Chapter 7 - Cousin Lydia’s Sudden Loyalty Switch
By Wednesday morning, the social fallout of the canceled wedding had reached a fever pitch across the North Shore of Chicago.
My phone had been buzzing nonstop since 6:00 a.m. with text messages, voicemails, and social media notifications from distant relatives, country club acquaintances, and mutual friends who had suddenly realized which way the wind was blowing.
At 10:15 a.m., I was sitting at my desk reviewing the updated board resolutions when my executive assistant buzzed through the intercom.
“Caroline?”
“Yes, Sarah?”
“You have a visitor in the lobby. It’s... your cousin Lydia. She insists she has confidential information regarding Vanessa’s bank accounts, and she won't leave until you give her five minutes of your time.”
I stared at the intercom speaker for three seconds.
Lydia—the very same cousin who had laughed on the left side of the table when Vanessa shoved me to the floor.
“Send her up, Sarah,” I said smoothly. “Let’s see what kind of currency rats use when the ship is sinking.”
Ten minutes later, the double doors of my office opened, and Lydia stepped inside. Gone was the smug, untouchable confidence she had worn at the birthday dinner. Her hair was hastily tied back, her designer sunglasses were perched nervously on top of her head, and her hands were clutching a leather clutch bag as if it were a life preserver in the middle of the Atlantic.
“Caroline! Oh, thank god!” Lydia rushed forward, her heels clicking rapidly against the floor, arms outstretched as if she were about to embrace her dearest friend.
I didn't stand up. I simply raised one hand, freezing her in her tracks ten feet from my desk.
“Stop right there, Lydia,” I said, my voice ice-cold. “Your arms are too short to hug me.”
Lydia flushed a brilliant shade of crimson, dropping her arms awkwardly to her sides.
“Caroline, I know how things looked on Saturday night,” Lydia babbled, her words tumbling over each other in a frantic rush. “I was in shock! Vanessa is... she’s terrifying when she gets like that! None of us knew what she was really doing behind closed doors! I mean, we all heard rumors about the offshore accounts, but Brent told us it was just legitimate real estate investments—”
“Lydia,” I interrupted, my voice cutting through her panicked monologue like a razor blade. “Save the Oscar-winning performance for someone who cares. You laughed first.”
“I didn't mean to laugh!” Lydia protested, her voice cracking into a whine. “It was nervous laughter! You know how Vanessa gets when she’s stressed about party planning—”
“Get to the point,” I said, leaning forward and resting my elbows on the desk. “Why are you sitting in my office?”
Lydia swallowed hard, her eyes darting nervously toward the door as if expecting federal marshals to burst through at any second. She reached into her leather clutch, pulled out a bulky manila flash drive, and laid it gently on the edge of my desk.
“That,” Lydia whispered, leaning in closer, “is a copy of Vanessa’s private cloud storage backup. She synced her iPad to my home Wi-Fi three weeks ago when she was staying at my place during her dress fittings. She left her tablet logged into her personal Dropbox.”
I looked at the flash drive, then back up at Lydia.
“And what’s on it?” I asked.
“Everything,” Lydia whispered triumphantly. “Voice memos of Vanessa and Brent plotting how to declare your father mentally incompetent right after the wedding. Spreadsheet drafts of how they were going to squeeze you out of the logistics division. And—get this—a list of every single society friend and family member she secretly blackmailed or borrowed money from over the past two years to fund her lifestyle.”
I stared at the flash drive. It was a goldmine of unadulterated collateral.
“Why are you giving this to me, Lydia?” I asked quietly. “Weren't you supposed to be part of the winning team?”
Lydia bit her lip, her bravado completely crumbling.
“Because my husband’s investment firm relies on Whitaker Logistics contracts for thirty percent of our annual revenue,” Lydia admitted miserably. “And when word got out this morning that you had frozen all secondary commercial accounts and fired Brent for fraud, my husband nearly had a heart attack on the trading floor. He told me if I didn't come down here and get back on your good side, he was going to file for divorce by sundown.”
I had to suppress a smile. The dominoes were falling faster than I had even anticipated.
“Well, Lydia,” I said, picking up the flash drive between my thumb and forefinger and slipping it into my desk drawer. “Your husband’s contracts are safe—provided his firm’s auditing books are clean. But as for you?”
I looked her dead in the eye.
May you like
“You can tell everyone at the country club that the next time you decide to laugh at someone on the floor, you better make sure they don't own the building you’re standing in.”
Lydia’s face turned pale. She nodded mutely, turned around on shaking heels, and practically sprinted out of the office, closing the door behind her with a soft, trembling click.
