Somewhere behind me, I heard Marcus enter the house, his footsteps careful.
But I couldn’t move.
I couldn’t breathe.
“I was sixteen,” I whispered. “I was sixteen years old, and you left me.”
“Your father had money. You were fine.”
“I wasn’t fine. I needed my mother.”
“And I needed a life that wasn’t about being David Hayes’s wife and your mother.” She stood up. “I’m not sorry, Amelia. I’m not sorry I left, and I’m not sorry I helped Richard. You’ve had everything handed to you. This was just evening the scales.”
Richard was backing toward the door now, his eyes darting between me and Marcus.
“You’re not leaving,” Marcus said quietly, blocking his path.
“Amelia, please—” Richard’s voice cracked. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I just—I needed—”
“You threw me out of a helicopter.”
“I panicked! The debts were piling up, and your mother said if I just—if we just—”
“If you just killed me.”
He flinched.
“You know what the worst part is?” I stepped closer to him, and he pressed back against the wall. “I loved you. I actually loved you. I thought we were building a life together. I thought—” My voice broke. “I thought you wanted our baby.”
“I do! Amelia, I—”
“You tried to murder your daughter.”
The words came out sharp. Final.
Richard’s face crumpled.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “God, Amelia, I’m so sorry—”
“No, you’re not. You’re sorry you got caught.”
Behind me, I heard more footsteps. Voices.
The FBI had arrived.
Katherine must have sent them the moment I left Los Angeles.
Agents filled the small house, and suddenly Richard was being handcuffed, his rights being read in that flat, official tone.
My mother stood calmly as another agent approached her.
“Claire Hayes, you’re under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder—”
She didn’t resist.
She just looked at me one last time.
“You’ll never understand,” she said. “You have everything. People like you never understand.”
The agent led her away.
And then they were gone. Richard and my mother, both of them taken to separate vehicles, both of them disappearing from my life.
I stood in the empty living room, trembling.
Marcus touched my shoulder gently.
“Mrs. Hayes. We should go.”
I nodded.
But I couldn’t move.
Because now that it was over—now that Richard was arrested and my mother was finally, truly gone—there was just me.
Me and my daughter.
And the wreckage of everything I’d thought my life was.
“Mrs. Hayes,” Marcus said again, softer this time. “Let’s get you home.”
Home.
The Malibu estate where Richard and I had lived.
Where he’d planned my murder.
“I don’t have a home,” I whispered.
“Then we’ll find you one.”
I let Marcus guide me out of the house, into the bright Arizona morning.
The FBI agents were loading Richard into one car, my mother into another.
Richard was crying.
My mother’s face was blank.
