Chapter 14: The Beggar Queen
The grocery store was practically empty at 8:00 PM on a Tuesday.
I was in the produce aisle, picking out strawberries for Sophie, when I heard the unmistakable click of designer heels marching aggressively toward me.
I turned around.
My mother, Eleanor Hayes, looked unrecognizable.
She wasn't wearing her usual immaculate Chanel suit. She was wearing oversized sweatpants and a rumpled cashmere sweater. Her hair, usually perfectly blown out, was flat and lifeless. The heavy diamond rings that usually adorned her fingers were gone—pawned, no doubt, to pay for Arthur’s mounting legal fees.
"Evelyn," she hissed, looking frantically around the empty aisle.
"Eleanor," I replied coolly, placing the strawberries into my cart.
"You have to stop this," she grabbed the handle of my shopping cart, her knuckles white. "You have completely ruined us. Your father’s accounts are frozen. The country club revoked our membership. My friends won't even look at me in the grocery store! The bank is threatening to foreclose on the estate!"
I stared at her, feeling absolutely nothing.
"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, my voice completely flat.
"Because you have the power to fix it!" she cried, genuine tears welling in her eyes. "Call the District Attorney! Tell them you exaggerated! Tell them you forgive Preston! If you just release a statement, the public will move on, and the federal agents will drop the pressure on your father."
I slowly removed her trembling hands from my cart.
"Mom," I said quietly. "Do you remember when Sophie was in the hospital? Do you remember when I told you Preston smashed her head open with a wooden board?"
She flinched. "It was a mistake—"
"Do you remember what you said?" I interrupted, my voice turning to ice. "You told me not to ruin his wedding. You told me to leave."
"I was in shock! I didn't know what I was saying!"
"No, you knew exactly what you were saying," I corrected her. "You chose him. You always chose him. You watched him bleed my daughter, and your only concern was the carpet."
I leaned in closer. My mother shrank back, looking at me as if I were a stranger.
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"So let me be very clear," I whispered. "I am not going to save you. I am going to sit in the front row of the courtroom, and I am going to watch the judge sentence your golden boy to prison. And when the bank takes your mansion, I hope you remember that you traded your only granddaughter for a criminal who was stealing from you."
I turned my cart around and walked away, leaving the former queen of Chicago society weeping alone next to the organic apples.
