fund your private shopping trips to Milan.”
Beatrice went pale,
her mouth hanging open.
“That’s… that was for cultural research!”
“The IRS calls it tax evasion,
Beatrice.
And because you signed those documents as a 'consultant,'
you are personally liable for the back taxes.
Which,
according to my accountants,
total roughly four million dollars.”
Beatrice began to hyperventilate.
“Four million?
I don't have four hundred!”
“I know,”
I said,
straightening my jacket.
“Which is why I’ve made a deal with the authorities.
I’ve agreed not to press charges for the embezzlement if you agree to go into a government-funded assisted living facility in the Midwest.
It’s far away from here.
No flashbulbs.
No silk sheets.
Just a quiet room and three meals a day.”
“The Midwest?”
she shrieked.
“I belong in Manhattan!
I belong in the Hamptons!”
“You belong in a cell,
Beatrice,”
I said,
my voice turning ice cold.
“This is my mercy.
Take it,
and you’ll have a roof over your head.
Refuse it,
and I’ll make sure the prosecutor asks for the maximum sentence.”
I turned to the guards.
“Show her out.
And if she ever comes back,
don't ask me.
Just call the police.”
As Beatrice was dragged toward the exit,
screaming about my "cold heart,"
I felt a weight lift.
She had been the one who taught Carter that people were just tools to be used.
She had been the one who whispered that I was "plain" and "expendable."
Now,
she was going to live out her days in the very obscurity she feared most.
I walked out to my car,
the sun shining on the hood.
May you like
The world was getting quieter,
and I was finally beginning to hear myself think.
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