Liv Constantine - The Last Mrs. Parrish

A rather large agent standing behind Jackson pushed the chain of the cuffs that were in his hand gently toward the ground. Having no choice, Jackson dropped to his knees, wincing in pain.

Daphne shook her head. “I’m not sorry. And you can’t hurt me anymore. You have no one to blame but yourself. If you hadn’t gotten greedy and set up those offshore accounts, and if you’d paid taxes on that money like you should have, none of this would be happening. All I did was make sure your new assistant was someone with the integrity to turn you in.”

“What are you talking about?”

Douglas came and stood next to Daphne. “My sister has CF. Daphne’s foundation saved her life.” He looked at one of the men and nodded.

“Excuse me, ma’am… sir, I need the two of you to step back, please.” The agent sneaked in a wink and a wry smile. “Let’s go, Mr. Parrish,” he said, lifting him off his knees and in the direction of the elevator.

“Wait,” she said. “Don’t forget your present, Jackson.”

She grabbed the package from the desk and slipped it into his pocket.

“Sorry, ma’am. I need to see that.” The tallest of the men put his hand out.

She took the package from him and unwrapped it, holding up a cheap plastic turtle from the dollar store. “Here you are, sweetie,” she said as she dangled it in front of him. “Something to remember me by. Like you, it has no power over me anymore.”

Daphne had one more stop to make. She got out of the cab and told the driver to wait for her. It still felt strange, having to ring the bell to her former home. Margarita opened the door and threw her hands up in surprise. “Missus! It’s so good to see you.”

She gave her a hug. “You too, Margarita.” She lowered her voice. “I hope she’s treating you okay.”

Margarita’s face became a mask, and she looked around nervously. “Did you come to see Mister?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m here to see Amber.”

Her eyebrows rose. “I be right back.”

“What are you doing here?” Amber appeared, looking rail-thin and pale.

“We need to talk.”

She looked at Daphne suspiciously. “About what?”

“Let’s go inside. I don’t think you want your staff overhearing.”

“This is my house now. I’ll do the inviting.” She pursed her lips and then looked around nervously. “Fine, follow me.”

Daphne followed her into the living room and took a seat in front of the fireplace. An enormous portrait of Amber and Jackson on their wedding day had replaced the family portrait. Even though Amber had been pregnant and showing at the time, she’d had the artist paint her sylphlike, without the bulging belly.

Looking at Daphne warily, she spoke. “What gives?”

“Don’t ever bother my children again.”

She rolled her eyes. “All I did was send them an invitation to their brother’s baptism. Did you fly all the way from California just to complain about that?”

Ignoring Amber’s taunting, Daphne leaned toward her. “You listen to me, you little bitch. If you ever send them so much as a postcard, I’ll have your head. Is that clear, Lana?”

She leaped out of the chair and came close. “What did you call me?”

“You heard me… Lana. Lana Crump.” Daphne wrinkled her nose. “Such an unfortunate last name. It’s no wonder you don’t use it.”

Amber’s face was red, and her breath came fast. “How did you know?”

“I hired a detective after Meredith confronted you. I found out everything then.”

“But you were still my friend. You believed me. I don’t understand.”

“Did you really think I was that stupid? That I didn’t know exactly what you were up to? Please.” She shook her head. “ Oh, Amber, I’m so worried about Jackson cheating. I could never give him a son. You ate it all up, did everything just the way I’d hoped you would, even ordered the perfume I was ‘allergic’ to.” She put air quotes around allergic . “And once you were carrying his son, I knew you had him. The reason I never got pregnant was because I had an IUD.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You planned all of this?”

Daphne smiled. “You thought you were getting the perfect life, the perfect man. How do you like him now, Lana? Has he shown you his true colors yet?”

Amber glared at Daphne. “I thought it was just me. That it was because of what he found out. He told me I was nothing better than white trash.” She looked at Daphne with hatred. “You’re the one who gave him the file?”

She nodded. “I read all about how you framed that poor boy Matthew Lockwood for rape when he wouldn’t marry you. How you let him sit in prison for two years for a crime he didn’t commit.”

“That son of a bitch deserved it. He kept me his dirty secret, slept with me all summer while his rich girlfriend was away. And his mother — you’d think she’d have wanted her grandchild. But she said I should have it aborted, that any child of mine would be nothing but trash. I laughed while they put her precious son away. I loved seeing the Lockwood name tainted with scandal and dirt. They thought they were so wonderful, so high-and-mighty.”

“You still feel no remorse? Even though because of you, he was beaten in prison and is in a wheelchair for the rest of his life?”

Amber stood up and began to pace. “So what? If he was too much of a weakling to take care of himself in prison, that’s not my fault. He’s nothing more than a coddled mama’s boy.” She shrugged. “Besides, he has money; he’s well taken care of. And his simpering girlfriend married him.”

“And what about your son?”

“What about Jackson Junior?”

“No, your other son. How could you just abandon him?”

“What should I have done? My mother found my diary and went to the police. They found that juror I convinced to fight for the conviction, and he agreed to testify against me. They arrested me. What kind of mother turns in her own daughter? She said she felt sorry for Matthew — like that spoiled brat deserved any sympathy. Once I got out on bail, I had to run. No way was I going to prison just for giving Matthew what he deserved.” She took a deep breath. “But I would like to get my son back, punish Matthew and his fat cow wife. She’s raising him like she’s his mother. He’s my kid, not hers. It’s not fair.”

“Fair?” Daphne laughed. “He’s so much better off without you. Tell me something, who is Amber Patterson? Did you have anything to do with her going missing?”

She rolled her eyes again. “Of course not. I hitched a ride out of town with a trucker from Missouri to Nebraska. I got a job waitressing there, and one of my regulars was a guy who worked in the records department. He got me the credentials.”

“How did you get her passport?”

She smiled then. “Oh, well, you know how small towns are. After a while, I finagled a way to meet her poor mom. She worked at the grocery store in town. Took a few months, but I guess I reminded her of her lost daughter. It helped that I wore my hair the way she had and talked to some of her friends and pretended I liked the same things. Her mom would make me dinner once a week — what a shitty cook. I found out Amber was supposed to have gone to France with her senior class — that’s the only reason the stupid hick had a passport. So I stole it.” She shrugged. “She also had a nice sapphire ring. I took that too. She didn’t need it anymore.”

Daphne shook her head. “There really is nothing beneath you.”

“You could never understand. Growing up dirt-poor, with everyone looking down on me, I learned early on that if you want something, you have to get it for yourself. No one’s going to just hand it over.”