I didn’t blink. She was frantically attempting to establish an alternative reality, trying to frame me before the federal freeze decimated her life.
“I haven’t touched a dime of your money, Cordelia,” I replied smoothly. “My work is coordinated entirely through corporate security. If you want to talk about missing funds, perhaps you should explain the millions routed into your maiden name’s LLCs over the last four years.”
The mask shattered. Her face contorted into a grotesque mask of naked hatred. She stepped toward me, all aristocratic pretense vanishing.
“You have no idea what you’re dealing with,” she spat, venom pooling in her words. “You think your little spreadsheets can dismantle my family? I will ruin you.”
Callum finally stepped forward, his face pale. “Mom, maybe we should just—”
“Sit down and shut up!” she roared at him. “I will handle this.”
Callum flinched, immediately shrinking back against the windowsill, utterly neutered by her tone.
I stood up, smoothing the front of my jacket. “This conversation is over.”
As I moved toward the foyer, Cordelia lunged, blocking the door. She looked at her son, her eyes wide with a manic, terrifying resolve.
“Hold her, Callum,” she commanded. “She is not leaving until she gives up the accounts.”
Everything happened in a blur of motion, yet my mind processed it at a glacial, analytical speed. Callum lunged at me. His hands clamped down on my shoulders with a desperate, bruising force. I twisted violently to break his grip. My heel caught on the edge of the Persian rug.
I fell hard. My elbow cracked against the hardwood, and my temple grazed the sharp corner of a mahogany end table. A blinding flash of pain erupted behind my eyes, followed by the warm, thick slide of blood over my eyebrow.
I lay on the floor, my breath knocked out of my lungs.
That was when she said it.
“Why are you just holding her? Hit her harder. Just not on the face so it doesn’t leave marks.”
I didn’t cry out. I didn’t beg. The cold, mechanical part of my brain overrode the physical agony. I felt the vibration against my ribs—my phone, sitting in my jacket pocket on the armchair, had successfully transmitted the geolocated distress signal the exact second Callum grabbed me.
I pushed myself up onto my uninjured elbow. I looked directly into Cordelia’s sneering face.
“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice shockingly steady. “Those were exactly the words I needed today to complete the picture.”
Cordelia frowned, her triumph faltering. Callum backed away from me, staring at his trembling hands as if they belonged to a stranger. “I… I didn’t mean to,” he stammered, the reality of his assault crashing over him. “Mom, what are we doing?”
I ignored him. I climbed to my feet, wiping the blood from my eye. I reached into my jacket and pulled out my phone, turning the illuminated screen toward my mother-in-law. The red SOS TRANSMITTED banner glowed brightly.
“What bruises are you talking about, Cordelia?” I asked, my voice echoing in the dead silence of the room. “You just demanded, in front of a witness, that I be beaten to extract a false confession. That is incitement to assault. And my watch just recorded every single syllable.”
The blood drained from Cordelia’s face, leaving her a ghastly, translucent white.
“This device,” I continued, stepping closer to her, “just sent our exact GPS coordinates to the federal division that has been building a racketeering case against you for six months. I am not an ordinary auditor. I am a sworn informant.”
“You’re lying,” Cordelia breathed, stumbling backward. “You don’t have the clearance. The feds don’t move this fast.”
“You should have investigated my resume a little closer,” I said.