The change in Mr. Fawn after they leave is instantaneous. His shoulders relax, the tension around his eyes smoothing out until he looks about 10 years younger. He shakes his head ruefully and offers me an apologetic smile,
"I apologize Violet, I am not usually so prone to conflict but-"
"Clarissa and that boy of hers take a rare delight in driving you to it." Grandmother finishes for him, waving off his apology for me with a flick of her hand. She gestures to his briefcase,
"What don't we forget all of that and draw the papers?" Mr. Fawn nods, opening the briefcase to draw up a thick ream of papers.
Grandfather moves to my other side, so that I am surrounded by my mother's parents. He takes me hand in his and offers me that quiet smile of his. I appreciate the support but on some level, it only makes me more apprehensive. What does he think I need to support for? What is on those papers?
*~*~*~*~*~**~*~
"You, Violet Price, are about to be a very wealthy woman." Were the first words Mr. Fawn said to me.
The papers in Mr. Fawn, who I would later learn bears the given name Adrien, 's briefcase were mostly papers transferring my mother's inheritance to my new bank account, set up in my new name. The name change was another thing in that briefcase of his.
I am now Violet Elena Rodenheim-Stewart, taking on the hyphenated last name like my uncles. I felt nothing but happiness when I signed over the name of "Price." It was my mother's name, but it bore only pain for her, she would be so happy to see me rid of it.
Soon after agreeing to the name change, Adrien had outlined just how much money I stand to inherit, in the form of several trust funds, upon my 21st and 25th birthdays. To put it lightly, a lot of fucking money. Until I could access the funds, grandmother and grandfather, and my uncles (except for Benjamin) and my Aunt and Uncle had set up an account with an "allowance" in it for my personal use. If allowances were the colloquial term for "enough to buy a small country", that is. When grandmother had seen my face at the amount already in the account, she had assured me that they would continue to give me the "allowance" every month, so I didn't have to worry about this sum "running out". Like I could ever spend that much in a month, or a year, or 50 years.
I didn't protest the money or even comment on it. Some of it was originally my mothers, left untouched even after they buried her, gaining interest along with the bonds and stocks in her name not only in the family company but several other well-known tech and consumer goods companies. Plus, it wasn't like I was ever really going to use the money and I already knew grandmother wouldn't accept it back, so I put the atrociously inflated numbers out of my head and vowed to pretend I was getting a normal-sized allowance each month.
The last part of our meeting wasn't so pleasant or easy to dismiss.
"This might be a bit awkward, but I want you to know that it is imperative you answer these questions honestly." The casual yet professional tone Lawyer Fawn had adopted throughout our meeting changed to one dripping with sincerity and caution. I leaned forward, waiting with bated breath for the other shoe to drop,
"What do you know of your father?" I hadn't been expected the question and it caught me so off guard I couldn't hide my reaction. I felt the blood drain from my face and the jitters start in my ankles, resulting in the bouncing that happens when I'm severely stressed, a condition nearly congruent with the word father to me.
"Why." I whispered, hoping they could just drop the conversation,
"Why does it matter." I needed a good reason, a very good reason to divulge what I knew. What I should never have known, but knew anyway. My mother had died thinking her secret was safe, and I had planned to go the rest of my life never uttering that foul name out loud, lest it darken more of my soul than it already had. Grandmother reached out at that point to take my other hand, drawing my attention towards her softening face, so like my mothers in that instant that I had to choke back the wave that threatened to break the fragile hold I had on my emotions.
"You are a wealthy young lady now, Violet, and stand to inherit much more when you come of age. Not to mention your now blood-ties to our family, something envied by more than a few. We need to know if he has any hold over you, legal or otherwise." Damn. It was a good reason. I should have seen this coming. One look at the lawyer and I already knew a simple "he's got no claim on me" would suffice. He needed to know in plain, legal, terms that my sire would be no trouble.
So, I pulled into myself, retreating away from everything that caused me pain. Numbing my emotions and thoughts was the only way to speak that name. The only way I could tell them what they needed to know.
"Jerry Lange." I spoke, my voice barely above a whisper, completely devoid of inflection, robotic.
"Is in jail. He will be in jail for a long time. He has no legal claim on me since he waived his right before I was even born, while in jail." I mutter the last part bitterly. I didn't realize my eyes were shut until I feel Pop brush away a few of the tears that managed to escape, Adrien cleared his throat, I couldn't see him but his tone spoke of how uncomfortable he was that he had to ask me that question.
"Thank you for telling us, Violet. I will look into it now that I have a name-"
"No." I bit out, opening my eyes and staring straight into his soft brown ones. Pity. Ugh, I hated that kind of look, it spoke of a misjudgment of my character for something weaker than it was. I turned to Grandmother, some part of me rejoicing that her eyes held nothing but a fierce protectiveness, and a little bit of pride. She was proud of me, this amazing woman who ran a multi-national company without blinking an eye or sacrificing her family. That alone bolstered me to continue what I had started to say, I turned back to Adrien, whose eyes had blessedly returned to the professional mask of an attorney used to emotional situation like this, or at least I had to assume he was used to them.
"No. I need to tell you. You should hear it from me, the records won't even say all of it, they struck a lot from the official reports to hide our identity." Pops hand clenches over mine, I knew he caught on to what I was implying but I had to say it, once. I would tell them once and then never again, I would go back to pretending I was birthed from sunshine and anonymous sperm. Pretending my life with Amalia wasn't built on the foundation of terror and darkness.
"Jerry was not a nice man, but not an outwardly evil man either. He and his wife passed all of the inspections required of Foster Families in Minnesota. They had no children of their own, but hinted they would be open to adoption. However, they only took in teenagers, at first anyway. By the time my mother was placed with them at thirteen, there was another little girl there, Kira. Kira was only six."
I stop, allowing myself the moment of weakness, I stare at the wall above Adrien's head, admiring the beautiful watercolor adorning it. The muted colors of the pastoral scene sooth me enough to start the next part,
"When Amalia was there only a few months, Jerry took her virginity. Told her he would do the same to Kira if she didn't keep quiet."
"She was not stupid, knew it was only a matter of time before he started abusing Kira or another girl. So, she went to the police." Again, Pops clutches my hand the pressure is enough to sting but I don't dare to say anything or look at him, the righteous anger rolling off him in waves hits my senses even though I'm still staring at the watercolor perched above the shiny dome of Adrien's head.
"Problem was she was a foster kid, and by the time she could report anything there was nothing to gain from a rape kit. No evidence meant it was his word over hers. They didn't believe her. Not only that but Jerry convinced her case worker and his wife that she was just 'acting out' and he wanted her to stay with them so they could 'show her a loving family life" Bile rises in my throat. After I had stumbled upon the secret of my birth, I had read every file, every public record I could get my hands on, and some not-so- public records that were way too easy to access. Those words would haunt me, the notes the caseworker made when suggesting Amalia stay placed in the Lange house.
"He continued to rape her, but he never touched Kira, as long as she stayed quiet. But then, when she was 14-"
"She got pregnant." Grandmother whispered, she had been unnaturally still during the whole tale, but now her voice spoke of horror and sadness. I can't imagine what it would feel like to hear this story as a mother, as a daughter it nearly broke me. Knowing I only had moments before I broke down completely, I rushed to finish what was left of my birth story,
"She finally had proof, agreed to an invitro paternity test and could at the very least, charge him with statutory rape. Luckily, since her previous claim was on record it was enough to put him away for two accounts."
"Unfortunately, that's still not going to be a life sentence," I gave Mr. Fawn a bitter smile, the next part was the only good part to my story,
"A few months into his sentence, he murdered his cellmate, who he claimed raped him. Since there was no evidence of it actually being self-defense, and since the prosecutor on the trial had been the same one for my mom's case, he got life with no parole. Harsher than he technically should have gotten but it's justice in a way, I guess." Finally finished, I slump against Pops who opens his arms, encasing me in them, gently rocking me back and forth. I can feel the sobs, even if I can't hear them. I hear nothing but white noise. Dragging up the memories of the past, even if I didn't live them, is not something I had ever planned on doing again. I had been only 13 myself when I found my mother's diary, something her therapist had suggested she start after the rape trial. I forced myself to read the whole thing, to live what she lived through. Then I devoured every report, every newspaper article. After I had found out everything I could, I buried it. Buried the truth far, far back into my mind so that I could survive.
Bringing it out meant I was verging on the precipice of derailment, I could feel almost mad with the questions that formed when I had first read those diary entries, the pages warped and crusted from the tears of a young girl,
Just how much of HIM did I have in me?
CHAPTER BREAK
Lincoln
"I'm telling you, she's not like some prissy girl. She's gonna take one look at your selections and throw them, and you, out." Camden growls and Benjamin, who is flicking through the on-demand movies he had qued up on the TV in the media room. After Uncle Roger had dragged them out of the dining room, the boys had gone to straight to the media room, after requesting some snack to be made by one of the night-staff.
Best thing about being rich. Lincoln thought to himself, throwing an amused smile at the bickering cousins. Snacks on demand. Normally Lincoln didn't like to think of himself as wealthy, liked to pretend he only spent what he earned as a model and influencer on his various social media platforms, but when it came to food he was a bit of a diva.
Speaking of divas, he grinned at Benjamin, who was getting red in the face arguing with Camden. Out of the five of them, those two were the most stubborn. Their polar opposite tastes and personalities meant it was also these two who butted heads the most. Listening to them argue was such a regular occurrence, it just felt like white noise at this point.
Ignoring them, he turned towards his twin.
"What's taking them so long, I just thought she was just going to sign some papers tonight?" Landon looked thoughtful, stretching out to his full length on the lazy boy that sat in front of the wall-sized monitor that served as a TV, though it was more of a movie screen than anything.
"Maybe she didn't want to change her name?" That could be it, Lincoln thought, surprised by how sad it made him that his new baby niece would not be sharing his name.
"No, she seemed like she didn't care about the name Price. Said her mom was just assigned the name after the accident." Benjamin interjects, having given up trying to convince Camden who was now happily scrolling though the action-adventure flicks he's sure are more to Violet's taste. Lincoln couldn't say which was right, none of them knew Violet well enough to guess at her preferences but Benjamin had obviously gotten to know her the most,
"You think so?" His youngest brother just nods, looking in the direction of the wide double doors that lead to the hallway. They had left them open so they could see when the "adults" were done talking. The media room was on the first floor, kitty corner to the dining room, on the back of the building. The whole south wall was covered in windows which let in light during the day, with heavy velvet drapes that could be pulled shut when the theatre was in use. The double doors led to a hallway, they couldn't see the opening of the dining room, which led towards the atrium, but they would be able to hear the door open.
Which is did now, the doors creaking with age despite the meticulous care of their house manager, Mr. Tiblet. Before anyone else could get a jump on it, Lincoln got out of his chair and strode in the direction of the noise.
"I'm going to go get her." He announced before shutting the doors behind him. Every since meeting Violet yesterday, he and his brothers and cousins had been in a rather childish competition to monopolize her time. Half of it was just immature male postering but the other half was a real desire to bring their newest edition into the fold. They had known she would be family, but meeting her and seeing how sweet and small and adorable she was, shit she was lucky if they let her have any friends at all with the way they were planning out all of her free time.
Striding down the back hallway, he ran to catch up to the footsteps, noticing that his mother or father must be taking her up to her room while the other shows Adrien out. He catches up to them just as they are about to start up the back staircase, the one on the other side of the one in the atrium that leads to the back half of the house where Violet and Benjamin's rooms are.
"Hey-" he stops, the sight of his little niece drying up whatever he was about to say. She looks awful. Her skin, naturally a bit of a golden tan color, has been bleached out to resemble some kind of ghost or some shit. Those big, round eyes the exact same shade as his mother and aunt are rimmed in bright red which continues in patches down her face like she's been rubbing it. Those pretty eyes are dry but he can tell her face is caked in the aftermath of tears, a lot of tears if he was to judge. And the look in them, those eyes, he quickly averts his attention to his father, not wanting to spend another second staring into those broken pieces. What on earth happened? What did they talk about? What did they tell her that would cause such misery?
Lincoln can feel the familiar burn of indignation start to work its way up to his own eyes. His father, noticing the signs of his sons good Samaritan streak, shakes his head minutely. Soft brown eyes widening in silent warning.
"I'm going to take Violet to her room, she will see you talk to tomorrow. Your mother will be finished seeing Adrien out soon." His words are warm, but the underlying message is clear. Do not say anything. Lincoln nods his own head, turning towards Violet, who seems to have shrunken into herself, wrapping her ams around her chest and hunching over, causing her already small stature to appear even more diminutive and fragile.
"Good night Violet" He says softly, waiting for her reply. But she doesn't give one, just nods her head, not looking at him or his father, pushing past both men to quietly ascend the stairs, her feet barely making any sound on the carpeted steps. Both of the Stewart men watch her go up, twin looks of concern growing on their faces.
"Your mother with explain." Is all David says before following the young girl up to show her to the room she had been given. Confused and more than a little apprehensive, Lincoln goes back to the media room, where he find his brothers and cousins staring at a grim looking Christine. Christine has many stern faces, but she rarely turns them upon her children and nephews as she does now. Something very serious must have happened in that room.
"Good, you are all here." She says, before launching in what she had come prepared to say. Christine Rodenheim-Stewart may be able to silver tongue a man out of his own house but when it came to serious matters, usually anything to do with her family, she did not mince words or waste time.
"I will tell you this only once, because you should know. Violet has given me permission to share her story, in an effort to keep our family aware of possible problems and to create an environment that is comfortable for her." Lincoln furrows his brow, slipping back into the recliner he had been sitting in earlier. There are ten of the same soft brown leather laz-e-boys in the room, with two loveseat couches behind. They all sit facing the screen, which Christine now stands in front of, capturing their attention like the president giving a speech.
"I suspect Camden knows more about what I am about to say than he let on earlier," She raises her eyebrow, when the giant nods, she does as well neither condming or commenting on his duciplicity, simply acknowledging it.
"But for the rest of you this tale may come as a shock, as it had for me, do not interrupt me. I can only bear to tell it once." That alone told Lincoln that whatever Violet had shared with his parents and the lawyer was gruesome. Rodenheims do not, as a rule, admit to weakness.
A sick feeling began to replace the earlier anger that had been festering since seeing the state Violet was in. Lincoln wasn't so sure he wanted to hear whatever it was Christine seemed determined to tell them.