Chapter 7 - The Empty BallroomAs the federal agents escorted my father and sister down the central aisle, past two hundred stunned members of high society, my mother dragged herself up from the chair. Her expensive makeup was ruined by black streaks of mascara, and her diamond necklace hung crookedly against her gown.
She stumbled toward me, reaching out with manicured hands that were now shaking out of control. “Claire... baby, please. Tell them to stop. Talk to your husband! You know your father didn't mean those things he said. He was under so much stress!”
I looked at my mother—the woman who had spent thirty years ignoring my existence except when she needed someone to organize her charity galas without pay. The woman who had covered her mouth and laughed when her husband called me a failure at my own wedding altar.
“You laughed, Mom,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, yet carrying total finality. “When he insulted me, you didn't even hesitate. You smiled.”
“I was trying to keep the peace!” she sobbed. “You know how your father gets! Claire, I’m your mother!”
“No,” Adrian said, stepping between us, his tall frame cutting off her approach. “You were her warden. And her sentence ended today.”
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Adrian signaled to Vance. “Ensure Mrs. Mercer is provided with transit to her primary residence before the locks are changed at midnight. She may take one suitcase of personal clothing. Nothing else.”
My mother fell to her knees on the aisle runner, weeping openly as the remaining guests began to quickly, quietly evacuate the room, eager to distance themselves from the radioactive wreckage of the Mercer family name.
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