Chapter 36: The Silver Spoon

The foyer was empty when Richard left. I stood there, the weight of the death certificate heavy in my mind. He was taking me to the cabin to kill me. Not to rekindle our marriage, but to finalize a liquidation.

I had to get the boys.

I sprinted up the stairs, taking them two at a time. The nursery was at the end of the hall.

"Mrs. Higgins?" I called out, bursting into the room.

The room was empty. The twins' beds were made, the comforters smoothed with military precision. Their toys were gone from the floor.

"Leo? Sam?"

Silence.

I ran to the closet. Empty. Their clothes, their shoes, their backpacks—gone.

Panic clawed at my throat. I ran back into the hallway. "Mrs. Higgins!"

"She's not here, dear."

I spun around. Eleanor was at the other end of the hall. She was sitting in her wheelchair, a silver tea service set up on a small table beside her.

"Where are my children?" I demanded, my voice shaking.

"Your children?" Eleanor took a sip of tea, her eyes cold over the rim of the cup. "You mean the children Richard graciously allowed you to raise? They're with their grandmother."

"You're their grandmother."

"No," she said, setting the cup down with a sharp *clink*. "I am the matriarch. I am the CEO. I am the one who cleans up the messes. Catherine is their mother."

The world tilted. "Catherine?"

"Genetically speaking, yes. The egg donor. Richard provided the sperm. A surrogate carried them. It was quite expensive."

"But... the adoption papers..."

"Forged. Just like your marriage license. Just like your credit history." She smiled, a thin, cruel stretching of lips. "You were a placeholder, Elena. A wet nurse with a credit limit. But now that Catherine is... recovering... we don't need you anymore."

"Where are they?" I screamed, stepping toward her.

"They're safe. Unlike you." She gestured with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Mrs. Higgins took them for ice cream. She's a loyal servant. She understands the hierarchy."

Mrs. Higgins. The woman who had warned me. The woman who had given me the diary.

Was she part of it? Or was she trying to save them?

"I'm taking them," I said. "And I'm going to the police."

"With what proof?" Eleanor asked. "The word of a woman who just defaulted on seven million dollars in loans? A woman who is about to be indicted for embezzlement?"

"I have the box," I blurted out.

Eleanor went still. "What box?"

"The one from the attic. The photos. The letters. The rattle."

Her face didn't change, but her fingers tightened on the armrest of her chair.

"You're bluffing."

"Am I?" I pulled my phone out. I opened the photo gallery. I showed her the picture of the painting. *The Beneficiary.*

"Catherine hates you, Eleanor. She documented everything. And I have it."

Eleanor stared at the screen. For a moment, she looked old. Fragile.

Then she laughed.

"Catherine is a paranoid schizophrenic. Her 'art' is the rambling of a diseased mind. No court will accept it."

"They'll accept the passports," I said. "And the death certificate Richard just printed."

That got her. Her eyes widened.

"You saw that?"

"I saw everything."

"Then you know you have no choice," she said softly. "Get in the car with Richard. Go to the cabin. Maybe he'll be merciful. Maybe he'll make it quick."

"I'm not going anywhere with him."

"Then you'll never see those boys again."

The threat hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

I heard a car engine start outside. Richard.

"He's waiting," Eleanor said.

I looked at her. At the woman who had orchestrated the destruction of three lives to protect a pile of money.

"You're right," I said. "He is waiting."

I turned and ran. Not to the front door. To the back stairs.

"Where are you going?" Eleanor shouted.

" To get my leverage," I yelled back.

I didn't go to the car. I went to the kitchen.

Mrs. Higgins wasn't there. But her purse was. Sitting on the counter next to a polishing rag and a bottle of silver polish.

I grabbed it. Inside was her phone.

I unlocked it—she used 1234, I had seen her do it a dozen times—and opened her texts.

The last message was sent ten minutes ago.

*To: Unknown.*
*They are at the park. I can't hold them much longer. She knows you went to the attic, Ma'am.*