“GET UP AND COOK FOR MY SON!” MY MOTHER-IN-LAW THREW AN IRON POT AT ME ON MY BIRTHDAY—THEN PHOTOS EXPOSED MY HUSBAND’S AFFAIR / Chapter 8 / 25

Chapter 8 - The Monster in the CageBefore I could execute the trap, I needed the final piece of the puzzle. I needed the original, un-redacted contract Andrew had signed with Marcus. And there was only one person arrogant and paranoid enough to have kept a copy of it to protect her own son.

Lorraine.

The minimum-security federal correctional facility was a bleak, sterile monument to consequences. I sat in a windowless visitation booth. A thick pane of bulletproof glass separated me from the empty metal chair on the other side.

The heavy steel door clanked open.

A guard escorted Lorraine into the booth.

For a moment, I simply observed her. The last time I had seen my mother-in-law, she was screaming curses at me in a courtroom, wrapped in designer silk. The woman sitting down across from me now was a ghost.

The khaki prison uniform hung loosely on her frame. Her hair, once perfectly dyed and coiffed, was stark white at the roots. She looked exhausted, frantic, and completely stripped of her venom.

She picked up the heavy black telephone receiver on her side of the glass.

I picked up mine.

“You,” Lorraine hissed, her voice vibrating with a toxic, impotent rage. “What do you want? Haven't you taken enough from this family?”

“I am not here to reminisce, Lorraine,” I said, my voice a flat, clinical monotone. “Marcus Sterling paid me a visit.”

Lorraine’s face twitched. The bravado began to crack, replaced by a creeping, suffocating terror.

“Marcus,” she whispered, her eyes darting nervously around the small room. “He… he promised he would wait until Andrew’s appeals were finished.”

“Marcus isn't waiting,” I said coldly. “He’s trying to seize the lake house and my foundation to cover Andrew’s debt. And because Andrew forged my signature on the collateral documents, Marcus thinks he holds all the cards.”

I leaned closer to the glass.

“I know Andrew was washing money for Marcus’s pharmaceutical syndicate,” I said softly. “But I need the original contract Andrew signed. The one that proves Marcus knew the collateral was fraudulent. I know you kept a copy, Lorraine. You never let Andrew do anything without keeping an insurance policy.”

“Why would I help you?” Lorraine spat, slamming her hand against the glass. “You put my son in a cage! You ruined my life! If Marcus takes your house, I hope he leaves you on the street!”

“If Marcus takes my house, he doesn't stop there,” I corrected her effortlessly. “If Marcus doesn't get his money, he is going to realize that you are the only one left who knows about the offshore accounts. He will send someone into this prison, Lorraine. You will not survive the week.”

The blood completely drained from her face. She stumbled backward in her chair, clutching the phone receiver as if it were a lifeline.

“You are bluffing,” she choked out.

“Am I?” I asked, my eyes blazing with absolute, matriarchal fury. “You taught me how to play this game, Lorraine. I just learned how to win it. Tell me where the contract is, and I will hand Marcus to the FBI. I will neutralize the threat. You get to live.”

Lorraine looked at me. She looked at the woman she had severely underestimated for years. She realized, in that singular, devastating moment, that she was entirely, hopelessly outmatched.

“Safety deposit box,” Lorraine sobbed, her face buried in her free hand. “First National Bank in Rochester. Under my maiden name. The key is hidden in the lining of the antique jewelry box the feds let me keep in storage.”