Chapter 2 - THE PADLOCK
Camille and the baby were medically reassuring.
I learned to use that phrase because Dr. Hannah Mercer refused to give me the absolute certainty I demanded. Camille had mild dehydration, low blood pressure, and a panic response. Ultrasound showed fetal cardiac activity and age-appropriate movement. There was no evidence of trauma to the pregnancy.
“Can you tell me they’re both safe?” I asked.
“I can tell you everything we see now is reassuring.”
I disliked the answer.
It was the responsible one.
Camille remained for observation several hours. She drank water, ate, and eventually stopped shaking whenever the hospital-room door clicked shut. That last part worried me more than the vital signs.
Police interviewed us separately.
I described finding the padlock, breaking it, removing Camille, hearing Eugenia’s admission, and slapping my mother afterward.
Detective Nina Holloway asked, “Was Mrs. Eugenia physically attacking your wife when you struck her?”
“No.”
“Was she attacking you?”
“No.”
“Were you preventing another immediate assault?”
“No.”
“Then you understand your conduct gets reviewed separately.”
“Yes.”
No argument.
My mother’s cruelty did not turn retaliation into self-defense.
Camille’s account was more complicated.
She had been in the garden wing with Eugenia because Eugenia asked to discuss “family participation.” Camille tried to leave. My mother stood in the doorway.
“What did she want?” Detective Holloway asked.
“A signature.”
“On what?”
“Something saying I was voluntarily staying away from family decision-making until after Sebastian’s business trip.”
“Did you sign?”
“No.”
“What happened next?”
“She told me I was being disrespectful. I said I was going to call Sebastian. My phone was upstairs charging. She told me I wasn’t going anywhere. I walked toward the courtyard exit. She opened the garden room and told me we could talk privately.”
“You went inside voluntarily?”
“At first.”
Important.
Then Eugenia stepped outside, kicked the door closed, locked it, and said nine days should teach obedience.
Camille screamed.
Beat on the door.
Tried the windows.
The oldest window opened only a few inches because of security stops. No phone. No internal release on the exterior padlock latch.
An attached powder room existed.
The room contained a cot, water, packaged food, prenatal vitamins, a folded blanket, and a portable fan.
Prepared.
Police photographed everything.
That made Eugenia’s “temporary cooling-off space” explanation difficult.
Her lawyer still gave it.
My mother claimed she planned to keep Camille isolated only until she “calmed down,” despite the nine-day statement.
Why nine days?
She refused to answer without counsel.
Then my own charge.
The prosecutor did not decide immediately. Video from the courtyard showed Eugenia standing several feet from Camille after the rescue when I slapped her. No ongoing attack.
Likely misdemeanor assault.
Fine.
I would deal with it.
Then Camille asked me something.
“Were you really leaving tonight?”
“Yes.”
A nine-day investor and property trip.
Chicago, Denver, Seattle.
She closed her eyes.
“So she knew.”
“Everyone knew.”
My flight had been scheduled for 11:30 p.m.
The private meeting at the estate was supposed to end at eight.
Mother had perhaps expected me to leave believing Camille had gone somewhere else.
“What would she tell you?” Camille asked.
I had no answer.
Then Detective Holloway returned with one.
Police found a draft message on Eugenia’s phone.
Not sent.
Sebastian, Camille became overwhelmed and decided she needs several days away from the estate. I have arranged privacy and care. Do not disrupt your trip over another emotional performance.
I stared at it.
Camille went very still.
“She was going to tell you I left.”
“Yes.”
“Would you have believed her?”
That question hurt worse than accusation.
Before that day?
Maybe.
Mother had spent years describing Camille as emotional whenever she refused family tradition.
I said the only honest answer.
“I might have.”
Camille turned toward the window.
That silence belonged to me.
Then the Continuity Review schedule.
My lawyer, Lydia Voss, arrived at the hospital around midnight. She specialized in family governance and had represented me through several business restructurings.
I handed her the page.
She recognized it immediately.
“Project Carillon.”
“I know Carillon. I don’t know why Camille is on this.”
Lydia stared at me.
“You really don’t?”
“No.”
She looked at Camille.
Then back at me.
“Your father’s Continuity Trust has a pregnancy-preservation review.”
Camille’s hand moved toward her belly.
“What does that mean?”
“It does not mean your baby owns company stock.”
Good first sentence.
Then:
“It means a protected governance block changes administration once a qualifying pregnancy reaches the trust’s verification threshold.”
“What threshold?”
Lydia checked the schedule.
“Sixteen weeks.”
Camille was sixteen weeks and five days pregnant.
The review was in nine days.
Then Lydia looked at me.
“Sebastian, who has been acting as temporary steward of the reserve block since your father died?”
I already knew the answer before she said it.
“Eugenia.”
May you like
My mother had not merely been trying to make Camille obedient.
She was nine days away from losing something.
