There it was. Every word he'd hurled at me. His order to the kidnappers to kill the hostage. His sneering contempt for my mother. Every syllable designed to grind my dignity into dust.
I opened his social media and started taking screenshots.
One post: a photo of the necklace.
The caption read: Thirty million for your smile. Worth every penny.
Another, freshly uploaded just minutes ago.
In the photo, he and Florence touched wine glasses under amber light, their faces close, the mood intimate.
The caption read: With you here, all is right in the world.
All is right in the world.
His mother was fighting for her life.
My fingers flew across the screen, organizing every last piece of evidence. Backup. Encrypt. Upload to the cloud.
When it was done, I called my mother.
After I hung up, I closed my eyes.
Three years.
Three years of swallowing my pride. Three years of silent humiliation. Three years of lying to myself.
Today, it all came to an end.
I glanced at the time.
The kidnappers' final hour was almost up. One minute left.
I pulled open the bedroom door and walked out, step by step.
In the living room, Chester had his arm around Florence, grinning like a man who'd won the world.
Red wine swirled in their glasses, its rich aroma filling the air.
Chester noticed me watching. The smile vanished from his face in an instant.
"Ella, who the hell are you making that dead-eyed face for?"
He set down his glass and rose, stalking toward me.
"So your mom's dead. Big deal. She's dead, and good riddance. One less degenerate gambler in the world."
"Don't ruin the mood for me and Florence."
He still believed it was my mother who'd been taken.
He reached out to shove me, the way he had countless times before, sending me sprawling to the floor so he could trample over me at will.
I stepped aside. Dodged him easily.
His hand grabbed nothing but air. He blinked, momentarily thrown.
That was when his phone rang.
A photo message popped up on the screen.
Chester opened it without much interest.
The image was blurry, but clear enough.
Wreckage. Dark, rust-colored stains everywhere.
They'd killed the hostage.
I stared at his face, unblinking.
He frowned at first. Then he let out a long, slow breath of relief.
Like he'd just shed an enormous burden.
He turned to Florence, and the corner of his mouth actually curved into a relaxed smile.
"Finally. Some peace and quiet."