Chapter 4 - The Fall of Marjorie Bennett
The suite was warm, heated to a cozy seventy-two degrees.
On the plush king-sized bed lay my mother, dressed in silk pajamas, a satin eye mask pushed up on her forehead. On the nightstand beside her sat an empty crystal champagne flute, an expensive silver ice bucket, and a half-eaten tray of chocolate-covered strawberries.
In the adjacent room, my sister Chloe screamed, scrambling out of bed as two officers moved in to secure her.
"What is the meaning of this?!" Marjorie shrieked, sitting up in bed, her manicured hands clutching the Egyptian cotton duvet to her neck. "Who gave you permission to burst into my private suite?! Do you know who I am?! My son is the CEO of Bennett Logistics!"
Officer Callahan stepped into the center of the bedroom, unclipping his handcuffs from his belt.
"Marjorie Bennett," Callahan announced, his voice echoing off the ocean-facing windows. "You are under arrest for first-degree attempted murder, felony child abuse, grand larceny, and corporate fraud."
Marjorie’s face went completely pale, her mouth opening in a silent 'O' of shock. But then her eyes swept past Callahan and landed directly on me, standing in the doorway with my hands tucked deep into my coat pockets.
In an instant, her shock transformed into a horrifying performance of maternal distress.
"Heath!" she gasped, throwing back the covers and making a dramatic move to rush toward me. "Oh, thank God you’re here! Heath, these men are insane! Someone has made a terrible mistake! I was coming back to the apartment today—I just needed a few hours to rest because Laurel was being so difficult—"
"Shut up, Mom," I said.
The words were spoken softly, but the sheer, icy hatred in my tone froze her in her tracks.
"Heath?" she whimpered, her lower lip trembling. "How can you speak to your mother like that? I did everything for you! I cared for your baby! I managed your home while you were away!"
I pulled my phone out of my pocket, turned the screen toward her, and pressed play on the video recording from the apartment closet.
The audio filled the quiet, opulent bedroom:
"You shut your mouth, Laurel... You were a nobody when Heath found you... You think you’re going to sit in my son’s apartment, eat his food, and spend his money? You’ll take what I give you, or I’ll have my lawyer file the mental incompetence papers tomorrow morning..."
Marjorie stared at the screen. The color didn't just leave her face; it seemed to collapse entirely, her skin turning the color of wet chalk as her eyes darted frantically around the room, searching for an escape route that did not exist.
"You forgot about the internal hallway camera, Mom," I said, walking toward her until I was standing right beside the velvet footboard of her bed. "The one I set up after the packages went missing two years ago. The camera that recorded you shutting off the heat, stealing the space heaters, taking the food out of the refrigerator, and locking my starving wife and freezing newborn son inside a fifty-eight-degree apartment."
"Heath... please," she whispered, dropping to her knees on the thick rug, reaching out to grasp the hem of my trousers. "I did it for the family! She wasn't right for you! She was going to take your money! She was turning you against me! I just wanted my son back!"
I pulled my leg away from her touch as if she were a venomous snake.
"You don't have a son anymore," I said, turning my back on her. "And you will never, ever set eyes on Jonah again."
Officer Callahan stepped forward, pulled her arms behind her back, and snapped the steel handcuffs around her wrists.
As they dragged Marjorie out of the suite, her dramatic sobs turned into shrill, hysterical curses that echoed down the long hallway of the luxury hotel:
"You ungrateful bastard! I gave you life! You’re nothing without me! You’ll rot in hell for this, Heath Bennett! You hear me?! You’ll rot in hell!"
Behind her, Chloe was led out in handcuffs, sobbing uncontrollably, her designer boutique bags left scattered across the carpet of the suite like worthless trash.
May you like
I stood on the balcony of the room for a long minute, watching the red lights of the police cruisers disappear down the snowy driveway toward the highway.
The wind off the Atlantic was cold, bitter, and harsh. But for the first time in my life, I felt like I could finally breathe.
