2: 2
The birthday party was changed into a private affair, moved to a small island my father owned.
I went out to the island early. Peter wanted a hand in the venue setup too.
I turned him down flat.
"Don't bother coming. I'm handling the whole thing myself."
In my past life, Peter had stayed glued to Harper's side the entire time.
After everything blew up, he became the "eyewitness."
Face grave in front of the cameras, he'd said:
"Mr. Harrington really did with Harper... I shouldn't say it, but the poor girl."
It was that "witness" who nailed my father down for good.
This time, old scores and new ones would be settled together.
He wasn't getting another chance to twist the knife.
On the day of the party, the island sat surrounded by water on all sides. Harper couldn't have gotten in even with wings.
But after the shareholders' speedboat pulled up to the dock, a second speedboat came in right behind it.
It was Harper.
Behind her came Job hauling his camera, and Peter.
She was still cradling that embroidered picture, and she smiled at me all sweet and meek.
"Mary."
My mind went blank for a second.
"Who gave you the right to do this on your own?"
Peter jumped in fast.
"Ms. Harrington, the party's a publicity opportunity. Reporter Chavez will film the whole thing."
"Let the public see a real example of our company helping students in need. It's good for the stock price too."
"Chairman Harrington already agreed."
I turned to look at my father.
My father was a man who'd known hardship from childhood, who'd taken his share of cold looks, and it had made him unfailingly warm and kind to people.
He had no idea how poisonous Harper was underneath. He saw only the surface and took her for a pitiable orphan girl.
Playing host to the shareholders, he nodded at Harper with a smile too.
"Come now, child, you're a guest on the island. Don't be shy."
For a moment everything went dark in front of me.
Scenes from my past life came crashing down.
My mother, in hospital gowns, sitting by the window of the psychiatric ward, folding clothes over and over, murmuring, "Clifford Harrington wouldn't, he wouldn't."
My father on his deathbed, gripping my hand, his lips working as he said:
"Sweetheart, Dad really never touched her..."
No one believed him. No one.
I strode over, took my father by the arm, and pulled him back half a step.
"Dad, come here a moment."
He blinked.
"What is it?"
I dropped my voice.
"Today you say nothing at all, and you stay at least ten feet away from Harper."
"If she puts food in your bowl, switch bowls. If she tries to talk to you, walk away."
"Why? Isn't this the girl you've been sponsoring for years..."
"Just do as I say."
I gripped his sleeve.
"I'll explain later. Right now, promise me."
He couldn't make sense of it, but he knew me. He knew I never did anything pointless.
So he nodded. "All right."
The banquet was set in the glass conservatory, open on every side.
I put my father at the head of the table, my mother on his left, me on his right.
Harper was walled off completely.
She was seated behind the shareholders, at the very far end of the table.
Job's camera could catch her, but she couldn't get anywhere near my father.
When Harper sat down, her smile flickered for an instant.
She quickly slid the sweet, meek look back on, lifted her cup, and said in front of the shareholders:
"Uncle, happy birthday."
"I don't have anything worthy to offer. This Hundred Peaches piece took me four whole months, every stitch done by my own..."
The shareholders looked at her with approval.
"Every stitch by hand. The girl really does know how to repay a kindness."
"Thank you."
My father nodded, but didn't take the cup.
Her hand hung in the air, awkward for two seconds, and she pushed on, refusing to give up.
"I've read that magazine article about you several times, Uncle!"
"You had it so hard starting out when you were young, building all this from nothing. I admire you so much!"
"And now, Auntie's getting on in years, and Mary's so busy. I could come to the house and take care of you..."
Hearing that, my mother couldn't help but glance at me, as if to say:
"So that's it..."
My father caught her expression and cut off Harper mid-flow.
"Eat."
The shareholders all sensed something off. You could feel the mood turn cold.
Behind his camera, Job frowned, probably deciding there was nothing to shoot.
Peter stood in the corner, phone screen glowing, texting someone.
Harper still wouldn't let it go.
She stood, carried her wine glass around the table, eyes crinkling as she smiled.
"Uncle, let me drink a toast to you..."
I stood and blocked her.
"You know yourself he's getting on in years. He can't drink."
"Mary, I just want to thank Uncle myself..."
Her face finally couldn't hold it.
Her lashes trembled, her eyes reddened fast, and her voice came out neither loud nor soft, pitched just right for the camera to pick up.
"Did I do something wrong... I only wanted to repay you..."
Job pushed his lens in close.
The comment feed would be filling up again, no doubt.
I stepped in front of the livestream lens.
"Dinner's over, Harper. Get ready for your interview, and be quick about it."
Harper's eyes were full of resentment.
I turned to the bodyguards.
"Tonight, put Harper in the other house."
"Do not let Harper anywhere near our main house."
But early the next morning, I heard a scream from the corridor of the main house.
"It hurts so much..."
My heart jolted. Harper's voice?
