Chapter 7
The sheer magnitude of the conspiracy crashed over Jessamine with suffocating weight. The bright, cinematic lighting illuminated the circle of relatives slowly closing in around her. The backyard, which only moments ago had felt like an idyllic, upper-class American gathering, had transformed into a heavily guarded prison yard.
"Give me the envelope, Jessamine," Marcelline commanded, her voice losing its mocking tone and adopting a hard, authoritative edge. She held out her manicured hand. "You have read enough. Hand it over, and we can go inside and discuss how you and the boy will be provided for moving forward. If you cooperate, you will never want for anything."
"I don't want your blood money," Jessamine spat, her voice shaking with a terrifying, protective fury. She crumpled the heavy legal document in her fist, refusing to surrender the only piece of evidence she had regarding her husband's fate.
"It wasn't a request, Jessamine," the older uncle warned, taking another step forward, cutting off her path to the side gate. "You are not leaving this property with those documents. You are a part of this family, and you are going to protect its secrets."
"I am not a part of this sick family," Jessamine roared, her maternal instincts completely overriding her terror.
She looked down at Piers. The petite, adorable four-year-old was trembling violently, his tiny hands gripping the denim of her jeans. He didn't understand the complex financial betrayal, but he perfectly understood the absolute menace radiating from the adults surrounding them.
"Hold onto Mommy very tight, Piers," Jessamine whispered urgently, her American accent dropping into a low, determined register. "Do not let go."
"Okay, Mommy," Piers whimpered, burying his fair, rosy face into her leg.
"Grab her," Marcelline ordered coldly, pointing a sharp finger at Jessamine. "Get the papers from her hand and lock the boy in the guest room until she calms down."
Two male cousins, dressed in tailored summer suits, lunged forward simultaneously.
Jessamine moved with the explosive, desperate adrenaline of a mother fighting for her child's life. She didn't retreat. As the first cousin reached out to grab her arm, Jessamine swung her body violently to the side. She drove the heel of her sensible flat directly into the man’s kneecap.
The cousin let out a sharp howl of pain, his leg buckling beneath him as he crashed onto the stone patio.
The second cousin hesitated for a fraction of a second, shocked by her violent resistance. Jessamine used the opening. She grabbed a heavy, crystal pitcher of iced lemonade from the nearest patio table. With a fierce, guttural cry, she hurled the heavy glass pitcher directly at the second man's chest.
The pitcher shattered explosively upon impact. Ice, sticky lemonade, and shards of thick crystal rained down over the man, causing him to stumble backward, slipping on the wet stone and falling hard onto his back.
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"She's crazy! Restrain her!" Marcelline shrieked, backing away from the flying glass.
Jessamine didn't wait for the rest of the guests to recover their wits. She scooped Piers up into her arms, completely ignoring the burning strain in her muscles. The four-year-old wrapped his arms tightly around her neck. Clutching the crumpled envelope in her hand, Jessamine sprinted away from the outdoor kitchen, charging directly toward the massive, open glass doors that led into the sprawling interior of the estate. She needed to get to the front driveway. She needed to get to her car.
