Chapter 3 - The Alliance of Snakes
The next morning broke crisp and clear, the storm having washed the sky into a piercing, brilliant blue. Claire was up before dawn. She had washed her face in her mother’s bathroom, borrowing a clean towel left out by the tenants, and met Mrs. Bell back at her house for breakfast.
By 9:00 AM, the roar of a familiar engine cut through the quiet of Willow Lane.
Claire stood on the front porch of her mother’s house, watching as Rob’s midnight-blue BMW sedan pulled up to the curb. He didn't even park properly; he idling on the side of the road, the engine purring like an expensive beast. The passenger door opened, and Lydia stepped out first, followed by Rob.
Lydia looked frantic. Her perfectly coiffed blonde hair was slightly disheveled, and she clutched her designer handbag against her chest like a shield. Rob walked a step behind her, his face a mask of dark, controlled fury. He looked around the pristine yard of the property, his eyes narrowing as he realized the game was up.
"Claire!" Lydia cried out, marching up the green-painted walkway. "What on earth are you doing here? You frightened us to death! Rob said you had an episode on the highway and ran off!"
"An episode?" Claire asked, her voice dangerously calm. She kept her hands buried deep in her coat pockets. "Is that what he told you?"
"Claire, let’s get in the car," Rob interrupted, his voice dropping into that low, authoritative register he used to control boardrooms and his household alike. He stepped onto the porch, reaching out to grab her arm. "You’re making a scene. The neighbors are watching. You’ve clearly had some sort of nervous breakdown. We’ll get you to a doctor in Richmond."
Claire stepped back, just out of his reach. "Do not touch me, Rob."
Rob’s eyes flashed with a cold warning. "Claire. Don't do this."
"Do what? Standardize the truth?" Claire turned her gaze to her sister. Lydia was trembling, her eyes darting between Claire and the locked front door. "Lydia, the house looks beautiful. Marcus and his family must really love living here. Twelve hundred dollars a month is a lot of money. Where has it been going?"
Lydia’s face drained of all color. "Claire... I can explain... the repairs were so expensive initially... I had to take out loans..."
"Stop lying, Lydia!" Claire’s voice cracked through the morning air like a whip. "I talked to Mrs. Bell. I know the tenants have been here for five years. I know there was never a collapsed roof. I know there was never a pest infestation. And you," she said, spinning toward Rob, "you knew. Every time I cried about this house, every time I cut back on my own needs to send Lydia money, you knew she was pocketing it. Why?"
Rob let out a long, slow sigh, dropping his hand. The facade of the worried husband slipped away, replaced by the arrogant businessman who knew he held all the cards.
"Because it kept you quiet, Claire," Rob said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. "It kept you occupied. You were always so obsessed with your mother, so consumed by this town. If you knew the house was generating income, you would have wanted to come down here. You would have wanted to manage it. You would have wanted independence. And frankly, you aren't capable of it."
"And you let her steal from me?"
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"Lydia needed the money for her business, and it kept you dependent on my income," Rob said smoothly, as if explaining a perfectly logical corporate merger. "It was efficient. Now, get in the car. We are going home, and we are going to forget this little detour ever happened."
"No," Claire said. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. She unlocked it and showed them the screen. She hadn't been idle that morning; she had called a local real estate attorney whose name she found in Mrs. Bell's directory. "I’m not going back to Richmond with you. And I’m not forgetting anything."
