Chapter 2 - THE DRESS IN THE HOTEL SINK
I took the girls to a suite on the opposite side of the hotel.
The front-desk manager gave us the room without asking for Andrew’s approval after seeing Chloe’s dress.
Inside the bathroom, I helped her step out of the wet fabric.
Sauce had soaked through to her skin, but it had not burned her. I washed her hair while Sophia sat on the counter and held a clean towel.
“Grandma hates us,” Chloe whispered.
“No one gets to treat you that way.”
“That’s not what I said.”
I looked at her reflection.
Children notice when adults answer a safer question.
“I don’t know everything Grandma feels,” I said. “I know what she did was cruel.”
Sophia remained quiet.
She had not released my handbag since we entered the room.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“What are daughters?”
“You and Chloe are daughters.”
“Grandma said something about the daughters.”
I rinsed sauce from Chloe’s hair.
“I heard.”
“Was she talking about us?”
“I don’t know yet.”
A hard knock sounded at the suite door.
Andrew.
“Lauren, open the door.”
Sophia climbed down from the counter.
“Don’t let him in.”
The fear in her voice made the decision simple.
I called hotel security and requested that Andrew communicate through the house phone.
The phone rang seconds later.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“Taking care of the children you ignored.”
“My mother lost her temper.”
“She poured food over Chloe.”
“She was making a point.”
“What point could require humiliating a five-year-old?”
Andrew exhaled sharply.
“Open the envelope.”
I looked toward the handbag.
“Why?”
“Because once you understand it, we can discuss this like adults.”
“You tried to stop me from leaving with it.”
“I was shocked.”
“You called it company property.”
“It involves the company.”
That was the first useful answer.
“Who sent it to me?”
Silence.
Then Andrew said, “I don’t know.”
He had always lied too quickly when frightened.
I ended the call.
My attorney, Rachel Keene, arrived thirty minutes later. She wore a black evening suit beneath a raincoat and carried a slim document case.
Rachel had represented my late father’s estate. She had called me that afternoon after receiving a notice from a private escrow company.
“Is the envelope intact?” she asked.
I showed her the seal.
She did not touch it.
“Keep it that way until we establish who delivered it and why.”
“You know what it is.”
“I know what it may be.”
“Andrew and Patricia are terrified.”
“That does not mean opening it in a hotel room is wise.”
Rachel photographed the envelope, seal, signatures, and delivery label. A licensed courier had brought it to my apartment at noon under instructions written six years earlier.
The sender was Westbridge Escrow Services.
The delivery condition read:
RELEASE TO LAUREN VANCE ON THE EVENING BEFORE MATURITY.
“Maturity of what?” I asked.
Rachel closed her case.
“We verify first.”
Another knock came.
Not Andrew.
Hotel security had stopped Patricia’s personal assistant, Celeste Moore, outside the suite.
Celeste carried a garment bag containing clean dresses for the girls.
Inside the garment bag, beneath the folded clothing, security found a small knife.
Celeste claimed it was a seam cutter.
The blade was positioned beside an empty section shaped like my envelope.
May you like
Patricia had not sent clothes.
She had sent someone to cut open my handbag.
