Chapter 4 - THE LAST SUPPER OF LIES
The sun dipped below the horizon,
bleeding red and purple into the sky,
as Spencer’s car pulled into the driveway.
I stood by the kitchen window,
watching him straighten his tie in the rearview mirror,
the image of a successful,
caring husband.
He walked through the door with a bouquet of lilies,
the scent of the flowers cloying and sickly sweet.
“Nellie!
I’m so glad you’re home,”
he said,
wrapping his arms around me in a hug that felt like a cage.
“I missed you so much in Atlanta.”
I forced myself to lean into him,
to play the role of the tired wife one last time.
“I missed you too,
Spencer,”
I said,
my voice muffled against his chest.
“How is Grandma?
Your note was a bit...
abrupt.”
Spencer pulled back,
his expression shifting to a look of mock concern.
“She’s been difficult,
honey.
Really difficult.”
“She’s in the back room;
I think she’s finally sleeping.”
Bianca emerged from the living room,
acting as the bridge between us.
“Dinner is almost ready,”
she announced,
“let’s have a nice family meal before we check on her.”
We sat at the dining table,
the atmosphere thick with unspoken secrets and the clinking of silverware.
Spencer talked about his day,
about a "big deal" that was coming through,
never mentioning it was my money he was talking about.
He kept glancing toward the back room,
anxiety flickering in his eyes like a dying candle.
“Did you give her the medication,
Nellie?”
he asked,
stabbing a piece of chicken.
“The one I left on the nightstand?”
“I took care of everything,
Spencer,”
I said,
taking a slow sip of my wine.
“She’s exactly where she needs to be.”
He relaxed,
a smug smile spreading across his face.
“I knew I could count on you.”
“You always have such a way with people,
a real eye for the details.”
I looked at him,
seeing the hollow man beneath the expensive suit.
“I do have an eye for details,”
I agreed,
“like the way your signatures have changed lately.”
The table went silent,
the sound of a falling fork echoing like a gunshot.
Spencer’s smile faltered,
but he didn't break.
“What do you mean,
honey?”
“I mean the eight hundred thousand dollars you moved out of my company’s reserve,”
I said,
my voice rising,
no longer a whisper.
“And the lake house deed you forged from Rosalind.”
Bianca gasped,
clutching her chest.
“Nellie!
What are you talking about?
You must be exhausted!”
Spencer stood up,
his face turning a dark,
angry red.
“You’ve been working too hard,
Nellie.
You’re imagining things.”
“Maybe you should go to the back room and lie down.”
I didn't move.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and pressed a button.
Spencer’s own voice began to play from the speakers of the house,
loud and clear.
“By the time Nellie comes home,
she’ll be so busy taking care of the old woman she won’t even notice the transfer.”
The recording played through their laughter,
their plans for my neglect lawsuit,
and their disdain for the woman in the back room.
Spencer’s face went from red to a ghostly,
translucent white.
“That’s...
that’s a fake,”
he stammered,
“you’ve been using that forensic software to frame me!”
“Is the tracker on the bank account fake too?”
I asked,
standing up to face him.
“Because the FBI is currently watching the money land in your Cayman account.”
Bianca started to wail,
a shrill,
pathetic sound.
“Spencer,
do something!
She’s ruining us!”
“No,
Bianca,”
a voice came from the hallway.
Rosalind walked into the dining room,
unsteady but upright,
holding her notebook like a shield.
“You ruined yourselves the moment you decided I was a burden to be discarded.”
Spencer looked at his grandmother,
then at me,
realizing the walls were closing in.
He lunged for my phone,
but I stepped back,
and the front door burst open.
May you like
The "last supper" was over,
and the bill was finally being served.
