Chapter 7 - THE CONFRONTATION
Back at the Lawson estate, a torrential spring storm had rolled into Boston. Thunder rattled the antique windows, and heavy rain lashed against the glass.
Thomas arrived home, his mind racing with legal strategies, furiously texting his private security team to trace the leaked medical records back to Sterling. He threw the front door open, the stress rolling off him in waves.
Clare met him in the hallway, her face pale. "Thomas, what's wrong? The news is everywhere."
"Sterling leaked Elise's medical files," Thomas snapped, shedding his wet coat. "He's trying to force me out of the company by claiming I'm embezzling funds for her surgery. I have to spend the entire night with the lawyers to block the emergency vote tomorrow."
"He used her?" Clare gasped, horrified. "He used a sick child?"
"He's a monster. But I will crush him. I just need quiet tonight," Thomas said, his voice rising in frustration as he paced the foyer. "This is exactly what I didn't want! The media circling our house, the board breathing down my neck. It’s a disaster!"
A sudden crack of lightning illuminated the top of the grand staircase.
There, sitting quietly in her wheelchair, clutching Barnaby the bear, was Elise.
She had woken up from the thunder and wheeled herself out into the hallway. She had heard everything. She had heard Thomas say she was a disaster. She had heard that she was ruining his company.
Her heart, already battered by years of rejection, shattered completely.
I told him, she thought, tears finally spilling over her cheeks. I told him I was too much work.
Thomas and Clare didn't see her. They walked into Thomas's study, slamming the heavy oak doors behind them.
Elise looked down at her bear. "We have to go, Barnaby," she whispered, her voice trembling. "We're breaking their house."
With agonizing effort, Elise wheeled herself down the long, dark hallway toward the rear service elevator that led to the kitchen. Her small arms ached as she navigated the heavy wheels. She reached the kitchen, unlatched the heavy French doors leading to the back terrace, and pushed herself out into the freezing, torrential rain.
The wind howled, instantly soaking her thin pajamas. The wheels of her chair bogged down in the mud of the gardens, but she pushed harder, her tiny hands slipping on the wet metal rims. She had to get away. If she left, Mr. Lawson could keep his company. Mrs. Lawson wouldn't be sad anymore. She was the problem. She was always the problem.
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Thirty minutes later, Maria the housekeeper walked into Thomas's study, her face white with sheer terror.
"Mr. Lawson... Mrs. Lawson..." Maria stammered. "The back doors are open. And Elise... Elise is gone."
