And what did I find out? That you have a serious disorder. An obsessive-compulsive disorder with people, which I didn’t even know was a thing until the investigator told me what your therapist had on file for you. You also suffered a while with abandonment issues and from a post-traumatic stress disorder, which was understandable. You lost your parents in a horrible tragedy because of someone else. It was a thing you couldn’t control, and perhaps that tragedy is why you’d developed your other disorders.
Please don’t hate me for realizing you were the perfect candidate to carry out some of my plans. Granted, I knew nothing about you when the wreck first happened, but when I found out the Hills had a daughter, well, it was game on.
I didn’t exactly get the chance to start grooming you to hate Lola until you were eighteen. Do you remember attending a group discussion for lost teens? It was rather easy to put together, held in the gym of a middle school. I paid the coordinator of that little group discussion and told her to pretend to care about the teens, to act as a mediator. I knew you’d go once and never go again.
I left a flyer on your boyfriend’s doorstep while you were on your way to school and you picked it up. You read it, then stuffed it into your back pocket. The next thing I knew, I was in the parking lot, watching you enter the school for the discussion. You didn’t say much. You just sat there, listening to other people’s stories, desperately trying to relate to someone else. To make a friend. I’d spent a lot of my vacation time looking out for you, Ivy.
I had one girl named Alexa come to talk to you. I paid her to be your friend. You liked her for a while. She made up a story about how she lost her parents during a store shooting, remember? She blamed the gunman, said she hated him. Then she asked you if your life would be different if the person who’d caused the crash hadn’t done it.
It was the start of something. I knew it. That question sparked something inside you and got you to really think about what had been done and why you never got any real answers.
From that moment on Marriott was writing in her notes often about you. I know because my investigator would break into her office after hours to read them and send me pictures of them. He went above and beyond and was well worth every penny.
Marriott said you were asking about the person responsible for your parents’ death. She mentioned that you’d asked about the person before, but that you brushed it off because the detective in charge of the case wouldn’t tell you. You were becoming obsessed with knowing who had caused the wreck, and that was a good thing. I always believed you deserved to know.
You’d suspected foul play and my dear, you were correct. There was foul play. Lola Maxwell played the system, paid to have her name cleared . . . only you didn’t know it yet. But you would.
My plan? It took time. I endured years of Lola’s shit, even after having my contract rewritten. For the most part she pretended what I’d asked for hadn’t even happened, but her demands increased and she treated me like nothing more than her maid or a woman who was forever indebted to her, and I suppose I was that woman for a while. I’d set myself up for it by trying to blackmail her, after all. I had to be there for everything she wanted and needed.
I didn’t bother you much as you went through college. Boy, those were four long years that I hated. I did have my investigator keeping tabs on you, though. He filled me in about you once a week. I often had to sneak out at night to meet him outside Biscayne Bay. You were doing well for yourself. Becoming more stable, more confident.
That was good. I was proud of you. It was as if I’d watched you blossom from a child to a woman . . . but I didn’t want you to forget your roots, or how much your life had changed because of Lola.
The time never felt quite right while you were in college, so I agreed I’d let you finish—let you enjoy your scholarship—while I endured Lola’s bullshit. You should thank me for that. It gave you a little more freedom.
When you graduated, I knew it was the perfect time. I had been patient, even endured five extra years of working for the Maxwells just to carry out this plan of mine, but I was growing sick of Lola’s bullshit, dealing with all of her demands.
I needed my freedom too . . . and that all came down to you, my poison Ivy.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
I was glad Marriott made you continue your therapy through college. She really adored you, and eventually I had to pay her a hefty amount of money, but things worked in my favor. Still, the things I had to do to get ahold of you were almost too much, Ivy. But the biggest step was getting through to Marriott.
I went to her myself to discuss Lola. I knew she’d never listen to a man, otherwise I’d have sent my investigator. She needed someone who knew Lola personally—who could prove things about her that no one else could.
My goal was simple: convince Marriott to tell you Lola’s name and let you run with it. That was it, but she made it so much harder than it needed to be.
She wasn’t having it at first.
“Why would I do that after all these years?” Marriott demanded, staring at me with confusion and anger. “Ivy is finally doing well for herself! She’s thriving and has graduated college, and now you want me to tell her the name of the woman who pretty much tore her life apart? You are outrageous. Get out of my office.”
I needed to think of a lie, and quick. If I didn’t get Marriott on board, all would be lost. It wasn’t like I could just go to you and tell you Lola’s name. You would have known I was up to something when you showed up at Lola’s . . . because you would show up. I knew you. You wouldn’t have been able to resist.
“Lola, the woman who caused the wreck, asked me to do this,” I stated. “She was too afraid to come here herself, so she told me to find Ivy. Trust me, I could have gone to Ivy myself, but I wanted this to be right for her. I know Ivy trusts you and she’ll believe you over some random woman she’s never met.”
Marriott looked at me sideways as she sat behind her desk. That was the thing about Marriott. She liked being depended on. Talked to. Trusted. Why do you think she became a psychologist?
I sat in the chair in front of her desk, giving her an earnest look. “I’ve worked for Mrs. Maxwell going on thirteen years now. She has regretted the accident since it happened and now she’s ready to make amends with Ivy, and I’m her messenger. All Mrs. Maxwell wants is for Ivy to know her name. With that, she can do as she wishes. She can come to her or drop it. And if she comes, Mrs. Maxwell will most likely apologize and help her out. End her struggles.”
“But Ivy has certain quirks, Mellie.” Mellie. That wasn’t my name. My real name was Georgia, as you know. I wasn’t foolish enough to give Marriott my real name. All of this could have backfired if she’d decided not to do what I suggested. Just as easily as I’d shown up at her office, she could have shown up at Lola’s to speak to her. “She isn’t mentally stable enough to have this kind of information,” Marriott went on. “Something as simple as knowing the name may throw her completely off track, push her right back out of reality.”
“She’s a big girl, Dr. Harold. I’m sure she can handle it, and if not, I’m sure Mrs. Maxwell will be happy to cover the care she needs.”
“That’s where you’re wrong about Ivy. I know for a fact she won’t take the news well. Ivy has a—a problem of becoming obsessed. She spent nearly two years pleading with me and the police for answers. I always promised her I’d find out the truth for her one day, but I only said that so she would hold on to hope. What I really wanted was for her to eventually forget about it and move on, and now that she’s starting to, you want me to feed her this name? How do I even know it was this woman? Lola Maxwell, is it?”
“Because I was there the night it happened. She had blood on her clothes. She was distraught. I also overheard her speaking to a police detective the next day, the same detective who was supposed to investigate the wreck. His name was Jack Shaw, right?”
Marriott’s throat bobbed. “You could have gotten that information from
the Internet.”
“She paid off the detective, Dr. Harold. That’s why he never gave Ivy a name or any details. Mrs. Maxwell gave him five hundred thousand dollars so he’d keep her name out of the investigation, and that was the end of that.”
“She did what?” Marriott gasped. “Why would she do such a thing? Why didn’t she just own up to what she’d done?”
I shrugged. “I suppose Mrs. Maxwell was trying to protect her reputation.”
“Well, that’s mighty selfish, isn’t it? Who is this Lola Maxwell? Why is her reputation so important?
“Look her up. A quick Internet search and you’ll see why.”
Marriott sighed and shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said, still hesitant. “I know Ivy. She’ll want to face this woman. That could bring harm to both their lives, lead to unnecessary drama at the least.”
“Well, and this is just my opinion . . . Mrs. Maxwell deserves to at least be confronted about this, don’t you think?”
“Ivy will obsess,” Marriott went on, her eyes on her notes. “She’s a lonely girl. Information like this may be lethal. I understand what you and Mrs. Maxwell are trying to do, but Ivy would be better off without this knowledge in her possession.”
See what I meant? Dealing with her was like dealing with a piece of food stuck between your teeth. “What if Mrs. Maxwell offers you thirty thousand dollars?”
Marriott whipped up her head and looked deep into my eyes. That caught her attention. I suppose I’d learned a thing or two from Lola. Money was powerful, could shut any man or woman up if it was the right price. “Just for me to tell Ivy her name?”
I nodded.
Marriott drummed her nimble fingers on the edge of the desktop. “Well, I guess I could do it for that. I would just have to keep a close eye on her.”
“Let’s not play modest, Dr. Harold. You work on a government-need basis. You live in a one-bedroom apartment that’s too small for you and your three cats and you’re in debt up to your neck. You want better for yourself. You’ve always wanted better for yourself. Thirty grand will come in handy for someone like you.”
Marriott’s jaw dropped. “H-how do you know that?”
“I know a lot of things.”
Her hands were shaking now. She knew the deal. I wasn’t here on Lola’s behalf. I’d tried to use that and she wasn’t taking the bait, so I had to get assertive. “What are you? Some kind of investigator?”
“No. I just have really good resources.”
She worked hard to swallow. The room was quiet. “How do I know the money is guaranteed?”
“It is . . . but it won’t all show up right away. I’ll wire it to you in increments, just to make sure you hold up your end of the bargain. I’ll start with ten thousand and increase from there.” I adjusted my purse on my lap.
Marriot was quiet for a beat. She looked all around her. “This will go against all my codes—all my work ethics.”
“You’ll be fine, and so will Ivy.”
She drew in a deep breath and then exhaled. “Fine,” she said, lifting her chin. Her bottom lip was trembling. “Make it forty thousand and it’s a deal.”
And a deal it was.
Marriott would get every check I received from Lola. I wasn’t joking about how well Lola paid me: eight thousand dollars a month. Kind of low when you consider everything I’d done for her and how filthy rich she was, but it was all right. I could afford to pay Marriott and I didn’t need much anyway while living in the mansion. Food was provided. Clothes were a uniform. Gas was covered by one of Lola’s business credit cards. It wasn’t like I went shopping or had a personal life anymore, so I’d saved several thousand dollars over the years—ever since Lola showed me her true colors. Not only that, but my ten million was well on the way. It was only a matter of time before I would receive it, so this small sacrifice would be worth it.
I asked Marriott for a pen and then scribbled Lola’s name on a sheet of paper, sliding it across the desk. “Just in case you forget.”
Marriott took it and placed it in her top drawer, giving me a wary glance.
As I climbed into Lola’s SUV and started the ignition, I could feel Marriott watching me go. I didn’t care. I knew she would keep quiet and do what she was told if she wanted the money and a better life.
She would feel remorse for telling you, Ivy, but she’d get over it and realize your decisions afterward were your own.
This was a plan being set in motion and nothing was going to stop it. Nothing at all.
CHAPTER FORTY
You did everything much better than I could ever plan, Ivy. You were a wise girl, something I adored about you.
You didn’t jump the gun and run with Lola’s name. You took your time. You came up with your own plan. You had to have known that Lola hadn’t sent that name herself, but that was what Marriott told you, right? I know it is because that’s what I told her to tell you.
You had to have hoped and prayed Lola knew nothing about you, but you took the risk anyway and showed her your face, which proved to me you had several tricks up your sleeve for her. I liked that.
What were you thinking when you realized Lola didn’t know who you were? I bet you were relieved, thought you were ahead of the game and extremely smart, but you didn’t think to ask yourself who had really given you that name, did you? You just assumed what was happening was meant to be, and that you were smarter than the originator—than me.
I admit, it was a nice touch signing up for Lola’s charity. I always thought you’d slink your way in some other way. She was obsessed with that little charity of hers. Good job.
But I have to tell you, even if you’d used your real name on the application, Lola wouldn’t have known who you were. Matter of fact, Lola had no clue the Hills had a daughter.
She didn’t give a fuck about the deceased couple, she just wanted the situation buried, and she didn’t care how. You should hate her for that. You really, really should. She never would have owned up to her wrongdoing if it weren’t for me leading you to her.
I’m confused, though, by why your motive changed. You wanted to destroy Lola, take her down at first. I saw that anger in your eyes as you left Marriott’s clinic. You wanted to ruin this Lola woman. Destroy everything she touched. But let me guess . . . you saw Dr. Maxwell and became mesmerized. I had a feeling that would happen.
You went to him several months later, he fondled your breasts, and suddenly you felt connected to him. I suppose I should have seen that one coming. Your obsessive disorder was going to kick in one way or another; I just expected you to continue obsessing over Lola, not become crazed with the idea of being with him.
I could have told you from the jump that he wasn’t all that great. All he ever did was cheat on Lola, and she did the same in return, but he loved playing the victim. He loved having the women he fucked around with think they were his first affair and that his wife was no good. That’s how he got the ladies. That’s how he got you.
You thought he was sweet and perfect and innocent. But he wasn’t. No one is fucking perfect, Ivy, and you should have known better. Hell, Dr. Maxwell was just as bad as Lola, that’s why they were perfect for each other. All that damn arguing and fighting they did. It was no wonder they were miserable with each other. And trust me, he knew about your parents and how that situation was covered up. Lola had foolishly taken the five hundred thousand dollars she’d given the detective from their joint account and Corey noticed, and she most likely explained. But like Lola, he decided it wasn’t relevant, that it was smart of Lola to bury it the way she did.
If I were you, I’d fucking hate him too.
You did everything and more, Ivy. You destroyed a friendship of hers at your own will. Shit, I can’t believe you pushed Keke off a cliff. I know you did it, and I won’t lie, I was proud of you. You were willing to go to great lengths to get close to Lola and eventually work to steal her husband, and I admired that. It was more than I would have done, but still!
Lola had gone on and on, swearing Keke was pushed, and as she did, I had to stifle my laughter because I knew. I just knew it was you. Good thing those cameras weren’t on during camp, huh?
You knew what you wanted and you went after it, and from that moment forward, I figured maybe I’d done the right thing—that maybe you could still be useful to me, despite the affair you were ready to spur.
Who do you think suggested that you stay in Lola’s cabin during camp? Who do you think suggested she invite you over more often because it seemed like you had her best interests in mind and would make a good friend?
I raved about how wonderful a girl I thought you were, and Lola liked to think everything I said was her idea, so she fed into it. Yes, Lola may have despised me, but she still listened whenever I spoke, mainly because after I’d signed those contracts, I made it my mission to not speak to her on a personal level again. At least not until you showed up.
Lola loved taking in broken girls, and she could see the brokenness in you. She wanted to rub her money in your face, the same way she wanted to rub it in everyone else’s. She wanted you to need her, brag about her and her wealth, because no one else really needed or bragged about her much.
Why do you think she kept Keke around for so long? Keke was a needy little bitch, with an even needier daughter. Keke loved to post on social media when she hung out with Lola to make her other friends jealous. That worked for Lola. It made her feel important—like some goddess.
You were envious of Lola’s life, and rightly so. She’d built herself up and acted like this empowered, perfect woman after her miscarriage, while you struggled for everything you had. She lived the good life while for years you cried yourself to sleep every night after your parents’ death.
It wasn’t fair, was it? How she continued being a selfish, entitled bitch while you wept? How she went to exotic countries and soaked in new cultures while you were abused?
It wasn’t fair. She always got what she wanted, while everyone she touched with her greediness suffered.
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