Chapter 3 No.3

Cohen called the day after the funeral.

Jaycee was sitting on her mother's porch, a cup of cold coffee in her hands. The small service had been a blur of somber faces and quiet sympathies from neighbors.

Her phone vibrated on the wooden table. 'Cohen' flashed on the screen.

She let it ring four times before answering.

"Jaycee." His voice was low, cautious. "I'm so sorry. I just got back. I heard about... everything."

"You heard," she repeated. Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

"Yeah, my father told me. I can't believe it. I'm so, so sorry for your loss, honey."

Honey. The word sounded obscene.

"Where are you?" she asked.

"I'm at the condo. I came straight here." A pause. "Why aren't you here? All your stuff is gone."

"I'm at my mother's house."

"Right. Of course." He sounded relieved that she hadn't just vanished. "Listen, I feel terrible. I should have been there."

"Yes," she said. "You should have."

He sighed. It was the sound of him bracing for a fight he felt was unfair. "Jaycee, we need to talk about what happened. Hillary is an absolute wreck. She blames herself completely."

Jaycee said nothing. She watched a car drive slowly down the quiet street.

"She's here with me now," Cohen continued, his voice dropping. "She's been crying for two days straight. She wanted to call you, but she was too afraid."

A cold laugh bubbled in Jaycee's throat, but she swallowed it.

"Put her on," Jaycee said.

There was a muffled sound, Cohen whispering. Then Hillary's voice, fragile and tearful.

"Jaycee? Oh, Jaycee, I am so, so sorry. I don't know what to say. I loved your mother. She was always so sweet to me."

The lie was so audacious it almost took Jaycee's breath away. Her mother had tolerated Hillary, for Jaycee's sake.

"It was an accident," Hillary sobbed. "Caesar has never, ever hurt anyone. He was just playing. Your mom must have startled him, or maybe... maybe she stumbled? She told me she felt a little dizzy that day."

There it was. The subtle shift. The seed of blame, planted so carefully.

"She wasn't dizzy, Hillary," Jaycee said, her voice like ice.

"Oh. Okay. Well, I just... I can't stop thinking about it. Cohen has been amazing. He's taking care of everything. He's already spoken to his lawyers to make sure there are no... issues. For me."

The real concern. Protecting herself.

"That's good to hear," Jaycee said.

Cohen came back on the line. "See? She's a mess. I told her it's not her fault. It was a freak accident. These things happen."

"Do they?" Jaycee asked.

His patience finally snapped. "What is that supposed to mean? Are you blaming her? Blaming me? I was on a business trip, Jaycee. A trip to secure our future. I can't be everywhere at once."

His voice was rising, filled with the indignation of a man who has never been held accountable for anything.

"The doctor said the dog wasn't vaccinated," Jaycee stated, her tone unchanging.

A dead silence.

"That's not true," Cohen said finally, his voice hard. "Hillary has all his papers. She's meticulous about that stuff. You must have misunderstood. You're upset, you're not thinking clearly."

He was calling her a liar. Or a hysteric.

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be, Jaycee," he said, his voice softening into a tone of condescending reason. "We'll get through this. I'll take care of you. We'll have a memorial, we'll handle your mother's estate. Just... calm down. Let me handle it."

He was talking to her like a child. A problem to be managed.

He was protecting Hillary, building a wall around her, using his power and money to make the whole ugly business disappear.

And Jaycee, the grieving daughter, was just part of the mess he had to clean up.

"I have to go," Jaycee said.

"Wait. When are you coming back to the condo? We need to..."

She hung up.

She blocked his number. She blocked Hillary's number.

She sat on the porch as the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the lawn. The cold from the coffee cup had seeped into her fingers, but she didn't notice.

The life she had fought for, the man she had loved, it was all a mirage. The final illusion had been burned away.

There was nothing left to hold onto.

There was only the quiet house behind her, full of ghosts, and the long, open road ahead.