"Dad found out about the affair. That's why Matthew killed him."
"Richard was going to destroy everything. Not just the affair—he found discrepancies in the books. Money Matthew had been skimming. The affair would've been scandal, but the embezzlement?" She laughs bitterly. "That would've meant prison. For both of us."
"You were stealing from Dad's company."
"We were protecting our future. Matthew said Richard was going to give it all away—his ridiculous philanthropic fantasies, funding shelters and programs instead of building the legacy?—"
"So you stole from him. And when he found out, you let Matthew silence him permanently."
"I didn't let anything!" She rounds on me, real emotion cracking through the perfect facade. "I told Matthew to leave you alone, that we could find another way, that Richard might be reasoned with?—"
"But he couldn't be reasoned with, could he? Because Dad had integrity. Something you've never understood." I stand, squaring off with her. "So Matthew made the call. And you—you signed the account that made it possible. Then you stood at the funeral wearing black Chanel and pearls, and you held my hand, and you never said a goddamn word."
"What was I supposed to say? That I suspected my lover had killed my husband? That I'd helped set up the account without knowing what it would be used for?"
"You knew, Mother. Maybe not the details. Maybe not the date. But you knew Matthew was capable of this. You knew he was planning something. And you did nothing to stop it."
Her eyes narrow suddenly, some survival instinct finally kicking in. "You're recording this conversation."
"Every word." I don't bother denying it. "From the moment I walked through your door."
"You set me up." Her laugh is hollow. Broken. "My own daughter set me up."
"You helped murder my father." I meet her gaze without flinching. "Setting you up seems like the least I could do."
She collapses onto the settee, suddenly boneless. All the fight draining out of her.
"I loved him once," she whispers. "Richard. Before Matthew. Before everything got so complicated. I did love him."
"Not enough. Not enough to stay faithful. Not enough to let him live. Not even enough to protect your daughter when your choices came back to haunt her."
"Isabelle, please—" She reaches for me, but I step back, putting the furniture between us. "Whatever you think you know?—"
"I know you helped kill my father." I pull out the lighter, Dad's presence solid in my palm. "I know you've been sleeping with his murderer for fifteen years. I know you tried to force me into marriage with Cal Reznick to keep me controllable. And I know you've been helping Matthew try to kill me because I'm the only threat left."
"I never wanted you hurt—that was all Matthew?—"
"Was it? The men at the Plaza. The attacks on the safe house. The sniper that almost killed my stepdaughter. You're telling me you had no idea?"
Her silence stretches too long.
"That's what I thought." I flip the lighter open, watching flame catch in the dim room. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to stay away from me, from Sergei, from Mila. You're going to pray the evidence I have—including this recording—doesn't end up with Detective Fraser before you can flee the country."
"You wouldn't." But her voice wavers. "I'm your mother."
"My mother died the day she helped kill my father." I close the lighter, pocketing it. "You're just the woman wearing her face."
I turn toward the door.
"When he hurts you," she calls after me, voice raw with desperation, "and he will, they always do—don't come crying to me."
"If Sergei wanted to hurt me, I'd already be dead." I stop at the doorway, looking back one last time. "And when the evidence convicts you both? When your affair and conspiracy become public record? When every society friend you've cultivated for thirty years turns their back on you?" I let my smile turn cold. "Don't come crying to me either."
Her face crumbles completely. Real tears tracking through foundation, pearls clutched in white-knuckled hands.
"I was trying to protect you. In my own way. I was trying?—"
"You were trying to protect yourself. That's all you've ever done." I step through the doorway. "Goodbye, Catherine. I hope prison teaches you something about consequences."
