Chapter 7 - The Confession
The county jail was cold and smelled of floor wax. Mrs. Pruitt sat behind the glass partition, wearing an orange jumpsuit that made her look washed out and powerless.
Nathan sat on the other side, his expression carved from stone. Beside him was Marcus Vance, who had brought a tape recorder.
"You have ten minutes, Nathan," Mrs. Pruitt said, her voice bitter. "Then I’m going back to my cell. My lawyer says I shouldn't talk to you."
"Your lawyer is trying to keep you out of federal prison, Eleanor," Nathan said coldly. "But only I can make that happen. If you tell me the truth about what happened ten years ago, I will instruct my legal team to drop the civil suits against you. You’ll still go to jail for fraud, but you won't spend the rest of your life in a maximum-security penitentiary."
Mrs. Pruitt stared at him, her fingers twitching. She knew she was beaten.
"Fine," she spat. "It was Helen."
Nathan’s heart clenched, but he kept his face completely blank. "Tell me."
"Ten years ago, Helen was desperate," Mrs. Pruitt said, her voice dropping. "She had suffered three miscarriages. She knew your marriage was failing, and she believed a baby was the only way to keep you. When she went into labor in Chicago, she gave birth to twin girls. But Clara was born healthy, while Eliza... Eliza was born with a severe respiratory issue. The doctors didn't think she would survive the night."
Mrs. Pruitt let out a dry cough. "Helen panicked. She was terrified that if one baby died, it would bring back her depression. She couldn't handle the thought of losing a child. So, she paid me. She told me to take the sick baby and make her disappear. She wanted to pretend Clara was an only child."
"And the fire?" Nathan whispered, his blood running cold.
"The fire was an accident," Mrs. Pruitt insisted. "But it was a convenient one. In the chaos of the evacuation, I took Eliza. I smuggled her out in a laundry basket. Helen paid me five hundred thousand dollars to keep my mouth shut and raise the child far away."
"But you didn't raise her," Nathan said, his voice trembling with a mixture of grief and rage. "You put her in an orphanage. You starved her!"
"I used the money to buy my way into St. Catherine's," Mrs. Pruitt said, showing no remorse. "But Eliza was a constant reminder of my crime. Every time I looked at her, I saw Clara’s face. I hated her for it. I wanted her gone, but I couldn't just throw her on the street. So, I kept her hidden, hoping she would eventually be adopted by some family far away. But no one wanted her. She was too quiet, too strange."
"She was starving because of you," Nathan hissed, slamming his hand against the glass.
Mrs. Pruitt flinched but didn't look away. "I did what I had to do to survive, Nathan. Just like your wife did."
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Nathan stood up, unable to look at her for another second. "You are a monster, Eleanor. And you will spend every single day of your sentence remembering what you did to my daughter."
He walked out of the prison, the air outside smelling clean and fresh. The truth was painful—knowing Helen had betrayed him and abandoned their own flesh and blood—but it was also a liberation. The shadows of the past were finally being dragged into the light.
