Chapter 7 - The Confrontation at the Salon
On Thursday afternoon, before Brandon could even give me his final decision, Gertrude and Rachel took a fatal step born out of sheer desperation.
They showed up at Rachel’s Beauty Bar on North Charles Street and called Brandon, claiming that Gertrude had suffered a sudden "heart condition" brought on by the stress of my legal threats and that I needed to come down to the salon immediately to "work things out before an ambulance had to be called."
Brandon, still caught in his lifelong trap of panic, called me frantic from his office.
"Abigail, my mom is collapsed on the floor at Rachel's salon!" Brandon cried. "Rachel says she can barely breathe! Please, just come down there and tell them you won't send the video to the police! She's having a heart attack!"
I knew Gertrude. I knew her dramatic tendencies. But to ensure there was zero ambiguity, I picked up my mother, called my attorney Marcus, and drove straight to the salon.
When Eleanor and I pulled up to the storefront, through the front glass window, we didn't see a woman dying on the floor.
We saw Gertrude sitting comfortably in a salon chair, drinking an iced coffee, while Rachel animatedly re-applied her hair highlights. They were laughing and checking their phones.
The moment Eleanor and I walked through the glass doors, the bell above chimed softly.
Gertrude’s iced coffee froze halfway to her mouth. Rachel’s comb dropped onto the floor.
"Where's the ambulance, Gertrude?" Eleanor asked, walking in with her hands folded over her designer handbag. "I brought my cell phone to call the paramedics, but it looks like hair dye cures cardiac arrest in record time."
Rachel stepped forward defensively, holding a pair of styling scissors. "You have no right to be in my shop! Get out before I call the police!"
"Call them, Rachel," I said, stepping past her and pulling out my phone. "In fact, let's call the State Board of Cosmetology and the City Building Inspector while we're at it. I'm sure they'd love to know about the unlicensed cosmetic injections you've been running out of the back room to pay off your loan sharks."
Rachel’s face turned bright white. "How... how do you know about that?!"
"My attorney has had an investigator on you since yesterday morning, Rachel," I replied coldly. "Did you really think you could try to steal my home to pay off your illegal debts and I wouldn't look into who you were paying?"
Gertrude scrambled out of the salon chair, her cape swinging around her. "You evil, vindictive little girl! You ruined my son's life! He was happy before he met you!"
"He was broke and controlled by you before he met me, Gertrude," I corrected her, my voice echoing off the salon mirrors. "And now, his eyes are finally open."
Just then, the front door opened again.
Brandon walked in. He had left his office early after realizing what was happening. He looked at his mother standing perfectly healthy in her salon cape, looked at the iced coffee on the tray, and then looked at me.
"Mom..." Brandon whispered, his voice trembling with a terrifying blend of realization and heartbreak. "You told me you were having a heart attack. You told me you were dying..."
"Brandon, sweetheart!" Gertrude tried to pivot instantly, putting a hand over her chest and pretending to stagger. "I was having chest pains! I just needed you to come—"
"Stop it, Mom!" Brandon screamed so loudly that the salon glass rattled. "STOP IT!"
Gertrude froze, stunned into silence. In thirty-two years, Brandon had never once raised his voice to his mother.
"You lied to me," Brandon wept, tears streaming down his face as he stared at Gertrude. "You made me choose between my wife and you. You made me think Abigail was heartless. You forged her name! You tried to steal her house! And you lied about dying just to manipulate me into fighting her!"
"Brandon, I did it for your sister—"
"I DON'T CARE!" Brandon roared. "I have given you half my salary for three years! I let my daughter miss out on things because I was giving you money! And you treated my wife like dirt in her own home! You stole her food, you insulted her family, and you tried to ruin us!"
May you like
Brandon turned to me, dropping to his knees right there on the tiled salon floor, weeping uncontrollably in front of his mother, his sister, and my mother.
"Abigail..." Brandon sobbed, grabbing the hem of my coat. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I was blind. I was a coward. Please... don't leave me. I'll do whatever you want. I'll sign the papers. I'll cut them off. Just please don't take Paisley away from me."
