Chapter 7 - The Face of the SerpentTwo days later, I sat in a private room at the county jail, separated from Sloane Mercer by a panel of bulletproof glass.
I was in a wheelchair, wearing a loose black sweater to cover my surgical bandages.
Sloane sat across from me, looking pale, defeated, and broken. The polished, manipulative woman who had walked into my kitchen with a red scratch on her arm was completely gone.
"You look terrible, Sloane," I said quietly into the phone speaker.
Sloane winced, tears instantly gathering in her eyes. "Mara... please. You have to tell the District Attorney to accept my plea deal. I didn't want you to die! Evelyn forced me!"
"Evelyn didn't force you to smile at me while I was bleeding on my kitchen floor," I reminded her, my voice as cold as ice. "I saw your face, Sloane. I saw the relief in your eyes when you realized I was dying."
Sloane swallowed hard, her chest shaking. "I was terrified of her! Evelyn has people everywhere! You don't know what she’s capable of!"
"Tell me about my father," I demanded, leaning closer to the glass. "Detective Walsh said you had information about Julian Thorne's death."
Sloane wiped her nose with the sleeve of her gray jumpsuit. "Four years ago, before your dad died, he discovered that Evelyn was stealing money from the corporate accounts. He threatened to go to the police and take full control of the firm."
My hands gripped the armrests of my wheelchair so hard my knuckles turned white. "And?"
"Evelyn knew your father had a severe allergy to peanuts," Sloane whispered, looking around as if the walls had ears. "She bribed his personal driver. The driver replaced his emergency EpiPen with a dummy trainer pen, and then slipped peanut oil into your father’s morning coffee."
A cold shockwave washed through my entire body.
"My father died in the back of his limousine," I whispered, my voice trembling with profound grief and rage. "The doctor said his EpiPen failed..."
"It didn't fail," Sloane said, weeping. "It was empty! Evelyn paid the driver $100,000 to drop the dummy pen and disappear to South America! I found the payment receipts hidden in Evelyn’s private safe at the mansion when she hired me to clean out her personal files!"
I sat back, staring at the woman behind the glass.
My father hadn't died of natural causes. He had been murdered by Evelyn Whitmore—the same woman who had welcomed me into her home, hugged me at my wedding, and then orchestrated the murder of my unborn children.
"Where are those receipts, Sloane?" I asked, my voice deadly silent.
"I hid them," Sloane said desperately. "I put them in a flash drive hidden inside the hollowed-out base of the bronze statue in Evelyn’s office at the estate. I kept it as leverage in case she ever turned on me!"
I picked up the phone again. "Thank you, Sloane."
"Will you tell the DA to reduce my charges?" Sloane pleaded, pressing her hands against the glass. "Please, Mara! I have a whole life ahead of me! Don't let me rot in prison!"
I looked at her—at the woman who had helped murder my babies, frame me for an attack, and betray every human value for money.
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"You're going to rot, Sloane," I said softly. "And I'm going to make sure they put you in the cell right next to Evelyn."
I hung up the phone, turned my wheelchair around, and signaled to the guard to open the door.
