Adrenaline makes my fingers tremble as I bring up the screen to submit my third article for the day. Nothing beats the buzz of seeing my byline in the Chicago Daily News and I work longer and harder than everyone else to ensure my name is prominent in one of the city’s biggest online news channels.
I have little doubt this article will be accepted and published like all the rest. I’m good at my job, one of the best freelance journalists in the city, and I’m paid more than the average, which is just as well. The money helps keep the doubts at bay when I lie awake at night in my renovated terrace house in Brunswick, a trendy suburb on the fringe of Chicago’s Central Business District, wondering how my life has come to this.
I had it all planned out once. Marry the perfect guy, raise the requisite two perfect kids, live the perfect life. Pity Grayson Parker, my ex-husband, didn’t get the memo.
“Focus,” I mutter, annoyed I let my concentration lapse for a moment. Thinking about Grayson and how he abandoned me five years ago isn’t conducive to good work practice.
I’m over it. Almost.
My fingers fly over the keyboard as I edit an article about flimsy firewalls, then move onto the final proof. The owner of a large private investigation firm had been more than forthcoming with answers to my questions considering the sensitive client information they store. Surprisingly, their cyber security had been woeful. I’m no computer whiz so I paid one of the newspaper’s IT guys to see if he could breach the firm. It hadn’t been difficult to hack into their client database and my article will highlight the vulnerabilities of companies like this.
I love writing articles emphasizing online flaws, proud that I’m using my skills to educate people. I’m almost done with proofreading, giving me plenty of time to drive crosstown to attend my mother-in-law’s birthday this afternoon. May is a stickler for her family getting together regularly and I can’t say no, despite my complete lack of enthusiasm. An afternoon with the Parker Posse isn’t my idea of fun.
Satisfied everything I’ve written is grammatically correct, I save the article, attach it, and hit send. I exit the newspaper’s login screen and am about to shut down my computer when an email pings. I should ignore it but it could be a tip-off to another newsworthy story and I can’t resist taking a peek.
That’s when I see it.
The sender’s name.
I freeze. A chill sweeps over me and I rub my bare arms. I blink, refocus, but it’s still there. Taunting me. Haunting me.
I’ve only seen that name once before and it turned my life upside down.
The subject line, THE PARKERS, has my stomach clenching with nerves. Five years ago, the subject line had read GRAYSON and the accompanying picture ensured that the sorrow over my husband leaving me had turned to disgust.
My finger hovers over the delete button. Whatever is in this email may not be good, though Parker’s a common enough surname in Chicago. It could be nothing.
But instinct tells me it’s not and I scroll down, my gaze drawn to the startling images. Three photos, of my sisters-in-law in compromising situations, and I press my hand to my stomach to calm it.
I grew up a foster kid and don’t have siblings so I’d been so hopeful when Grayson first told me about his large family. I’d envisaged fun bonding sessions with my new sisters-in-law, Ashlin, Shamira and Christine: girls’ nights out, spa days, long lunches, and reciprocal childminding.
It didn’t take long for reality to set in.
I’m an introvert at heart but love socializing and making new friends, probably because my job is solitary. Reaching out to the girls had seemed natural considering I’d soon be part of the family. But apart from Shamira they’d been aloof, reluctant to do anything other than swap pleasantries when in enforced proximity, and my visions for us to play happy families dissolved, alongside my self-esteem.
I’d known that hollow feeling of being second-best growing up, when at age three I’d been dumped by a father I barely knew and entered the foster system. Being shunted from home to home didn’t enable the forming of close bonds and I’d craved attachment. Grayson had provided that. His family hadn’t. Except my mother-in-law May, who accepted me despite knowing the truth about my upbringing. I love her for it.
Shamira is kind and welcomed me into the family, but Ashlin and Christine had been condescending, deliberately ostracizing me with talk of polo tournaments and sailing regattas and celebrity gala balls, knowing I couldn’t contribute.
Ashlin had been the worst. The beautiful, thin, blonde took one look at me and I could’ve sworn her upper lip curled. I knew the look well. I’d seen it enough times when I first entered a foster home and the resident biological kids stared at me like I’d invaded their privacy. The older kids wanted to establish who was boss by bullying and the younger ones felt like I was taking attention away from them; I’d hated it.
My past hadn’t endeared me to Ashlin, who comes from old Michigan money. She eyed me like she expected me to make off with the Parker silverware and her shoddy treatment hasn’t changed since.
I never let her know it bothers me.
My gaze is drawn to the photos again. Who would want to tarnish these women and why? And why send this email to me?
Five years ago I’d tried to discover who was behind the email that devastated me. I’d used my contacts at the newspaper, experts who can usually trace anybody. But they’d had no luck and I hadn’t found out who’d sent that incriminating photo of my husband.
It had bugged me for months, when I’d craved answers. Even now, a small part of me wonders where Grayson is, what he’s doing, why he didn’t love me enough to tell me the truth. I’m proud of my independence and the secure life I’ve built for our daughter Shelley, but while I hate Grayson for what he did to us, I can’t help but wish I knew why.
Whoever sent that shocking photo of my husband has now sent this. I may not be as close to my sisters-in-law as I’d like but if someone is targeting them… I need to know what I’m dealing with.
Another email lands from the same sender. The subject line is ASHLIN.
I don’t want to look. I shouldn’t. Then I remember all the awful things she’s said to me over the years and, worse, how she treats my daughter.
I’d been told by Ashlin in no uncertain terms when her girls were toddlers that she didn’t want my crappy presents, so carefully chosen by me, for their birthdays or Christmases. She wanted money. Which I delivered on time—despite being outraged at her obvious insult for my poor taste in choosing gifts—with cards posted snail-mail, the old-fashioned way.
Worse, despite her demands for what I should gift her girls, she always forgets Shelley’s birthday and I have to remind her. Every year. Until last week when my sweet girl turned ten and nothing arrived yet again. No money. No card. Nada.
I’m done.
So I start reading.
The first screenshot lists everything from her cosmetic procedures to her favorite personal shopper, from where she enjoys her skinny lattes to her preference for low-carb wine.
And more; the kind of information that could destroy her.
I blink and knuckle my eyes but when I open them the revelation is still there. I should feel vindicated, somehow, that she’s as vile as I always suspected. Instead, I feel hollow, sorry for her girls. And Justin.
My heart gives a little twang like it always does when I think of my brother-in-law. Which is why I don’t.
I may have problems with Ashlin but this could ruin her, and Justin too.
And if someone knows her secrets, they might know others.
Stifling the foreboding that this could be the start of some weird vendetta against the Parkers, I save the emails and shut down my computer. I’m desperate to discover who’s behind this but if I start investigating now I’ll be late for May’s party.
So I’ll put in a brief appearance, do my duty as a good little Parker minion, before trying to discover who knows secrets about my family and what their end game is.
Shelley bounds ahead of me as we enter the elaborate gardens of May’s impressive Ash Park home. I follow at a sedate pace, inhaling the soothing fragrances of jasmine, daphne and freesia, admiring the riotous purple hydrangeas, the crimson roses and the vibrant fuchsia stargazer lilies. Every time I set foot in these manicured gardens I experience a little stab of envy.
I’m not jealous of May’s wealth, but it’s a poignant reminder of the yawning gap between us. She’s never alluded to my past or condescended in any way, yet I can’t help but feel inferior when I enter her twenty-million-dollar home. It’s perched high in the bowl of a crescent with similar multimillion-dollar mansions flanking it. Ash Park is one of the most expensive suburbs in Chicago and is renowned for flashy cars, massive houses, and elite families who date back to when the city first settled.
I try not to ogle at the immaculate gardens, the expansive tennis courts and the Olympic-size swimming pools I glimpse when I drive into this crescent, but even now, after being part of this family for longer than a decade, I know I don’t fit in.
I loathe self-pity, especially considering how far I’ve come from humble beginnings, and I perk up as Shelley, who’s waiting for me to catch up, waves.
The gardener has water-blasted the sandstone pavers. They gleam in the late afternoon sun as I stroll toward the front door, letting the serenity of the garden wash over me. I’ll need it if today’s gathering is anything like the usual Parker shindigs.
The ornate double front doors swing open and Ashlin’s daughters rush out. They wave at Shelley and almost tumble down the carved marble steps, skipping every second one. Shelley craves affection as much as I do and she rushes toward her cousins and hugs them both at once.
Ashlin steps out onto the front porch and my joy at witnessing the girls’ effusive greeting wanes. She hasn’t spotted me yet and I’m grateful for the momentary reprieve, all too aware my patience will be tested several times during the afternoon. I’m tolerant and accepting of most people, yet Ashlin pushes my limits.
Shelley releases the girls and spots Ashlin. Her genuine love for family fills me with pride as she jogs up the steps to hug her aunt, arms outstretched. Ashlin balks, her imperious glance sweeping Shelley from head to foot, before she offers a half-hearted wave, turns her back and walks inside.
Shock renders me useless. I will my feet to move but I can’t, I’m rooted to the spot. Shelley glances over her shoulder, toward her cousins.
Her bewildered expression guts me.
Desperate to comfort my daughter, I finally take a step forward but thankfully she’s a resilient child—she definitely gets that from me—and forgets her aunt’s deliberate snub as she links arms with the girls and heads for the house.
I won’t forget.
Anger is a wasted emotion, along with bitterness and regret. I should know. I dealt with all three growing up, wishing my mom hadn’t died after having me, wishing my dad had stuck around, wishing I hadn’t been shunted from home to home, feeling unwanted and unloved.
But in that moment when Ashlin stared at my beautiful, kind daughter like something nasty she’d stepped in, I experienced a surge of fury so strong I could’ve hurt her.
I need a drink and follow the paved path around the side of the mansion toward the back. I hear muted chatter, the clink of glasses and a string quartet. The music’s probably recorded but with the Parkers I never know. Their wealth makes Chicago’s upper echelon look like paupers.
I reach the glass-enclosed conservatory that opens onto a stone-flagged terrace, wishing I could look forward to this more. An afternoon spent with family, being plied with gourmet finger food and expensive alcohol, should be a cause for celebration. It isn’t and I learned that the hard way.
As I catch sight of Christine near the makeshift bar, Shamira draped over Trent, Justin in deep conversation with his mother and Ashlin now posing on a sunlounger like a swimsuit model, I’m catapulted straight back to the first Parker party I’d attended.
Back then I’d been wide-eyed and optimistic. I’d spent a month’s wages on an exquisite Vera Wang maxi-dress, rented a designer handbag and snared a pair of barely-worn Choos from a local secondhand shop. I’d had my make-up done at my nearest Estée Lauder counter and paid for a sleek blow wave at one of those cheap hairdressers that specializes in staff turnover.
My first glimpse of this house twelve years ago had daunted me, with its imposing French provincial façade and extensive gardens. It looked like something out of a magazine but I’d hidden my gaucheness and pretended like I visited mansions every day of the week. It had helped that Grayson never made me feel inferior and with his arm around my waist I’d quashed my usual insecurities as I strode into their party, determined to make my future family like me.
I’d failed miserably.
May had welcomed me unreservedly, Christine, May’s only daughter, had been guarded and stiltedly polite, Shamira and Trent had been shy but sweet, Justin had been overly-effusive and his wife Ashlin had stared down her aristocratic nose and made me feel cheap and insignificant despite the effort and money I’d spent on looking good to impress.
After that, I wore whatever I wanted, intent on being me whether they liked it or not. And I’m always polite, to prove a point I’d never stoop to their level. I play nice whenever I see them but I’m saddened that out of three sisters-in-law I’m only on friendly terms with Shamira. We try to catch up for regular coffee dates and I invite Ashlin in the never-ending hope she’ll accept me as one of the family, but she always has some excuse. Shamira and I are usually relieved. Christine lives too far away to be included. I think she prefers it that way.
Pasting a smile on my face, I take the final steps into the garden and manage a general wave. I’ll do the rounds eventually but first I need to wish May a happy birthday.
Christine fakes a smile, Shamira and Trent wave, Ashlin ignores me. Another typical family gathering with the Parkers.
Determined not to let them get me down, I climb the steps to the terrace. Justin beams as he beckons me and for a moment my breath catches. He’s incredibly handsome, with an abundance of dark wavy hair and a natural tan set off by a pale blue polo top and designer denim.
I return his smile and feel May’s astute gaze on me. Unnerved by her scrutiny I quickly cross the terrace and embrace her.
“Happy birthday, May.” She feels surprisingly fragile in my arms, like she’s lost weight. “Shelley wants to give you your present later.”
“Thanks, dear.” She slips out of my hug and pats my cheek. “Your delightful daughter has already dropped a few hints.”
I laugh. “But we’ve been here less than five minutes.”
“You know kids, can’t keep secrets,” Justin says, stepping forward to hug me, an embrace that lasts a second too long. “How are you?”
“Good, you?”
I know what’s coming as I ease away and despite turning my head slightly to the right, he still manages to home in on my lips for a kiss. It’s quick and subtle so no one notices, but it makes me uncomfortable nonetheless.
“Manic workload. Long hours. You know how it is.”
His warm smile is guileless and my momentary annoyance at his inappropriate greeting vanishes. I like how Justin acknowledges I work for a living and shows an interest.
“I’m getting better at managing my hours.” I feign a modest shrug. “One of the perks of being freelance, I can pick and choose when I work.”
May waggles her finger. “Enough shop talk, you two. Let’s mingle.”
Justin pulls a face behind his mother’s back and I stifle a grin. We’ve always had a connection, this easy way of communicating. It makes life tolerable having someone who actually gives a damn about me, knowing I’m about to face the inevitable sniping and goading from his wife and sister.
Today will be harder than ever to face them, considering I unwittingly know their secrets.
I need to discover who’s targeting one of the most influential families in Chicago because the startling information I was sent earlier could tear this family apart.
I accept a glass of wine from a waiter as Ashlin sidles up to me.
“Hey, Ria, haven’t seen you since the last obligatory Parker party three weeks ago.” She’s loud, brash, the standout woman in any room. It drives me nuts because I envy her confidence. My inner introvert craves that kind of chutzpah, to be noticed and not blend into the background like I’ve always done. It served me well in the past to be invisible: to avoid the leers of a foster father, to slip a treat into my pocket at the shops, to elude unjust punishments at the hand of a pseudo mother pretending to care about my wellbeing.
I have worked hard to earn respect over the years, to take my rightful place in this family, yet I can’t shake the stigma attached with being not quite good enough.
I don’t bother forcing a smile. “I’ve been busy.”
Because some of us work for a living. Not that I would if May had her way. My mother-in-law insists I accept financial assistance. Guilt money, for the fact her youngest son abandoned us when Shelley turned five. I accept her generous offerings and save them in a bank account for Shelley, but May also finds other ways to make life easier. Foisting her cleaner on me. Paying for Shelley’s school uniforms. Ensuring her caterers drop off a weekly delivery after they’ve been to her place.
I don’t have it in my heart to refuse her all the time. May is the matriarch of the Parker family and she actually likes me, so I don’t want to offend. I need someone onside.
Though technically that isn’t true. Justin likes me too. A bit too much for a brother-in-law, the thought eroding my meager confidence even more considering I’m making small talk with his wife.
“Don’t you get bored sitting at a computer all day?” Ashlin wrinkles her nose, no mean feat considering the amount of fillers she has injected into her face on a regular basis. “It would drive me mad.”
“I love my job.” I down a gulp of Chardonnay and eye the bar nearby. As usual, Ashlin will test my vow to stop at two. “And I do some of my investigative work on the road so I’m not on a screen all day.”
I sound stuffy and pompous and don’t give a damn. The airhead isn’t interested in hearing about the intricacies of journalism. She’s never once asked me about my work beyond inferring I must be a corrupt, unscrupulous lunatic who spends all day online exposing secondhand news stories.
“Investigative work.” She sniggers and eyes me with faux curiosity. “Is that why Grayson left you? Too much poking your nose where you shouldn’t?”
She’s baiting me as she always does when she’s had a few drinks. Hoping I’ll lose it in front of the family. Deliberately being a jerk so if I retaliate I’ll end up embarrassing myself. Her callous treatment is always worse after she’s had a few wines and by the contemptuous gleam in her eye, she’s on a particularly vicious roll today.
I can do what I always do in this situation: feign indifference. Or I can cut her down to size like I’ve yearned to do so many times before.
I don’t like taunting, having endured my fair share as a kid. I usually ignore Ashlin when she does it but after witnessing her appalling treatment of Shelley earlier, I can’t help but retaliate.
“From what I’ve recently learned, I’m not the one being investigated.” I lean in close, not wanting everyone to hear the truth. I don’t want to reveal anything until I know what I’m dealing with regarding those incriminating emails.
But she’s pushed me too far today and I can’t resist demeaning her so she knows how she makes me feel. “One of the dangers of living in the digital age, Ash. You never know where those footprints will lead.”
She flushes a nasty puce and stares at me in open-mouthed disbelief, whether because of my unsavory insinuation or the fact I’ve verbally retaliated for the first time, I don’t know.
She starts to bluster, to clear her throat, like she’s swallowed one of the bees May keeps at the back of her property.
I allow a slow victory smile. I don’t have to say anything else. Her reaction confirms what I already know.
Ashlin is cheating on Justin.
She’s having a seedy affair with a major business rival.
And it isn’t her first.
I’m disappointed. I want so much to believe this family is special, that they deserve the pedestal society places them on. The Parkers are invited to every major event in Chicago and beyond, from the opening nights of exclusive boutiques to select sailing regattas on Lake Michigan, from courtside seats at the US Open to private screenings on Broadway. More often than not they’re oblivious to how revered they are in the elite of this city’s wealthy.
So what I discovered earlier today could have far-reaching consequences.
For everyone.
Maybe I’ve said too much and I walk away, as she mutters, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I pause and glance over my shoulder, one eyebrow raised in provocation. “Don’t you?”
“What the hell does she know? Busybody cow.”
I want to scream it across the garden so everyone can hear. Instead, I settle for venting with Christine, my eldest sister-in-law, who’s never fully trusted Ria either.
“That’s a tad harsh.” Christine tops up my champagne and pops a strawberry into the flute.
“Yeah, you’re right.” I clamp down on my fury a second before I say too much, like how the hell does Ria know I’m ruining my marriage. I settle for a more sedate, “I’m the cow but there’s something about her that never fails to rile me. She always acts so damn superior.”
“Don’t let her get to you.” Christine clinks her champagne glass against mine. “If Mom wasn’t such a soft touch, we wouldn’t see her.”
“Yeah, your mother is too sweet.”
Utter BS, because I happen to think May Parker is an overbearing, interfering old bat and I hate my mother-in-law almost as much as I despise Ria. But Justin worships his ma, does everything the battleaxe says, and as long as she lives and controls the Parker fortune I play nice.
“I don’t get it.” Christine sips at her champagne. “Grayson abandoned her five years ago, so why does Mom still feel guilty? It’s got nothing to do with her.”
“Because Ria’s taking advantage.” I widen my eyes in a fair imitation of Ria. “She acts all innocent to fool people, while laughing at us for our gullibility behind our backs.”
“You really think she’s like that?” Christine’s gaze travels to where Ria is chatting with Justin, smiling up at him like he’s the funniest guy in the world.
That’s another thing I hate, the way my husband looks at her. He doesn’t think I notice but I do, since way back when Grayson first introduced her to the family.
Justin had a gleam in his eye… like he’d seen something better than me. It’s why I keep my distance from Ria. It’s not her fault my marriage is falling apart but I don’t need to see the evidence of my husband appreciating another woman when he can barely look at me.
If he ever finds out what I’ve been doing to get back at him… what Ria said a few moments ago is too close to home.
And I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure she doesn’t learn the truth.
“I think she’s cunning. And capable of anything.”
I could’ve been describing myself and we both know it, as Christine casts me a curious glance but says nothing.
I like Christine but rarely see her beyond May’s family get-togethers once a month. She lives in New York City, we chat on the phone occasionally, but don’t have a lot in common. She’s a true Parker, I’m just a ring-in, like Ria and Shamira.
Not that Shamira and I are close. She’s too busy mixing up essential oil concoctions, twisting herself into unnatural yoga poses or fawning over Trent to care about anyone else. Besides, she’s too wheatgrass-mung-bean-free-love-inner-peace for me.
“How’s my big brother treating you?”
I dart a glance at Christine, wondering if Ria has said anything to her, but her stare remains ingenuous.
“Justin is great. Putting in long hours at the firm but what’s new? He was a workaholic when I met him and I admire how driven he is.”
More BS but Christine is like her brother: too narcissistic to see thro. . .
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