Chapter 2 - The Midnight Midnight TabThe screen flashed with Eleanor’s name.
I took a deep breath, composed my face, pressed record on an auxiliary device, and answered.
The screen lit up with pulsating strobe lights, loud electronic dance music, and the glittering palm trees of the oceanfront VIP lounge at the Fontainebleau Resort in Miami. Eleanor was wearing a diamond necklace, holding a crystal glass of Dom Pérignon. Chloe and Mark were behind her, dancing wildly with an entourage of friends.
“David!” Eleanor screeched over the loud music, her face flushed with alcohol. “What is wrong with your bank?! We are at the main table at the club, and the waiter just told us every single one of my cards was declined! Mark’s card was declined too! Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is?! Fix it right now!”
I stared at her face through the screen. There was no concern for Maya. No ask about Liam. No guilt. Only monstrous entitlement.
“Where are you, Mother?” I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm.
“I told you! We’re celebrating New Year’s in Miami!” she barked. “We had to get away from Brooklyn—the energy in your apartment was so toxic because of Maya’s constant whining! We spent forty thousand dollars on VIP tables and bottle service tonight, and the manager is threatening to call hotel security if the charge doesn't clear in ten minutes! Transfer fifty thousand dollars to my checking account IMMEDIATELY!”
“Forty thousand dollars?” I repeated quietly. “With the money I sent for my dying wife and newborn baby?”
Eleanor froze for a fraction of a second, her eyes narrowing before she scoffed. “Don’t start with that tone, David! Maya is fine! She’s just attention-seeking! Now turn the credit cards back on before you ruin our holiday!”
“Look at your phone screen, Mother,” I said softly.
“What?”
“Check your email. Right now.”
Eleanor grumbled, pulling her phone away from her ear to open her inbox. Chloe and Mark leaned over her shoulder, laughing stupidly.
I had sent a single email titled: “Happy New Year from Brooklyn.”
Attached to the email was the high-definition video of Eleanor locking the thermostat, taking Maya’s phone, and walking out with her jewelry box while Maya bled on the floor. Attached below it was the official hospital admission report from New York-Presbyterian, classifying Maya’s condition as critical sepsis from intentional medical neglect and Liam’s condition as acute starvation.
Through the screen, I watched the color drain completely from Eleanor’s face.
Chloe gasped, covering her mouth in terror. Mark’s drink slipped from his hand, smashing onto the marble floor of the VIP section.
“D-David...” Eleanor stammered, her voice suddenly trembling, the arrogant queen demeanor instantly collapsing. “This... this isn't what it looks like... We were going to come back in two days... We were just giving Maya space to rest...”
“At 2:30 a.m. EST, NYPD Detective Marcus Reed signed an arrest warrant for felony grand larceny, elder and child abuse, and attempted depraved-indifference murder,” I said, every word like an executioner’s axe falling. “I also alerted the Miami-Dade Police Department. They are currently standing outside the lobby of the Fontainebleau.”
“David! No! You can’t do this to your own mother!” Eleanor screamed in pure panic, her voice cracking as the background music suddenly seemed to fade into chaotic noise. “I raised you! I gave you everything! You’re putting a strange woman above your own blood?!”
“She is my wife. He is my son,” I whispered into the phone. “And you are a monster.”
May you like
I ended the call.
Five seconds later, through the resort’s live public social media tag that I brought up on my laptop, I saw six Miami-Dade police officers cut through the VIP crowd, moving directly toward Eleanor’s table.
