Chapter 7 - THE VIDEO THAT CHANGED EVERYTHINGI had been certain Natalie shaved my head.
The note.
The cruel remarks.
The satisfied expression she'd worn when she first saw me at the chapel.
Everything pointed toward her.
But Detective Hayes had just told me the person holding the razor was someone else.
“Who was it?” I demanded.
“We'd prefer to discuss the footage with you in person.”
“Detective, someone assaulted me while I slept. I think I deserve to know.”
A pause.
Then she said, “We identified the woman as Patricia Brooks.”
Natalie's mother.
I sat down.
Jackson stared at me.
“What?”
I repeated the name.
“Patricia.”
He shook his head.
“That doesn't make sense.”
I wasn't sure anything made sense anymore.
Detective Hayes explained that the hotel had preserved corridor footage and electronic access records.
A review showed Patricia entering my suite shortly after midnight using a master access card obtained through an employee who had allegedly violated hotel procedures.
She remained inside for approximately twenty minutes.
The corridor footage couldn't show exactly what happened inside my bedroom.
However, the hotel had also provided footage from a service hallway.
It showed Patricia leaving while carrying a small bag.
Investigators later recovered a discarded razor attachment in a hotel trash container.
The evidence was still being examined.
“But what about Natalie?” I asked.
“We're investigating whether she directed or assisted her mother.”
I closed my eyes.
The cruelty hadn't come from one person.
It had come from a family.
A family that now shared my son's name.
By late afternoon, Jackson and I had provided formal statements.
Photographs were taken of my scalp.
My hairstylist described the injuries she had observed.
The original note was submitted for examination.
And the hotel employee who issued the master card was interviewed.
Meanwhile, Margaret had arranged for the suspicious trust documents to be preserved and reported to the appropriate authorities.
I wanted everything handled properly.
No secret revenge.
No backroom threats.
No using wealth to intimidate people.
If Victor, Natalie, Patricia, or Thomas had committed crimes, I wanted the evidence examined and the law to take its course.
At 6:40 that evening, Jackson asked to speak with me privately.
We sat in my living room.
He looked exhausted.
His wedding ring gleamed beneath the lamp.
“Mom,” he said, “I've been thinking about yesterday.”
I waited.
“When I saw you at the chapel, I was embarrassed.”
He swallowed.
“I know.”
“I saw my mother standing there without her hair, and instead of asking whether someone had hurt you, I worried about how it looked.”
Tears filled his eyes.
“I am so sorry.”
I looked down at my hands.
For years, I'd been the strong one.
The problem solver.
The woman who could sit through a boardroom confrontation without blinking.
But my son's apology nearly broke me.
“Jackson,” I whispered.
He shook his head.
“Let me finish.”
I nodded.
“Dad taught me to judge people by how they treat those who can't do anything for them. And I forgot.”
His voice cracked.
“Natalie was cruel to you long before the wedding. I heard it. I saw it. I kept telling myself you were both strong women who needed time to adjust.”
He wiped his eyes.
“But you weren't fighting. She was hurting you, and I was asking you to tolerate it.”
A tear slipped down my cheek.
“I should have said something sooner,” he whispered.
“Yes,” I said gently. “You should have.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
I reached for his hand.
“But you're saying it now.”
He began crying.
Not quietly.
Not politely.
He cried the way he had when he was eight and his favorite dog died.
I held him.
And for a little while, we were simply mother and son again.
Then Jackson pulled away.
“I've decided something.”
“What?”
“I'm leaving Natalie.”
I studied him.
“Are you certain?”
He nodded.
“I don't know every detail of what she did. But I know enough. She participated in humiliating you, lied to me, and tried to pressure me into signing financial documents I didn't understand.”
He looked toward the window.
“I don't want to spend my life wondering what she's planning behind my back.”
I squeezed his hand.
“Then make your decision carefully. Speak with your own attorney. Don't do it because you think it's what I want.”
He nodded.
“I won't.”
Then he surprised me.
“And Mom?”
“Yes?”
“I don't want the $120 million.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“I don't deserve it.”
“Jackson—”
“No. Let me build something myself. I have my career. I have savings. I have more opportunities than most people ever receive.”
He swallowed.
“Dad didn't raise me to live off money I didn't earn.”
I thought of Frank.
How proud he would have been to hear those words.
Before I could respond, the doorbell rang.
Rosa entered the room.
“Mrs. Whitmore, there's a woman outside asking for you.”
“Who?”
“She says her name is Natalie.”
Jackson stiffened.
I stood slowly.
“Is she alone?”
Rosa hesitated.
“I think so.”
I approached the security monitor.
Natalie stood at the front gate wearing jeans, a white blouse, and enormous sunglasses.
She looked nothing like the glamorous bride from the previous day.
Her hair was pulled into a messy ponytail.
Her mascara had smudged.
She held a large envelope.
Jackson stepped beside me.
“Don't let her in.”
I nodded.
Then the intercom crackled.
“Eleanor?”
I pressed the button.
“What do you want, Natalie?”
Her voice trembled.
“Please. I need to talk to you.”
“You can speak from there.”
She looked toward the security camera.
“I know you hate me.”
I said nothing.
“I know what happened to your hair was unforgivable.”
Jackson leaned closer.
“Then why did you let your mother do it?”
Natalie flinched.
“Jackson?”
He spoke through the intercom.
“Did you know?”
She began crying.
“Yes.”
I felt something inside me go cold.
“Did you arrange it?” I asked.
Natalie lowered her head.
“I told Mom I wanted Eleanor humiliated. I never thought she'd actually shave her head.”
Jackson shut his eyes.
Natalie continued desperately.
“When I found out, I should have stopped everything. Instead, I left the note.”
My voice remained steady.
“Why?”
“Because Dad told me if you canceled the transfer, everything would collapse.”
I frowned.
“What would collapse?”
Natalie glanced over her shoulder.
Then held up the envelope.
“Eleanor, I brought proof.”
“Proof of what?”
She looked straight into the camera.
“That my father is planning to disappear with the money he already stole from Jackson.”
Jackson went rigid.
“What money?”
Natalie began crying harder.
“The investment accounts. The ones I convinced you to open, Jackson.”
He stared at the screen.
She whispered:
“Dad emptied them yesterday.”
Jackson turned pale.
Those accounts contained nearly eight million dollars of his personal investments.
Money he'd earned over years working for the company.
Money Frank had given him as an initial stake.
Money that belonged to my son—not to the family trust.
And now Natalie was telling us it was gone.
I reached for my phone.
Margaret needed to know immediately.
But before I could dial, Natalie looked toward the road.
A dark SUV was approaching the gate.
Her expression changed.
“Eleanor,” she whispered.
“What?”
She backed away.
“That's my father's car.”
The vehicle stopped.
Two men stepped out.
Natalie dropped the envelope through the gate.
May you like
Then she screamed:
“CALL THE POLICE!”
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