My mood changes instantly. I haven’t seen her for fourteen months, since our final court hearing. Irritation and hostility surge through me. She wanted to steal Kristen away, ostensibly to provide a more “stable and normal” home. It sounded good on paper. If I were an objective third party, I would’ve probably bought the bullshit. After all, Dorothy is a DA, and she’s married to a local politician, and they live in a nice three-bedroom house in an upper-middle-class neighborhood with their adopted son, Andy.
I didn’t buy any of it. I know how much she hated our parents…and me…and Kristen.
Thankfully, the judge saw right through Dorothy because he asked to see some photos of us together.
“If you love them the way you say, surely there are pictures and memories.”
She wasn’t able to produce any. The only memory I have of her is her glaring or screaming at my parents or telling me what kind of fuckup I am. I’m certain she did the same to Kristen when nobody else was around.
Dorothy hasn’t changed—the suit, the aggressive body language, the thin-lipped sneer. She starts to push her way into my home, her eyes full of superiority and triumph. They alarm me; I was certain she’d given up on taking Kristen away.
Not bothering to hide my hostility, I block her, staying in the doorway. I’ll be damned if I let her come in.
“What are you doing here?” I demand.
“Looking at you one last time before you’re booked for rape.”
“What?” I blink a few times to make sure I’m processing her right, then laugh. “Rape? What the fuck?” I’ve never touched a girl who didn’t want it, and since meeting Liza, the only woman in my life has been her.
“Statutory, to be specific. Don’t you know it’s illegal to have intercourse with a girl who isn’t eighteen?”
“I’ve never been with an underage girl.”
“Reeeeaaaalllyyy?” Dorothy laughs, the sound like nails raking down a piece of tin. “You had sex with Elizabeth Pryce-Reed when she was seventeen. The age of consent in California is eighteen, in case you didn’t know. Not that ignorance of the law is going to be a valid defense.”
“Who the hell is Elizabeth Pryce-Re—” Then I know.
Liza.
Elizabeth Anne Reed was the name on her license, but…
“Let’s not act stupid. We all know why you targeted her—for her money.”
“What money?”
Dorothy tsks. “Don’t act surprised. It’s really not your forte.”
My throat tightens.
“She’s an heiress. Her father’s a multibillionaire, and she has a sizable trust as well.”
What the fuck?
Dorothy’s lips twist into a vindictive line. “I can’t wait until you’re prosecuted. I won’t be handling the case because it would look bad, me being your loving and stunned aunt and all. But mark my words. You’ll be arrested for statutory rape, most likely convicted of a felony—since that’s the least her family will demand—and registered as a sex offender once you’re out of prison.” She smiles. “I can’t wait.”
I stare at her, my scalp throbbing as rage and confusion beat at me. She has to be making this shit up. I’ve seen the depth of her hatred. Purely from spite, she made sure Granddad cut his daughter off for marrying Dad, who was a penniless nobody as far as the family was concerned. Then Dorothy maliciously spread rumors about my parents…simply because she could and knew Mom wouldn’t retaliate.
“I don’t believe you. And even if what you’re saying is true—which it isn’t—Liza would never testify against me,” I say, unable to think of anything else.
Dorothy gives me a look full of pity. “Who told you that? Elizabeth?” She snorts. “I saw her earlier today at her grandmother’s mansion, and she told me she was perfectly ready and willing.”
My heart beats so fast that I’m afraid it’s going to give out. I clench my hands until my nails dig painfully into my palms, and will myself to wake up from the nightmare.
This can’t be real. Can’t be.
“Why do you think she was at the bar?”
“Because she wanted a drink.”