Boston Mother Cancels Twenty Two Million Dollar Wedding Gift After Morning Betrayal
“I remember that night,” I said. “She was asking about the brickwork on the terrace.”
“She wasn’t looking at the brickwork, Beatrice,” Avery said. “She was looking at the lock.”
The phone on the conference table buzzed, its vibration loud against the polished wood. Avery’s assistant spoke through the intercom.
“Mrs. Vance, there is a reporter on line two,” she said. “She says she is printing the story about the estate dispute in thirty minutes.”
I stood up, my wool coat heavy on my shoulders. “I will take it in the lobby,” I said.
“Beatrice, do not speak to them,” Avery said, rising from his chair. “Let me handle the statement.”
“I am not going to hide in my house,” I said.
I walked out of the conference room and into the quiet carpeted lobby. The receptionist, Miss Gable, handed me the receiver, her eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and fear.
“This is Beatrice Vance,” I said into the phone.
