I smile briefly. “Thank you, Roy.” I give him a warm pat on his shoulder. “Did she threaten you if you didn’t?”
“Apart from saying I was a terrible father, a disgusting pig, and some other nasty comments, no… Why?”
“She did threaten me.” Roy swallows hard. “She intends to destroy us and my family.”
“Bullshit! She has nothing. Don’t worry about her.” I stare down, pondering his words. “Are you okay?”
“Bullshit or not, we need to find out what she has against us, and who these people are that she’s talking about.”
“We’ll find out, don’t worry. I know what’s at stake.”
“Roy, I promised I’d keep Petra out of this, but… Do you think we should talk to her?”
“Definitely not! She can’t be involved at all. I don’t want her to become an accomplice in any way. Otherwise she’d have to report us to the police in order to remain innocent.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry. I’m still in shock,” I reply.
“We should talk to Margaret. She’s the only person who can still carry on a civilized conversation with that insane bitch.”
Chapter 30
Rotterdam, December 26, 2019
Tess Hagen
I’m radiant. I pour some tea in my cup while reading a couple of emails. But suddenly I hear knocking and Anika steps in.
“Tess, there’s someone here for you.” Anika opens the door a bit further, and I smile—even though I’m not that impressed to see her here.
I stand up, adjust my pink dress, and keep my posture as straight as I can. “Mrs. Van Dieren, such a pleasant surprise to see you here in my modest house.”
I check the lady out briefly. She sports a long carmine-colored coat and wears a shade of lipstick that matches her outfit, along with imposing gold earrings. Her short silver-white hair is pushed back, and her elegant smoky eyes gleam.
“Good afternoon, Tess.” Anika closes the door behind Margaret and she moves closer to me. “I apologize for my unexpected visit,” she begins. “I heard you came to my property this morning. I’m saddened you didn’t even let me know you were there. I would have invited you in for tea.”
“Indeed, I had some urgent matters to discuss with your son.”
“I figured that out. Shall we have a seat and try to discuss this rationally, as two mothers who only want the best for their children?”
“Sounds reasonable.” Margaret and I sit on either end of the sofa. “Would you like some tea?”
“No, thank you. I’m fine.” Margaret studies me while taking a deep breath. “So, may I ask the reason why you are so against my son marrying your daughter?”
“You know perfectly well the reason, Margaret.”
“You know perfectly well that everything he’s done was consensual.”
“Right, and what about one of the women dying because the choking stopped her from breathing? Consensual?”
“It was an accident,” she snarls immediately. “And you know perfectly well it wasn’t him.”
“There was no evidence found against him, but that doesn’t make him innocent.” Margaret heaves a loud sigh, irritated. But I remain calm and serene. I know Margaret will do anything to protect her family—I only have to persuade her. I put my politest and calmest voice on. “Look, if you care for your son as I do for my daughter, then convince him to leave Petra alone. That’s all, Margaret. If you do that, we are all good. I can assure you I’ll say nothing.” I take a sip of my tea, smiling triumphantly as I observe her. I can tell she’s taken my request seriously.
But Margaret shakes her head. “I already gave him my blessing and the engagement ring…”
“That’s none of my business. Tell him you changed your mind. Or just tell him the truth. Tell him I’m ready to move forward and expose him, my ex-husband, and more, if necessary. My daughter won’t marry a murderer, an abuser, and a manipulative man like him!”
“Watch your mouth, Tess!”
“Margaret,” I snap assertively. “There are millions of girls in this world—he can pick any one he wants! But not Petra, not my daughter.”
“Very well. Time to talk seriously now.” I smile. Finally. “What do you have against my son that could seriously compromise him? If you show me your game, I will convince him.”
“Now we are talking.”
I stand up, reach into my purse, and take out a file that I hand to Margaret.
She puts her glasses on and attentively examines every single page.
I sit again and pour some more tea in my cup, my expression victorious.
Margaret lets out a sigh. My smile gets wider. She closes the file—looks like she has seen enough. “That’s the only thing you want in exchange for your silence?”
I nod. “That’s all I ask, Margaret. Have I ever said anything before?”
“Not that I’m aware.”
“It’s a simple request. It might be painful at the beginning, but I’m sure your son is rational and smart enough to know what’s at stake.”
Margaret ponders a few more moments. “There is no other way we can negotiate this?”
“The life of my daughter is not negotiable.”
Margaret Van Dieren
On my way back, I’m not happy, to say the least. Tess isn’t bluffing. Those are serious allegations. Enough to feed not only the media—as I know perfectly well there are a couple of reporters out there just waiting for a juicy story about my family—but also for a judicial investigation, lawsuits, and trials. That’s a Pandora’s box I do not want to open. Even the names of Julia and Sebastian Van Den Bosch are on the report! My daughter cannot be involved. Julia needs to know about this.
I have regrettably no good news to bring home. I shake my head. I despise Tess so much. Such an evil creature indeed. No wonder she’s gone into politics. How did she manage to get those documents? Who did she pay to get them?
“She showed me the police reports filed against both of you, along with some photographs, the location of the club, a list of its members…” I inform Roy and Alex when I return. “Julia’s and Sebastian’s names are also in there. She has some women who are ready to testify.”
I hate to bring bad news. The petit salon is the usual room for serious discussions. My dear Alexander is sitting beside me, holding his head in his hands and trying to fathom this nightmare. He probably never thought one day this would come back to haunt him and destroy his happiness. I sigh, my heart bleeding to see him like this.
Roy leans on the wall near the window, his stare furious, shaking his head. “The women won’t talk. They all signed an agreement.”
“So did Tess. But looks like she’s ready to break it to prevent Petra from getting engaged,” I reply.
My son is still thinking. “What about Yara? Is she named in the papers?”
“I don’t think so. But who knows? If they start digging, if some women recognize her, Yara’s name might appear too. And she still has those stupid tattoos. If anyone recognizes them…” I shiver at the thought of it.
“I tried to convince her to remove them with laser treatment, like I did with mine. But you know Yara…”
“Yara might face jail time. We cannot take this lightly, Alexander,” I remind him.
My son seems lost. If Tess was not Petra’s mother, it’d be so easy to take care of the problem. But unfortunately, she is.
“What should we do?” he asks.
I look down thoughtfully, then I stand up, put my hand on his shoulder, and say what has to be said. “Alexander, you are my only son, and God knows how much I want to see you happy. I know you truly love her. But if Tess moves forward with this, no matter how innocent you are, your reputation, your businesses, our family, and God knows what else might be at stake. It’s not an easy decision. I’ll leave it to your wise consideration.”
Chapter 31
Bedford Hills, January 9, 2020
Alexander Van Dieren
I wonder if God is pu
nishing me for my past crimes and sins. I know I deserve it. And yet, I feel so tempted to sin again and silence that Tess Hagen once and for all. But what kind of man would take the life of the mother who brought into this world the woman he loves and cherishes the most?
But fuck, Tess is so monstrous. I despise that vicious snake so much. I haven’t slept properly since she came to hunt me down after Christmas. Making love to Petra has also been harder. Next to impossible, without having a clear idea of where our relationship is heading. Just two weeks earlier, I was thinking about where to propose, and today the idea of it seems like a far distant dream—a utopia, a myth.
“What’s your next move?” asks Roy.
That’s exactly what I’m wondering. Oh, never mind. I look again at my pieces positioned on the chessboard. Then I take my bishop and make a move.
He sighs loudly. “You’re not focused today.” Roy moves his rook and captures my bishop. “It’s getting boring playing chess with you.”
But I don’t reply. While I look at my pieces in the chessboard, all I can see is my queen standing there without protection. I decide to move a knight near her.
“What are you doing?” he asks again, displeased. “It’s not the queen who needs protection. Look at your king. With two more moves, I can checkmate it.”
“I don’t know what to do, Roy,” I finally declare.
“Well, maybe you should protect your king.”
“I mean about Petra and me. I can’t break up with her. But I can’t let Tess do what she has in mind either.”
He looks at me with some unsettling hostility. “I thought Margaret made it quite clear.” His eyes shift back to the chessboard, and he moves his bishop.
I raise an eyebrow. “I’m the one who has to decide. That’s what she said.”
“With wisdom,” he corrects. He leans back against his armchair, studying me. “Go on, make a move.”
I have no appetite to play today, but I look again at my pieces. I see Roy’s bishop standing near my queen. With my rook I capture it. “I’ll take care of Tess.” I pause. “And I’m going to marry Petra.”
Roy’s face is unreadable. He rubs a finger against his lips, the air pensive as he looks intently at the chessboard. After a few more moments, he leans forward to move his queen, which takes mine. Damn it. I shouldn’t have moved that rook. “You are not marrying her.”
My heart skips a beat, and my jaw drops at his declaration. I look at my queen in his hand, just as if it were Petra. “What the hell are you talking about? We just have to take care of Tess. Problem solved.”
He sighs again. “You will leave her mother in peace, and you will stop this relationship.” I chuckle at the absurdity of it. “That’s wisdom, Alexander. And that’s the decision your mother wishes you’d make.”
“I’m not going to end my relationship with Petra because of some blunder made nineteen years ago! That’s ridiculous!”
“Ridiculous is your obsession for my daughter,” he snarls back.
“It’s not an obsession, for God’s sake! I love her!”
“So do I,” he replies just as loudly.
Nothing but silence remains between our defiant glares.
I look absently at my pieces again, wishing they could scream at me which one to move. I decide to take my knight and move it near his queen. One more move and I can capture it.
“You’ll be transferred to our Singapore office in March. You have two months to break up.”
I feel his words crash into me. “This is a joke, right? I’m not leaving New York, Roy. Forget it!”
But Roy keeps his face calm and serene as he looks at the chessboard. “We’ll start going to Singapore more frequently in the coming weeks. This will give you enough time to prepare a speech for when the time comes.”
“Roy, we are best friends! How can you do something like this to me? To her? To us?”
“There is too much at stake, Alexander. I won’t ruin my reputation, my family name, and everything I’ve built because of your relationship. Petra needs protection, my protection.” And he takes his queen away from my knight. “She is still young. She has time to find someone else.”
An arrow just perforated my heart. I try to drag some precious air into my lungs while I move my remaining bishop near his queen. “Roy, you’re the one who is putting our relationship at stake now.”
He looks down at the chessboard. “You have two months, Alexander. In March, you’re gone.” And he makes his move. “Checkmate.”
Chapter 32
Manhattan, January 13, 2020
Petra Van Gatt
Surprisingly, Dad has been taking his breakfast with me every single morning since we came back from the Netherlands. I can’t help but wonder if it’s part of his New Year's resolutions. After all, he knows it’s just a matter of time before I move out to live with Alex.
Today is no exception. Dad is still here in the kitchen with me, reading his paper while I’m finishing my tea.
“You don’t mind revealing your identity to the press now that you are no longer an intern, right?”
“Um, what do you mean, Dad?” I ask before giving a sip of my matcha.
“Forbes would like to interview you. Are you available tomorrow?”
But I choke on it just as fast. “What? Why me?”
“They are writing about young raising stars in finance and entrepreneurship. I talked to Chloe, the reporter, about your investments in art and your own fund. She’s keen to meet you.”
“Dad, is this really necessary? I’m still in my freshman year…”
He puts down his paper, staring intently at me. “Of course it is. Now that your agoraphobia has been under control, we need to start building up your public image, not as my daughter, but as Petra Van Gatt—with her own identity, her own personality, her own dreams.”
I roll my eyes. I want to decline, but Dad seems so happy. Seeing me profiled in Forbes is such a dear dream for him, and I don’t want to ruin it. Plus, like most things in my life, he isn’t giving me much of a choice.
I take a deep breath and give him the answer he expected from the beginning, “Fine. I’ll do it.” I stand up and give him a kiss on the cheek. “I have to go. I have class in an hour.”
Manhattan, January 14, 2020
I hear Janine pull the curtains wide apart, but I don’t dare to open my eyes just yet. “Good morning, Ms. Van Gatt.” Then hangers rattle from my wardrobe. “So, what do you think about wearing something a bit more smart-casual today? Why not some heels? After all, it’s not every day you’ll be live on YouTube.”
I gasp in terror. “Live on YouTube?” I prop myself up on my elbows instantly. “What do you mean? It’s not just a simple interview?”
Janine seems confused. “No, Ms. Van Gatt. Your dad told me you will be interviewed live for their social media channels. How incredible, isn’t it?”
“Live?” I feel like throwing up. I stand up from the bed and run as fast as I can to my bathroom. There, my knees on the floor, I throw up all my anxiety in the toilet.
Janine shakes her head. “Oh, Ms. Van Gatt, I’m so sorry to have scared you. Are you alright? Do you want to take something to help control your panic attack?”
I take a deep breath with my head down and wait, making sure there’s nothing left before standing again. “Oh, Janine, I’ve never done a live interview. What if something goes wrong? Everyone will see it.”
“Nothing will go wrong. Don’t worry, Miss. It’s a quick five-minute interview. You have to relax. All you need is a yummy breakfast. I’ll make some pancakes. What do you think?”
“No, I’m fine, thank you, Janine. A matcha tea, that’s all.”
“Miss, you need to eat something. Just avocado toast, then.”
“I’m fine, Janine, really. I’m not hungry.”
I jump into a warm shower, wondering how I’ll manage to remain in one piece in front of the camera, but one thing is for sure: I have to fight my agoraphobia. I can�
��t let my fear come back and haunt me again.
Columbia Economics, January 22, 2020
The interview was such a smashing success on social media that Chloe, the reporter, received approval to publish it in their biweekly printed magazine. “Success in Art: How Petra Van Gatt Is Shaping the Future of Alternative Investments.” Such a big exaggeration, dear God. The feature was three pages long with a big, colorful picture of me, taken during the interview.
Surprisingly, I’ve become an overnight role model for all my freshman colleagues who just a couple of days ago didn’t even know my name. I see some of them whispering, their faces glued on me while I close my books and laptop. The class is over, yet they are not leaving. “Congrats, Petra. Nice interview!” they finally shout from their seats on the other side of the auditorium. I nod and smile.
“Ms. Van Gatt?” Mrs. Chilnisky is now right in front of me.
“Yes?”
“I saw your interview in Forbes magazine. Very well done. Congratulations on your fund.”
I smile, humbled. “Thank you, Mrs. Chilnisky.”
“Petra, on February fifteenth, we are hosting a panel of highly talented and entrepreneurial students. Students who already have a successful career or venture on the side. I would truly appreciate if you could join us.”
I raise both eyebrows and, to my surprise, find myself nodding at her.
Columbia Economics, February 15, 2020
Standing behind the door, I glance discreetly at the big, dark auditorium where over three hundred students have gathered. There’s a stage in front with a big sofa already in the spotlight, two screens behind it, and two big cameras on the edges.
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