I listened to it twice, then deleted it. He was still worried about the foundation. He was still worried about the “Callahan” name—a name that was now synonymous with a crime.
I went for a walk in the Oregon woods, the silence of the trees a stark contrast to the screaming headlines on my phone. I realized then that I didn’t want revenge. Revenge would require me to stay tethered to them. I wanted the opposite. I wanted to be gone.
But Marcus wasn’t finished.
Three days later, he showed up at Margaret’s front door. He looked haggard, his expensive suit wrinkled, his eyes bloodshot. He didn’t look like a king anymore; he looked like a man watching his kingdom burn.
“We can fix this,” he said, pushing past Margaret into the living room. “I’ve brought an NDA and a settlement agreement. Five million dollars, Sarah. Five million to walk away, change your name, and never speak to a journalist again. We’ll say it was a misunderstanding, a legal error.”
I looked at him—really looked at him. I saw the fear in his eyes. He wasn’t afraid for me, or for the mother he’d lost. He was afraid of being ordinary. He was afraid of being the son of a criminal.
“No,” I said.
“Ten million,” he countered, his voice rising. “Don’t be a fool. Think about what you could do with that. You’re living in a hut in the woods! Take the money and go be a Thornton somewhere else.”
“My mother died with nothing,” I said, stepping toward him. “She died with twenty-five minutes of motherhood and a name that meant something to her. You think you can buy the last twenty-three years? You think you can put a price on the fact that I grew up wondering why my own mother hated me?”
“She wasn’t your mother!” Marcus screamed.
“I know,” I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. “And that’s the best news I’ve ever heard.”
“You’re making a mistake,” he hissed, his face inches from mine. “Without the Callahan name, you’re nobody. You’re a waitress’s brat from a cold case file.”
“I’d rather be a nobody than a Callahan,” I replied. “Get out of my aunt’s house, Marcus. And if you ever contact me again, I won’t just talk to the press. I’ll talk to the District Attorney about the ‘donations’ you’ve been funneling out of that foundation for the last five years.”
The color drained from his face. He’d forgotten I’d spent two years working in the foundation’s accounting office. I knew where the bodies were buried—and not just the ones Eleanor had hidden.
He left without another word.
Chapter 4: The Birthday
Eight months later, the dust had settled. The Callahan Foundation had folded, its assets liquidated to pay for the massive legal settlements and the damage to the family’s various business interests. Marcus and Vanessa had retreated to a villa in Europe, hiding from a public that now viewed them with a mixture of disgust and mockery.
I didn’t follow the news. I had other things to do.
I stood in a small courtroom in Portland, my hands tucked into the pockets of a new linen dress. Margaret sat in the front row, beaming.
