Chapter 3
Joshua tilted his head up and looked at Mason.
His little brows scrunched together, confused but not angry. "Sir, your eyes look red. Are you looking for your mom, too?"
Mason's stomach clenched hard.
He remembered the report his assistant handed him, the words "Surgery finished" staring back at him. He remembered draining a whole bottle of whiskey, throwing up blood in the bathroom.
He remembered his mother patting his back, saying, "That kind of woman? Glad she's gone for good." And he remembered believing it.
"Joshua," Calla said, turning him away so he wouldn't have to look at Mason anymore, "let's go home."
She walked toward the door, and the crowd parted for her. Calvin tried to step in, but her glare stopped him cold.
Her phone screen lit up.
The caller ID flashed "Mr. Rivera," the head of Scott Biotech, her business partner, and right now, the only one who could bail her out of this mess.
Calla didn't pick up. She hit the speaker, and his respectful voice burst through the silence: "Ms. Scott, the C-round funding press conference is in twenty minutes. The media's already here, and you..."
"I know," Calla cut him off.
She scooped Joshua up, nodded to the room, and said, "Excuse me, I've got a board meeting to get to."
As she turned, her gaze locked onto the bracelet. Clare instinctively clutched her wrist, like she'd touched something hot.
For the first time, Mason used her full name, his voice unusually formal. "Calla Scott, let's talk."
"Mr. Spencer," she said, pausing at the door, "five years ago, you sent your assistant to deliver your message. Now you don't even need an assistant?"
The door closed behind her with a heavy thud.
In the hallway, Joshua clung to her neck. "Mommy, who was that man?"
"Just someone who doesn't matter," Calla replied.
"He kept staring at you. Like how I stare at the Transformers in the toy store window," Joshua said.
Calla paused for a moment.
"Joshua," she said, "some people stare because they want something. But wanting doesn't mean they deserve it."
The elevator doors opened.
Elena rushed out, her hair a mess. "I was freaking out. I searched everywhere. Where's Joshua?"
"He's inside," Calla said, handing Joshua over. "Can you watch him for ten minutes?"
"What are you going to do?" Elena asked.
"I'm going to get back what's mine," Calla replied.
Calla turned and strode back, her heels tapping out a fierce rhythm. She paused by the fire escape next to the private room, reached into her bag, and pulled out a voice recorder, the one Hannah never managed to find five years ago, still hidden in the secret lining of her sleeve.
The conversation she'd just captured was enough to make some people sweat.
But she didn't press play.
Her phone buzzed with a push notification: [SpencerCEOExGirlfriend had just hit number three on the trending list.]
The attached photo showed her holding Joshua, her back to the camera, while Mason stood in the doorway, his eyes wrecked, like he'd just been hit by a storm.
Calla turned off her phone screen.
Not now. She wanted to sharpen the blade. Let the prey climb higher, so the fall would hurt more.
She walked back to the elevator, where Joshua was resting on Elena's shoulder, arms stretched out toward her.
"Mommy," Joshua said, "I won't run off next time. But that man..."
"Hmm?" Calla replied.
"He seemed really sad. Even sadder than when I broke your experiment stuff," Joshua said.
Calla scooped him up, breathing in that familiar milky baby scent from his hair.
"Joshua," she said softly, "that's his sadness to deal with. My only job is to make sure you're happy."
The elevator descended, her face reflected in the mirror.
She looked just like she did five years ago, and yet, she was nothing like that woman anymore.
*****
The next morning, a legal letter showed up at the Spencer Estate.
While Hannah was smashing her third teacup, Mason was reading the document. The paper was thin, the wording cold, and every accusation hit like a slap across the face.
Theft. Trafficking stolen goods. Unlawful possession of another's heirlooms.
Calla wanted that bracelet. This wasn't a request. It was a demand. She attached a full chain of evidence: her mother's purchase receipt, the Spencers' butler's testimony, and auction house transaction records.
"Is she crazy?" Hannah's voice was shrill. "It's just a worthless bracelet. How much does she want for it? I'll pay..."
"Mom," Mason cut her off.
He fixed his gaze on the signature at the bottom of the last page. Calla's name was written with the same precision as data in a lab report.
"You said you got rid of it back then," Mason said.
"I did! I handed it to the butler..." Hannah retorted.
"The butler said you told him to 'get a good price for it,'" Mason said.
The atmosphere froze.
Hannah's face shifted, like her carefully maintained mask had been torn away. "Mason, are you questioning me? For that woman..."
"I want the truth," Mason said.