Chapter 9 - The Betrayal of the MatriarchThe following morning, the news of the Vance family downfall was the lead story on every financial and entertainment network in the country.
Nora sat in the back of Mr. Harrison’s sedan as they drove toward the county detention center. She had requested a private meeting with her mother before the formal arraignment hearing.
The visitation room was small, smelling of old wax and industrial detergent. Helen Vance sat behind the glass partition, her hair unwashed, her face showing every one of the fifty-four years she had spent millions trying to erase. When she saw Nora enter, her eyes lit up with a desperate, predatory hope.
"Nora, my darling," Helen cried into the intercom handset. "You have to help us. Talk to the prosecutors. Tell them it was all a mistake. Tell them the fire was an accident! If you don't drop the corporate suit, your father and I are looking at fifteen years!"
Nora picked up her receiver, her expression entirely neutral. "I looked at the medical records from the night of the fire, Mother. The real records, the ones Mr. Harrison retrieved from the archive of the private clinic where you took me before the public hospital."
Helen froze, her hand trembling against the glass.
"The doctor noted that my burns were exacerbated by the presence of a specific chemical wash," Nora said, her voice dropping to a whisper that felt louder than a shout through the static of the intercom.
"You didn't just leave me in that building, Mother. When you realized the fire had started in your lab, you ran back in to grab the prototypes. You found me trying to drag Lila out. And instead of helping us, you threw the chemical waste bin down the stairs to destroy the remaining evidence, splashing the accelerant right across my back."
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Helen closed her eyes, a tear cutting a path through the grime on her cheek. "I didn't mean to hit you, Nora. I was panicking. The company was about to go under... we needed that new formula to save our lives."
"You saved the company's life," Nora said, hanging up the receiver. "And you cost me mine. Enjoy the next fifteen years, Helen."
