The Price Of Scandal(98)

“How can you say that? He’s your brother! He needs you!”

“This is what happens when you build your life dependent on someone else’s net worth. In the end, you’re powerless. Something I will never be.”

“It’s not that easy for everyone else, Emily,” my mother said icily.

“Easy?” I laughed without a hint of humor. “You think what I’ve done is easy? Do you have any idea the sacrifices I made to build this life? The things I’ve given up to be the good daughter, the strong leader, the unimpeachable Stanton?”

“Don’t be so sensitive,” Venice crooned. “Not everyone wants to build a business. Your brother just isn’t entrepreneurial. It’s hard for him to be happy for you or proud of you because he doesn’t understand you. And quite frankly, darling, I don’t blame him. You’ve made no effort lately to be likable.”

I took that as a compliment. There was no power in being likable.

“What about you, Mom? Are you happy for me? Are you proud of me? Do you even care that my life is falling apart because people who haven’t earned it think they’re entitled to what’s mine?”

“Not everything is about you, Emily! This is a family crisis, and I need you to do what’s necessary to keep your brother out of trouble and the family name out of the mud.”

“I’m losing everything because of something I didn’t do. Trey is going to be punished for something he did do, and you’re more concerned about that.”

And while Trey was her favorite, my mother still couldn’t see him as anything more than a charming pawn.

“Don’t be so dramatic. You’re keeping your shares. Trey is your brother!”

“He’s barely more than a disrespectful stranger to me,” I shot back.

“I do not have time to deal with your issues right now.”

“You never did. So I’m going to make it easy for you. From here on out, you and Trey and I are acquaintances. Nothing more. I’m no longer available for your social climbing or your family manipulations. I’m done.”

“What does that even mean, Emily?” she asked caustically. “You are being beyond selfish. I honestly can’t believe that you’re my daughter.”

“I can’t believe it either. Best of luck, Venice.”

I hung up the phone and pulled the plug from the wall. No need to wake the house with my mother’s incessant middle of the night demands.

Feeling stronger, I returned to the iPad and scrolled through more messages.

There was a text message from Bethenny.

Bethenny: This is complete bullshit. Whatever you need from me and Ed, say the word. I will raise an army of attorneys or hire Ed’s third cousin Louie who may or may not have questionable New Jersey ties. I’m here for you. Whatever you need. P.S. I spoke to your father who didn’t seem concerned enough about the situation for my liking. He’s in the fetal position sobbing on a golf course somewhere now.





I wanted to cry.

My circle was small. So very small. But it was mighty.

Me: That means everything to me. Thank you. Lunch soon.





I put the tablet down, picked up the still unopened note, and crossed to the terrace doors. They were romantic, arched French doors covered in delicate water-colored sheers. I opened both sets and stood in the doorway, absorbing the humidity that lingered in the dark hours of the night, the steady thrum of the waves on the beach.

I wasn’t powerless. And I wasn’t stupid.

The picture from my twenty-first birthday was one that Lita had taken of me. “Lady Stanton at her finest,” she’d teased while I vomited the poison out of my system. She promised it would never see the light of day. Friends didn’t do that to friends.

She’d been the one to insist we go out. Insisted on shots. Insisted on getting guys to buy us drinks. “You know who she is, don’t you?” she’d whispered conspiratorially in the ear of every bartender.

“You’re wasting this great privileged life,” she complained. “You should be vacationing on the Mediterranean for spring break. Or renting a compound in Cabo for Christmas. Not studying and hanging out in labs. You’re missing out.”

I’d believed her and acquiesced to spending my birthday in a more traditional fashion.

I’d nearly gone home with someone. A stranger. I was drunk and flirty. And the guy, a friend of a friend of Lita’s, had been… insistent. At the last second, I’d bailed. And he’d died.

Lita had done this. All of it. I’d known it the second I saw the photo.

Derek’s pointed questions about trust. Jane’s snide comments about Lita. Was I the only one who was surprised by the betrayal?

But what was Derek’s role in it all?

I couldn’t picture him with her. Couldn’t see him falling for her wiles. He had his own, and he’d wielded them on me. Somehow, in a way that made no logical sense, I still didn’t doubt his feelings for me.

But he’d gone behind my back. He’d put himself in a situation that forced the doubt. And again had told me nothing.

I’d surrounded myself with too many people who didn’t love me, didn’t have my best interests at heart. And that was the price I was paying.