Chapter 3 - The Gala of Deceit
That afternoon, I returned to the house under the pretext of bringing my mother some imported teas and checking on her health.
When I pulled up to the driveway, I noticed two valet parkers setting up signboards. Professional caterers were unloading crates of champagne, silver platters, and elaborate floral arrangements into the front foyer.
I walked inside. The living room, which I had tastefully furnished with warm oak and soft plush sofas for my mother, had been gutted. In its place were sterile, ultra-modern white leather couches and glass tables.
Melissa stood in the center of the room, wearing an expensive silk cocktail dress, shouting orders at a young catering staffer. Her mother, Evelyn, sat on the sofa, fanning herself and complaining about the temperature.
"Iris!" Melissa turned, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness, though her eyes flashed with irritation. "You're back! As you can see, we’re hosting a very important dinner party tonight. Derek’s new business investors are coming. It’s a bit chaotic, so maybe it’s not the best time for a visit."
"I came to see my mother," I said evenly, stepping past her toward the back hallway.
"Oh, Ellen is... well, she's very busy preparing the appetizers in the back," Melissa said, stepping into my path. "She really prefers to stay out of the way when we have company. You know how shy she is around high-society people."
"Shy?" I looked Melissa dead in the eye. "My mother ran a tailoring business for thirty years. She isn't shy. She's exhausted."
Before Melissa could respond, I pushed past her and opened the laundry room door.
The sight made my stomach churn. My mother was standing over a steaming stove in the tiny kitchenette extension, lifting heavy copper pots with her frail arms. Her forehead was slick with sweat, and she was wearing that same dingy black apron.
"Mom," I whispered.
She jumped, nearly dropping a tray of hot canapés. "Iris! Oh, dear, you scared me."
"Drop the tray, Mom," I said gently, walking over and taking the heavy hot pan from her hands, placing it firmly on the counter.
"Iris, no, I have to finish," she stammered, looking nervously toward the doorway. "Melissa said if the food isn't ready by six, the investors will leave, and Derek will lose his contract..."
"Derek is a grown man," I said, my voice soft but firm. "He can cook his own food or hire a chef with the money he’s been stealing from you."
My mother froze. Her eyes widened in panic. "What... what do you mean?"
"I know about the trust fund, Mom. I know about the cot in the laundry room. I know about your knee." I reached out and gently lifted her left sleeve. Dark, yellow-green bruises patterned her delicate skin. "Who did this to you?"
Tears instantly welled in my mother's eyes. She covered her mouth with her trembling hand, shaking her head violently. "It... it was an accident..."
"Mom. Tell me."
"It was Evelyn," she sobbed, her voice breaking into a barely audible whisper. "Last week... I dropped a crystal glass. Evelyn got angry... she pushed me back against the counter. Derek saw it... he didn't do anything, Iris. He just told me to clean up the mess and stop making a scene."
A cold, blinding fury surged through my veins. Every instinct inside me wanted to walk into that living room and tear the place apart. But I forced myself to remain calm. A storm was coming, but I needed to make sure it hit them with total, destructive precision.
I took my mother’s hands in mine. "Mom, look at me."
She looked up through her tears.
"Tonight, you are going to do exactly what they ask one last time," I said softly. "But I want you to wear this."
May you like
I reached into my handbag and pulled out a delicate gold brooch—a piece of jewelry I had brought back from abroad. Hidden inside the intricate filigree was a micro-camera and a high-definition microphone, linked directly to my phone and Marcus’s recording van outside.
"Wear this on your collar," I whispered. "And let them show the world exactly who they are."
