I had one girl named Alexa come to talk to you. I paid her to be your friend. You liked her for a while. She made up a story about how she lost her parents during a store shooting, remember? She blamed the gunman, said she hated him. Then she asked you if your life would be different if the person who’d caused the crash hadn’t done it.
It was the start of something. I knew it. That question sparked something inside you and got you to really think about what had been done and why you never got any real answers.
From that moment on Marriott was writing in her notes often about you. I know because my investigator would break into her office after hours to read them and send me pictures of them. He went above and beyond and was well worth every penny.
Marriott said you were asking about the person responsible for your parents’ death. She mentioned that you’d asked about the person before, but that you brushed it off because the detective in charge of the case wouldn’t tell you. You were becoming obsessed with knowing who had caused the wreck, and that was a good thing. I always believed you deserved to know.
You’d suspected foul play and my dear, you were correct. There was foul play. Lola Maxwell played the system, paid to have her name cleared . . . only you didn’t know it yet. But you would.
My plan? It took time. I endured years of Lola’s shit, even after having my contract rewritten. For the most part she pretended what I’d asked for hadn’t even happened, but her demands increased and she treated me like nothing more than her maid or a woman who was forever indebted to her, and I suppose I was that woman for a while. I’d set myself up for it by trying to blackmail her, after all. I had to be there for everything she wanted and needed.
I didn’t bother you much as you went through college. Boy, those were four long years that I hated. I did have my investigator keeping tabs on you, though. He filled me in about you once a week. I often had to sneak out at night to meet him outside Biscayne Bay. You were doing well for yourself. Becoming more stable, more confident.
That was good. I was proud of you. It was as if I’d watched you blossom from a child to a woman . . . but I didn’t want you to forget your roots, or how much your life had changed because of Lola.
The time never felt quite right while you were in college, so I agreed I’d let you finish—let you enjoy your scholarship—while I endured Lola’s bullshit. You should thank me for that. It gave you a little more freedom.
When you graduated, I knew it was the perfect time. I had been patient, even endured five extra years of working for the Maxwells just to carry out this plan of mine, but I was growing sick of Lola’s bullshit, dealing with all of her demands.
I needed my freedom too . . . and that all came down to you, my poison Ivy.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
I was glad Marriott made you continue your therapy through college. She really adored you, and eventually I had to pay her a hefty amount of money, but things worked in my favor. Still, the things I had to do to get ahold of you were almost too much, Ivy. But the biggest step was getting through to Marriott.
I went to her myself to discuss Lola. I knew she’d never listen to a man, otherwise I’d have sent my investigator. She needed someone who knew Lola personally—who could prove things about her that no one else could.
My goal was simple: convince Marriott to tell you Lola’s name and let you run with it. That was it, but she made it so much harder than it needed to be.
She wasn’t having it at first.
“Why would I do that after all these years?” Marriott demanded, staring at me with confusion and anger. “Ivy is finally doing well for herself! She’s thriving and has graduated college, and now you want me to tell her the name of the woman who pretty much tore her life apart? You are outrageous. Get out of my office.”
I needed to think of a lie, and quick. If I didn’t get Marriott on board, all would be lost. It wasn’t like I could just go to you and tell you Lola’s name. You would have known I was up to something when you showed up at Lola’s . . . because you would show up. I knew you. You wouldn’t have been able to resist.
“Lola, the woman who caused the wreck, asked me to do this,” I stated. “She was too afraid to come here herself, so she told me to find Ivy. Trust me, I could have gone to Ivy myself, but I wanted this to be right for her. I know Ivy trusts you and she’ll believe you over some random woman she’s never met.”