PART 6: THE LETHAL QUEEN
I looked at the cheap paper inside the prison envelope resting on my desk. It was Raymond’s messy handwriting. He was surely writing to beg me for help. I could easily guess what he said: he probably wanted me to tell the judge he was a good person so he could get out of jail early, or ask me to send him money, or lie about how our father made him steal.
“Do you want me to save this letter for you, Mrs. Sanders?” Clara asked quietly.
“No, Clara,” I said in a calm voice. “I don’t need it.”
Years ago, just seeing my brother’s handwriting would have made me feel scared, nervous, and sad. I would have wanted to try to fix his problems for him. But today, it meant nothing to me. It was just useless paper.
I did not even open the envelope. I picked it up with my hand and dropped it right into the paper shredder next to my desk.
The machine turned on with a loud noise. I stood there for five seconds, listening to the blades chop up Raymond’s letter, his excuses, his lies, and his words into tiny pieces of trash.
“Do you need anything else, Mrs. Sanders?” Clara asked.
“No, Clara,” I answered, grabbing my bag. “That is all. Have a good night.”
My past was completely cut off for good.
Three years later, I stood inside the huge, beautiful ballroom at the Four Seasons Hotel. The big glass lights shone down on all the rich people in their nice suits and dresses. It was the annual charity party for Sanders Holdings, a big night where we raised millions of dollars to help sick children—a project I personally ran.
“Mrs. Sanders, the business people from Paris want to talk to you about the new hospital project,” a man from our company said to me with a smile.
“I will talk to them right now,” I said politely, speaking fluent French and moving through the crowd easily.
I wore a bright green dress that looked beautiful in the lights. I was at the top of my career, my life, and my power. Alistair stood right next to me in his black suit, keeping his big hand gently on my back to remind me he was always there for me.
A few steps away, Kirk was playing with a balloon and laughing, totally safe and happy, far away from the mean family I grew up with. I felt a strong, warm love in my chest. No one could ever trick me or hurt my family again.
“You are thinking deeply tonight, my love,” Alistair said softly, leaning his head down near mine.
“I was just thinking about how happy our life is now,” I said, looking into his eyes.
“You built this great life yourself,” Alistair said with a proud smile. “I just helped you when you needed it.”
“We make a great team,” I smiled back.
Many people tell women to be quiet, soft, and to accept bad treatment from their families just to keep everyone happy. They think that if a woman is quiet, she is weak and cannot fight back.
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