Page 11 of Resolutions

“Thank you again. She just loves the giraffe you gave her. And that dinner, my, it's been ages since we had Chinese takeout.”

Bile rises. Mom hugs the giraffe. I feel like I'm going to be sick.

“My pleasure. I enjoyed it myself. Just called to ensure you're being taken care of.”

“Michael, dear, when you're down here again, you must visit. You're always welcome. Please give Cameron and Melanie a hug from us.”

I taste copper as I bite my lip.

“Thank you. It will be awhile before I see Melanie, but rest assured, I'll be sure to share your love with her. Take care.” Michael ends the call, laughing. “Such a nice lady. It will almost be a shame to see her splashing around.”

A knock interrupts. “Not a word,” Michael warns in a tone that I know he's not kidding.

“Melanie, the photographer, will be here in an hour.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks.” My voice shakes.

“You alright? Heard voices.”

“Yes, just talking to Mom and my aunt. I need a bit.”

“Sure, honey.” I hear her tell everyone I want privacy with Mom.

“Well played,” Michael purrs. “Now, the envelope.”

With trembling hands, I pull out the Whispering Pines News, our local newspaper. I have to read the headline twice for it to make sense and settle in: “Local Whitaker Doctors Charged with Sexual Harassment.” A photo shows Charlie, Carson, and Colton outside the hospital. The article details accusations against them, including claims they assaulted anesthetized patients. Sometimes together. There's a mention of several underage girls. The feeling of throwing up returns.

“That's not true. You know it isn't.”

“Look at the date.”

“Tomorrow?” My throat closes as I tightly press my lips together.

“You look so fucking hot doing that,” Michael growls. “Amazing what owning a newspaper can accomplish. Did I mention I bought it? And its fascinating what people will lie about for money. A measly few thousand erases morals. Shit, a mere ten thousand in cash buys sworn testimony.”

Of course, he could buy people - he has more money than some countries.

“Take out the next one.”

I open it, then close my eyes against the horror.

“Read it. Out loud.”

“I can't.”

“READ. IT!”

My voice barely whispers: “Charges of Embezzlement filed against Evelyn Whitaker. Treasurer accused of stealing from women's church league and library. Sources say Mrs. Whitaker has a hidden severe gambling habit, owes over hundred thousand to charitable organizations she's been a part of.” The article below it is entitled, “The Shattering of the Glass Ceiling, One Family's Fall.” And there's a picture of all of us, the Whitaker family, taken at the last Fourth of July picnic.

“Date?”

“Day after tomorrow,” I choke out.

“Another example of money's power. One more.”

The last paper makes me gasp. Tears blur my vision as I stare at bodies under sheets. I recognize the location, the Whitaker basement.

“Read it. Date first.”

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