Confrontation in the Bedroom
Claire stepped into the dim light, the scent of pine from the closet mingling with the faint musk of the rattlesnake’s shed skin.
“Mom, who is Vanessa Hayes?” she demanded, voice trembling but fierce.
Margaret turned, her gloves glinting, eyes steady. “Vanessa is a benefactor,” she said calmly, as if discussing a charity gala.
“A benefactor for what?” Claire pressed, heart pounding against her ribs.
“For your son,” Margaret whispered, sliding the cloth bag back into the nightstand. “She will adopt him, raise him as her own.”
Claire’s mind raced: adoption, inheritance, the cold gleam of a $25 million policy.
“And what do you want from me?” she asked, breath shallow.
“A simple favor,” Margaret replied, her tone as smooth as lacquer. “Step aside, let Vanessa take the child, and you’ll receive a share of the policy money.”
