Chapter 2 - The Sins of the MatriarchThe confession didn't come from Ethan. It came from Lauren, whose nerves finally shattered under the unbearable weight of my gaze.
She dropped to her knees on the Persian rug, bursting into hysterical, jagged sobs.
"It wasn't my idea!" Lauren shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at Margaret. "It was her! She planned the whole thing! We just... we just helped cover the tracks!"
Margaret shot Lauren a murderous glare that could have withered flowers, but the damage was done. The dam had burst.
I stood motionless, my arms crossed over my chest, towering over my weeping sister-in-law. "Start talking, Lauren. Every detail. Or I swear to God, your next home will be a federal penitentiary."
Lauren wiped her nose with the back of her hand, sniffling miserably. "Three years ago... Claire found out she was pregnant. She was overjoyed, Vance. You were in the middle of that brutal turf war with the Syndicate in Chicago, completely consumed by blood and business. Claire didn't want to tell you because she was terrified that if your enemies found out you were going to be a father, they would target your child."
My chest tightened as if wrapped in barbed wire. Claire had always protected me from the softer, vulnerable parts of life.
"She went to Mother for help," Lauren choked out, sobbing harder. "She thought family was safe. She asked Mother to help her hide away in a private clinic upstate until the babies were born and the turf war settled down so she could bring them home to you safely."
I slowly turned my head toward Margaret. The matriarch kept her chin up, though her eyes were filled with cold defiance.
"And what did you do, Mother?" I whispered.
"I did what was necessary for the preservation of this family," Margaret said, her voice dripping with venomous pride. "Do you have any idea what a vulnerability an heir—let alone twin girls—would have been at the height of your power? Every rival syndicate, every corrupt federal prosecutor, every assassin would have used them to put a leash around your neck. You would have been compromised. Weak. Unfit to lead."
"They were my children!" I roared, the sheer fury of my voice rattling the antique crystal chandeliers overhead.
Ivy and Skye whimpered, burying their faces back into my coat. I instantly checked my tone, forcing my breathing to regulate, though my blood boiled with a murderous rage.
"You didn't just hide them," I said, stepping closer to Margaret. "Finish the story, Lauren."
Lauren trembled, unable to meet my eyes. "Mother didn't just hide Claire. She locked her away in a private psychiatric facility owned by our family's shell corporations. She drugged her, convinced the staff that Claire was having a psychotic break, and claimed that the children belonged to an anonymous surrogate who had abandoned them. When the twins were born, Mother planned to put them up for adoption in a closed system across the country so they would never, ever resurface."
"No," I breathed, the horror dawning on me. "No..."
"Claire fought back," Lauren wept. "God, did she fight. The day she gave birth to Ivy and Skye, she managed to smuggle a burner phone out. She contacted a loyal nurse—Helen. Helen helped Claire and the babies escape the facility. They lived in hiding for over a year, moving from motel to motel, terrified of Margaret’s reach."
"And the car accident?" I asked, my voice dropping to a terrifying, deadened flatline. "The crash on the Madison road two years ago... was that Claire?"
Margaret finally spoke, her voice chillingly devoid of remorse. "The car was Claire's, yes. But she wasn't in it. We staged the crash to end the manhunt once and for all. We needed you to mourn, Vance, so you would stop looking for her. We needed the loose ends tied up permanently."
"You faked my wife's death," I whispered.
"I saved your empire!" Margaret shouted back, stepping forward to match my fury, refusing to back down. "I made you untouchable! And if that pathetic, ungrateful wife of yours hadn't spent the last year dragging those children across state lines while hiding from my men, she might still be alive today!"
"Where is she?"
The question hung in the air like a guillotine blade.
Margaret fell silent. Her jaw clenched.
"I asked you a goddamn question," I stepped forward, grabbing Margaret by the lapels of her expensive wool blazer and lifting her slightly off the floor. Her feet dangled for a fraction of a second before Ethan lunged forward.
"Vance, stop! Don't you dare—"
I backhanded Ethan with enough force to send him crashing into a mahogany bookcase, scattering leather-bound volumes across the floor. He groaned, clutching a bleeding lip.
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I looked back at my mother. Her face was turning purple, but there was no fear left in her eyes—only a grim, stubborn defiance.
"Where is Claire?" I demanded, pressing the barrel of my concealed Glock directly against her temple.
