Chapter 4 - The Hawaiian Paradise of Lies
housands of miles away, on the sun-drenched shores of Maui, Patricia and Evan were
living in a parallel universe of unearned luxury. Using my black credit card, Patricia had
booked them into the Presidential Suite at the Four Seasons, overlooking the sparkling turquoise
waters of the Pacific. She spent the morning at the high-end spa, undergoing gold-leaf facials and
sipping champagne, while Evan sat by the infinity pool, trying to drown his nagging guilt in top-shelf
rum cocktails.
"You see, Evan?" Patricia said, adjusting her designer sunglasses as she reclined on a private
cabana bed. "This is what peace feels like. If we had stayed in that house with Maya's constant drama,
you would be a nervous wreck. She is simply a fragile girl who cannot handle the realities of
motherhood."
"I don't know, Mom," Evan muttered, staring at his drink. "She looked so terrified. And Noah... he
did look really pale. Maybe we should have at least called a pediatrician before we boarded the
flight."
"Nonsense!" Patricia snapped, her voice sharp. "I raised three children, Evan. I know a cold when
I see one. She wanted to lock you away in that house and keep you from supporting your sister
Vanessa on her big wedding day. Maya is manipulative. Her wealth has made her soft and demanding.
Now, pass me the card. I saw a beautiful Chanel boutique in the lobby that has a bag calling my
name."
Vanessa, the bride, walked over in her white silk robe, holding a cocktail. "Honestly, Evan, if
Maya loved this family, she would have dragged herself here. Instead, she’s home playing the victim.
Forget her. Let's post some pictures. Let everyone see how perfect our family is."
And they did. Over the next four days, my social media feed—which I could not see, but the rest
of the world could—was flooded with photos of their lavish trip. Patricia smiling with a sunset behind
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her, holding a glass of Pinot Grigio. Evan laughing on a private yacht charter, paid for with my money.
Vanessa’s multi-million-dollar beachside ceremony, funded entirely by the black card they had stolen
from my dresser. They were celebrating a life of privilege, completely oblivious to the tragedy they
May you like
had left in their wake.
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