Chapter 5 - THE MOTHER-IN-LAW'S VISIT
The following morning at 10:15 AM, the hallway infrared camera system Marcus had installed chimed quietly on my iPad screen.
I was sitting at the kitchen table teaching Lucy how to make my secret cinnamon roll recipe. The sweet, warm scent of baked dough filled the apartment.
I looked down at the tablet screen.
Standing outside my new steel door was a woman in her late fifties, wearing an ivory mink coat, dark sunglasses, and gold jewelry that glinted under the hallway lights. She held a designer leather handbag against her ribs like a shield.
Behind her stood a broad-shouldered private security guard in a dark suit.
Lucy glanced at the screen and instantly went rigid. The rolling pin slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the flour-dusted counter.
"Eleanor," Lucy whispered, her breath hitching. "Adrian’s mother."
"Stay right here," I told Lucy softly, wiping the flour from my apron. "Finish rolling the dough. Don't look at the screen."
I picked up my cane, walked into the entryway, and looked through the digital peephole.
Eleanor Vance reached out her manicured hand and knocked three times—not loud and violent like her son, but sharp, demanding, and full of aristocratic impatience.
I pressed the intercom speaker button.
"Can I help you?" I asked through the steel door.
Eleanor adjusted her sunglasses, looking directly up at the camera lens with cold, condescending disgust.
"Mrs. Miller, I presume," Eleanor’s voice came through crisp and clear, dripping with artificial sophistication. "I am Eleanor Vance. I have come to collect my grandson, Liam, and to offer you a very generous financial settlement to end this absurd public spectacle."
"Your grandson is sleeping," I replied smoothly. "And I am in the middle of baking cinnamon rolls. I don't recall ordering any door-to-door salespeople today."
I heard her hit the heels of her shoes against the hallway floor in annoyance.
"Listen to me, you foolish old woman," Eleanor spat, dropping the polite facade instantly. "My family has owned half the commercial property in this district for thirty years. You are dealing with people far above your social station. My son made a mistake by being clumsy, but Lucinda is an unstable, uneducated girl who cannot provide for that child. I am prepared to offer you fifty thousand dollars in cash today if you open that door and hand over my grandson."
Fifty thousand dollars in cash.
To her, everything had a price tag. Human beings, babies, dignity, justice.
I unlocked the upper viewing hatch—a small, three-inch steel slider Marcus had installed at eye level—and looked directly into Eleanor Vance's cold, heavily painted eyes through the thick safety glass.
"Fifty thousand dollars," I repeated slowly.
Eleanor smiled—a triumphant, arrogant smirk. She reached into her leather handbag and pulled out a thick Manila envelope. "Fifty thousand. No taxes, no receipts. You simply tell the police that Lucinda left the child on your doorstep and fled the state. You walk away a rich widow, and my family cleans up this mess."
I looked at the Manila envelope, then back at her face.
"Mrs. Vance," I said, my voice dropping into an octave so cold it made the air in the entryway feel like winter. "When your son smashed his boot into my door yesterday, he bled on my linoleum. Do you know what I did after the police took him away?"
Eleanor blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
"I scrubbed his blood off my floor with hot water and bleach," I said. "And as I was scrubbing, I wondered what kind of mother raises a man who hits a girl holding a baby."
Eleanor’s face flushed bright red beneath her makeup. "How dare you—"
"Now I see what kind of mother he has," I continued, unyielding. "You think you can buy a child like a piece of furniture because you bought your son’s freedom with a bail bond. But you can't buy me, Mrs. Vance. And you certainly can't buy that sweet girl in my kitchen who survived your son’s cruelty."
"She belongs to my family!" Eleanor screamed, slamming her palm against the steel hatch. "I will destroy you! I will have this entire building condemned! I will buy your landlord out by tomorrow afternoon and throw you into the street!"
I smiled softly behind the safety glass.
"My son Thomas bought this entire apartment building five years ago as an investment for my retirement, Mrs. Vance," I said gently. "So if you want to buy it from him, the price is one hundred million dollars—cash. Now get off my welcome mat before I turn on the hallway fire sprinklers."
I slid the steel hatch shut with a loud, heavy CLANG and locked it.
Through the iPad screen, I watched Eleanor Vance stand frozen in pure, unadulterated rage, her face purple, her fifty thousand dollars clutched uselessly in her trembling hand.
Her security guard looked down at his shoes, trying desperately not to laugh.
Finally, Eleanor turned on her expensive heels, her mink coat swishing wildly as she stomped toward the elevator.
I walked back into the kitchen. Lucy was standing near the stove, tears streaming down her cheeks—not tears of fear, but tears of pure, overwhelming laughter.
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"You... you told her you'd turn on the fire sprinklers?" Lucy gasped, wiping her eyes with her apron.
"Well," I chuckled, picking up the rolling pin and handing it back to her, "it would be a shame to get that mink coat wet, wouldn't it? Now, let's get these cinnamon rolls in the oven. We have a court date to win tomorrow."
