Chapter 7 - The Prodigal Returns
The driver’s side door slammed shut with a metallic bang. Through the sheer lace curtains of the front parlor, I watched my brother walk up the stone steps.
Sterling had always possessed an arrogant, swaggering gait, the strut of a man who believed the world owed him a living simply for existing. He wore an expensive leather jacket that smelled of stale cigar smoke and cheap cologne—bought, no doubt, with the money he had stolen from Mother's pension account. His handsome, symmetrical face was marred by dark circles beneath his eyes and a nervous, twitching smirk.
He shoved the front door open without knocking. "Mom! I'm back!" he bellowed, tossing his car keys onto the hallway console.
Bernice immediately pushed herself up from the armchair, a broad, adoring smile lighting up her haggard face. "Sterling! My darling boy!"
She rushed to embrace him, but Sterling barely glanced down as he gave her a perfunctory, one-armed pat on the back. His eyes darted past her shoulder, immediately landing on Warren and me standing in the dining room archway.
His smile vanished instantly. His expression darkened into an ugly scowl.
"What the hell are they doing here?" Sterling snapped, glaring at me. "I thought I told you to keep Elaine away from the house, Mom. She brings bad luck everywhere she goes."
"Sterling, please," Bernice pleaded softly, touching his leather sleeve. "She just came to... to check on things. But don't worry about her. Did you bring the money for the bank?"
Sterling's eyes shifted nervously toward his jacket pocket. "The wire transfer is processing, Mom. By tomorrow morning, everything will be cleared. All fifty thousand."
A bold-faced lie. I knew for a fact that his bank accounts were overdrawn by twelve thousand dollars; the notice letters were sitting in the lockbox under his floorboards.
"You look tired, Mom," Sterling continued smoothly, his voice dropping into that slick, manipulative cadence he had used since childhood. "Your complexion is pale. Did you drink the tea I left for you?"
"I had a cup this morning, sweetheart," Bernice said weakly, leaning against him for support. "Just like you told me."
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"Good. But you need another cup before dinner," Sterling said, already guiding her toward the kitchen. "The evening blend is stronger. It relaxes the heart valves. Come on, I'll boil the water for you myself."
My stomach lurched violently. He wasn't even waiting until tomorrow. He was going to finish it tonight.
