Chapter 6 - The Parents Who Sold Her
Malcolm refused to cooperate until the masked man sent a second video.
This one showed Miriam’s hand placed flat against a steel table. A mechanical blade hovered above her fingers.
A distorted voice counted backward from ten.
Vivian stopped the video at six.
She stood in the interrogation room across from Malcolm while Elise observed behind the glass.
“Tell me where the underground courthouse entrance is.”
Malcolm leaned back.
“What do I receive?”
“Your sister’s life.”
“Miriam isn’t my sister.”
“Your wife’s freedom.”
He glanced toward the mirrored glass.
“Lorraine is already turning against me.”
“Your own freedom, then.”
“Can you promise it?”
“No.”
“Then we have nothing to discuss.”
Vivian placed the tablet in front of him and resumed the video.
The countdown continued.
Five.
Four.
Malcolm’s eyes moved toward the blade.
Three.
Two.
“Stop it.”
Vivian paused the video.
“Where is the entrance?”
“Old drainage station east of the courthouse.”
“What is Site 7?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why do they need Lorraine?”
“They don’t.”
“The message said bring both parents.”
“It said that because they know you still believe one of us might be innocent.”
Vivian studied him.
“Is she?”
Malcolm smiled without humor.
“There are different kinds of guilt.”
“Did Lorraine know I was stolen?”
“She knew you weren’t ours.”
“Did she know Elena was alive?”
“At first.”
The answer struck harder than Vivian expected.
“At first?”
“She met Elena before the fire.”
“Why?”
“Because Elena chose us.”
Elena’s account had suggested the Harts were selected through intermediaries. Malcolm was saying something different.
“Explain.”
“We were drowning in debt. Lorraine had suffered two miscarriages. Your mother offered enough money to clear everything if we temporarily sheltered you.”
“For how long?”
“Two weeks.”
“What happened after two weeks?”
“Elena disappeared.”
“And instead of contacting authorities, you kept me.”
“Miriam contacted us. She offered monthly payments.”
Vivian gripped the edge of the table.
“So you sold my childhood by subscription.”
“We raised you.”
“You invoiced them for me.”
“We did what we had to do.”
“You moved into a larger house.”
“You needed a safe neighborhood.”
“You bought a boat.”
Malcolm shrugged.
“Children need recreation.”
Vivian almost lunged across the table.
Instead, she placed both palms flat on the metal surface.
“How long were the payments supposed to continue?”
“Until you turned eighteen.”
“But you kept taking money.”
“Miriam feared you would discover the truth.”
“Did you blackmail her?”
“I reminded her what exposure would cost.”
Vivian understood then.
Every time she attempted to leave, Malcolm and Lorraine had created a crisis.
Malcolm’s heart scare before university.
Lorraine’s supposed breakdown when Vivian considered moving overseas.
The emergency loans.
The sudden illnesses.
The unpaid taxes Vivian had to resolve.
They had not merely wanted her money.
They had been paid to keep her close.
“Who gave you the metal box?”
“A Meridian representative.”
“Name.”
“I never heard his real one.”
“What did you call him?”
“The Curator.”
Vivian felt the room cool around her.
“What does he curate?”
“People.”
Malcolm’s eyes remained on the paused image of Miriam.
“He said every useful family contains an asset, a custodian, and a liability. Elena was an asset until she rebelled. We were custodians. Miriam was a liability.”
“And me?”
Malcolm looked directly at her.
“You were the vault.”
Vivian stepped away from the table.
“What does the primary ledger contain?”
“Proof of who funded Meridian. Names, transfers, placements, replacements.”
“Replacements?”
Malcolm said nothing.
Vivian leaned closer.
“Children?”
“Sometimes.”
“What happened to the original children?”
“I never asked.”
“You knew.”
“I knew enough not to ask.”
The door opened.
An officer entered and whispered to Vivian.
Lorraine had requested to speak with her.
Vivian left Malcolm and entered the adjacent room.
Lorraine sat with her hands folded around a paper cup. Without makeup and expensive clothing, she looked older than Vivian remembered.
“Your father is lying,” Lorraine said.
“About which part?”
“He claims Elena selected us.”
“He said she paid you to shelter me.”
“She did.”
“Then what is the lie?”
Lorraine’s eyes filled with tears.
“She didn’t disappear after two weeks.”
Vivian waited.
“Malcolm told her you had died.”
The walls seemed to move.
“How?”
“He showed her a death certificate. He took her to a grave.”
“Whose grave?”
“I don’t know.”
“And you allowed it?”
“I didn’t know until later.”
“When?”
“Your third birthday.”
Vivian stared at her.
Twenty-nine years.
Lorraine had known for twenty-nine years that Elena believed her child was dead.
“Why didn’t you tell her?”
“Because by then, you called me Mama.”
Lorraine began crying.
“I had lost two babies. You reached for me when you were afraid. You slept against my chest. You loved me.”
“A child loving you did not make the lie yours to keep.”
“I was afraid they would take you.”
“You mean you were afraid the money would stop.”
Lorraine slammed the cup down.
“I loved you.”
“You threw my belongings into the rain.”
“I was angry.”
“You called me useless.”
“You froze everything we had.”
“After you did that.”
Lorraine lowered her head.
Vivian saw it then.
The terrible contradiction Lorraine had spent decades hiding from herself.
She may have loved Vivian in some damaged, possessive way.
But she had loved being needed more.
She had loved the money more.
She had loved the power of calling stolen devotion motherhood.
Vivian placed the photograph of Elena and the newborn on the table.
“Look at her.”
Lorraine turned away.
“Look at the woman you allowed to mourn a living child.”
Lorraine looked.
Her face collapsed.
“The entrance to Bellweather isn’t through the drainage station,” she whispered.
Vivian froze.
“Malcolm knows they monitor him. He is sending you into a trap.”
“Where is the real entrance?”
Lorraine wrote an address on the back of the photograph.
“An old church six blocks west.”
May you like
“How do you know?”
“Because that is where they gave you to us.”
