Chapter 4 - The Christmas Room at Wintermere
Wintermere Senior Living looked like a Christmas village built for wealthy retirees.
Garlands wrapped white columns. A pianist played carols beside a stone fireplace. Staff carried trays of cider beneath chandeliers.
Maren entered with Dana.
At reception, she gave her name.
The young clerk looked at the screen and stood straighter.
“Ms. Hale?”
“Yes.”
“We were told you never visit.”
“Who told you?”
“Mrs. Dane.”
“Take me to her.”
Diane’s penthouse occupied the top floor.
She opened the door herself.
At seventy, Russell’s mother looked remarkably healthy for a dead woman.
“Maren.”
“You attended your own funeral?”
Diane smiled.
“Technically, no.”
Dana muttered, “Charming.”
Inside, photographs lined the walls.
Maren saw Russell.
Celeste.
Felix.
And herself.
Pictures taken in Tampa without her knowledge.
Leaving Evelyn’s home.
Shopping.
Sitting in a coffee shop.
Someone had watched her.
“Why?”
Diane poured tea.
“Because Russell is weak.”
“You built Wintermere using my identity.”
“I built it using your opportunity.”
“You forged my signatures.”
“Russell provided authorizations.”
“I never authorized this.”
Diane looked annoyed rather than guilty.
“You were changing bed sheets for an old woman while your experience could secure millions in financing.”
“That old woman was a human being.”
“And now you sound sentimental.”
Maren thought of Felix.
Apparently contempt for vulnerability ran in the family.
“Why fake your death?”
“Investors were asking questions. Death simplified my visibility.”
“You terrified my parents.”
“I protected an asset.”
“My son is not an asset.”
Diane’s eyes cooled.
“Felix is the reason you own sixty percent.”
Maren frowned.
Diane explained that one early investor demanded a controlling caregiver partner with verifiable experience. Maren’s credentials made the project possible. To avoid scrutiny, shares were placed in a trust attached to Felix.
“Russell couldn’t sell without your consent,” Dana said.
“Correct,” Diane replied.
“So he isolated her.”
Diane smiled.
“Russell solved problems in crude ways.”
Maren stepped forward.
“You knew what he was doing to Felix?”
“I knew the boy needed discipline.”
“He was sleeping in a laundry room.”
“He had a roof.”
Maren’s hands shook.
Dana touched her elbow.
“Don’t give her what she wants.”
Diane leaned back.
“You abandoned him first.”
Maren almost lunged at the cruelty of it.
Instead she said, “I worked because Russell told me my income was keeping him safe.”
“And you believed a man instead of checking.”
That accusation hurt because a small part was true.
Maren had trusted.
She would live with that.
But trust was not permission for abuse.
Before leaving, Dana requested Wintermere’s financial records.
Diane laughed.
“You think paperwork will save you?”
“It usually annoys criminals,” Dana said.
At the elevator, an elderly resident grabbed Maren’s sleeve.
“Are you Maren?”
“Yes.”
The woman pressed a Christmas card into her hand.
“Your husband told us you were dead.”
Maren stared.
“What?”
“He said Wintermere was your memorial project.”
Inside the elevator, she opened the card.
A photograph fell out.
Russell stood beside a woman in a hospital room.
Celeste.
She was holding a newborn baby.
On the back was written:
NOAH DANE — DECEMBER 22.
The date was two years earlier.
Russell had another child.
Felix had a half-brother.
But Dana noticed something else.
“Look at the hospital bracelet.”
The mother’s name did not say Celeste Dane.
It said CELESTE HALE.
Maren’s last name.
Dana whispered, “They didn’t just steal your company identity.”
May you like
Maren stared at the photograph.
“They built an entire second family under your name.”
