Chapter 7 - ELEVEN DAYS
The date changed everything.
April 18.
Eleven days.
A room had been prepared.
Paperwork had been created.
Payments had been made.
A schedule existed.
Eleanor had not been disciplining Maya because she thought Maya needed structure.
She had been preparing her for removal.
The most horrifying part was how ordinary my life had looked while it happened.
Business flights.
Investor dinners.
Morning calls.
Quarterly reports.
I had thought the Sterling household was stable.
Eleanor sent photographs.
Maya smiled in most of them.
Now I examined every photograph differently.
Was she told to smile?
Was food waiting off camera?
Was Eleanor standing behind the phone?
How much of my family had existed only inside carefully framed images?
That evening, Maya was cleared to leave the hospital.
I did not take her home.
Rebecca arranged for us to stay in a secured apartment owned by my company.
Private entrance.
No public address.
Two bedrooms.
Small kitchen.
No white rugs.
The first thing Maya did was open the refrigerator.
Then she closed it immediately.
I watched from the doorway.
“You can open it.”
She looked at me.
“I know.”
“You can take something too.”
“Whenever?”
“Whenever you’re hungry.”
Her eyebrows tightened.
“Even at night?”
“Yes.”
“Even if someone is coming over?”
“Yes.”
“Even if the food is expensive?”
“Yes.”
She thought for a moment.
Then opened the refrigerator again.
She took one yogurt.
She held it in both hands.
“Can I have this?”
I had to swallow before answering.
“You never have to ask me that again.”
She smiled.
Barely.
Then she put it back.
I frowned.
“You don’t want it?”
“I want to save it.”
“For what?”
“Tomorrow.”
“There will be food tomorrow.”
She stared at me like I had promised the moon.
That night, I slept on the couch outside her bedroom.
At 2:14 a.m., I woke to movement.
Maya stood in the hallway.
“What’s wrong?”
She held something behind her back.
“Nothing.”
“Maya?”
She slowly revealed a granola bar.
“I’m sorry.”
I sat up.
“For what?”
“I took it.”
My chest hurt.
“It belongs to you.”
“All the food here belongs to you.”
She didn’t believe me yet.
Trust would take longer than words.
She sat beside me.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Are you going back to work tomorrow?”
The question was quiet.
Terrified.
“No.”
“What about Chicago?”
“Chicago can survive without me.”
“What about your company?”
“It can survive too.”
She looked down.
“What if people need you?”
I touched her hair.
“You need me.”
“That’s enough.”
She leaned against my shoulder.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Then Maya whispered, “She said you liked work better.”
I closed my eyes.
“I made it easy for her to say that.”
Maya looked at me.
“But it wasn’t true?”
“No.”
“Then why were you always gone?”
There are questions children ask that adults deserve no escape from.
I could have blamed responsibility.
Pressure.
Employees.
The company.
Sarah’s death.
I didn’t.
“Because I made bad choices.”
Maya’s face changed.
I continued.
“I thought providing everything was the same as being there.”
“It wasn’t.”
“I should have been home more.”
“I should have asked more questions.”
“I should have noticed.”
Her eyes filled.
“Are you mad at me because you didn’t?”
“No.”
“Never.”
She stared at the granola bar.
“I tried to tell you once.”
My heart stopped.
“When?”
“Your birthday.”
Last November.
Eleanor had arranged a surprise dinner.
I had flown in from Toronto.
Maya gave me a handmade card.
I remembered.
Blue paper.
Silver stars.
Inside she had written:
I WISH YOU COULD STAY HOME.
I thought it was ordinary childhood longing.
Now I realized there had been more.
“What happened?”
“I put a note inside.”
“What note?”
“She found it.”
“Eleanor?”
Maya nodded.
“What did it say?”
“That I was hungry.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“What did she do?”
“She tore it up.”
“And then?”
“She made me write another card.”
My throat tightened.
“What did the new one say?”
Maya recited it from memory.
Best Dad Ever.
Thank you for working so hard for us.
I remembered reading those exact words.
I remembered kissing Eleanor afterward.
Thanking her for helping Maya with the card.
The memory made me nauseous.
“What happened after she tore up the first note?”
Maya looked away.
“She took me to the white house.”
My pulse jumped.
“That was the first time?”
She nodded.
“What did she say there?”
Maya’s fingers tightened around the granola bar.
“She showed me the room.”
“She said children who lie about adults have to live places where nobody believes them.”
I forced myself to stay calm.
“Did anyone else speak to you?”
“A lady.”
“Do you know her name?”
“Miss Price.”
Helena.
“What did she say?”
“She asked if I heard Mom talking to me.”
I froze.
“What?”
Maya looked confused.
“She kept asking if I saw Mom.”
“Did you?”
“I dream about her.”
“That’s normal.”
“I know.”
“Miss Price said it wasn’t.”
The strategy clicked into place.
They were turning grief into psychosis.
A child missing her dead mother became hallucinations.
A child hiding food became compulsive stealing.
A child frightened of punishment became manipulative behavior.
Every natural reaction was being rewritten as illness.
“What else did Helena ask?”
“She asked if I ever wanted to run away.”
“What did you say?”
“I said sometimes.”
Maya started crying.
“Does that mean I’m bad?”
“No.”
“Does that mean I’m crazy?”
“No.”
I pulled her against me.
“It means you wanted to get away from someone hurting you.”
She clung to me.
Then my phone vibrated.
Thomas.
I answered quietly.
“What?”
“We found Helena Price.”
“Where?”
“She was detained at the Northbridge property.”
“Good.”
“She’s talking.”
I stood slowly.
“What is she saying?”
“That Eleanor hired her.”
“For what?”
Thomas hesitated.
“To create a documented behavioral history for Maya.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Say that again.”
“She admits the evaluations were not legitimate medical evaluations.”
“She claims Eleanor told her Maya would eventually need residential placement.”
“What about the fake doctor title?”
“She says Eleanor encouraged people to assume she was a psychologist.”
“Did she admit to falsifying reports?”
“Not yet.”
“Then why is she talking?”
“Because she saw the locks.”
I went quiet.
Thomas continued.
“She says Vivian told her Northbridge would only be used for consultations.”
“She claims she didn’t know children would actually stay overnight.”
“Do you believe her?”
“No.”
“Neither do investigators.”
I looked toward Maya.
She was still holding the granola bar.
“There’s another thing.”
Thomas’s voice lowered.
“Helena says Eleanor was obsessed with getting Maya out before April 18.”
“Why that date?”
“She doesn’t know.”
“Then find out.”
“I already did.”
My pulse slowed.
“What is April 18?”
Thomas paused.
“Your company’s board vote.”
I frowned.
“So?”
“Richard.”
“Your voting trust renews automatically that day.”
“Unless your personal estate documents change first.”
The room seemed colder.
Thomas continued.
“If Eleanor became successor trustee before April 18 and something happened to you after renewal, she could eventually control not only Sarah’s trust.”
“She could control your voting shares too.”
I stared ahead.
“Something happened to me?”
Thomas didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
The plan had just become darker.
May you like
This was no longer only about removing Maya.
Somebody had been preparing for a future in which I wasn’t around either.
