Chapter 73 She Feels Guilty
Calista toyed with the idea of waiting outside the Faith Residence, hoping to corner Elizabeth the moment she appeared.
But almost as soon as the thought came, she dismissed it with a shake of her head.
"Natalia, don't rush," she said calmly, holding up a hand to still her daughter's impatience. She reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. "There must be other places where I could run into her. I'll send a message and ask around."
It didn't take long for a reply to arrive from the unknown contact.
It read: [Ms. Penrose is currently employed at TechStrong, serving as the chairman's secretary.]
Calista's brows lifted in surprise. Elizabeth… working at TechStrong?
Perfect.
"I'm going there now," she said, already rising from her seat.
"Mom," Natalia's voice wavered, worry seeping into her words, "what if Elizabeth refuses to hand over the money? What do we do then?"
Calista's lips curved in a faint, confident smile. "She'll agree. If she doesn't want to humiliate herself, she'll give us what we're asking for."
For Natalia's sake, Calista was prepared to go all in.
Natalia leaned into her mother's shoulder, sniffling softly, her tone turning almost childlike. "You really are the best, Mom."
When Elizabeth received the call from the front desk informing her that Calista was here to see her, her expression didn't so much as flicker.
So, Calista had found out where she worked. Not surprising.
From her spot in the lobby, Calista watched the elevator doors slide open. Elizabeth stepped out, poised and composed, her gaze fixed ahead as she walked toward the receptionist's desk. She thanked the staff quietly before turning to Calista with a faint crease of puzzlement in her brow.
"You're… Calista?" she asked, her tone politely uncertain.
Of course she didn't recognize her—Elizabeth had lost her memory. Or so everyone believed.
"Yes," Calista replied, her own expression cool.
Elizabeth's lips curved into a small, almost apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. Ever since I woke up from the accident nearly a year ago, I haven't had the chance to meet you. I didn't know you looked like this."
The receptionist glanced curiously at Calista. After all, Calista had just introduced herself as Elizabeth's mother, and yet here she was, only showing up a full year after the accident. Odd.
Calista felt the weight of that curious stare and stiffened. She prided herself on her dignity, and the scrutiny made her bristle.
"Elizabeth, I'm here to talk to you," she said evenly.
Elizabeth gestured toward the hallway. "Let's go to the visitors' lounge."
In the quiet of the meeting room, Calista let her gaze sweep over the woman before her—strikingly beautiful, self-assured. The accident, it seemed, had left no visible mark. She folded her hands in front of her and began in a measured tone.
"Elizabeth, if it weren't for the Howard family, you wouldn't have had the chance to study abroad. You wouldn't have become Mr. Johnson's secretary. And you certainly wouldn't have married him. Even after the divorce, you walked away with considerable assets."
Her meaning was clear: without the Howards, there would be no Elizabeth Penrose as she was today.
Elizabeth gave a quiet, amused laugh. "And your point is?"
Calista's patience thinned. "The Howard family is in trouble. All we're asking is seventy billion dollars. Don't turn your back on the people who made you."
Seventy. Billion. Dollars.
The audacity was almost laughable.
Elizabeth's voice was light, almost bored. "Didn't you call me not long ago to sever ties? The Howard family's troubles have nothing to do with me. And for the record, the law says parents are obligated to care for their children until they're eighteen. I was underage. Raising me was your duty. But thank you, I suppose, for the schooling."
Calista's lips pressed into a thin line. So much for appealing to gratitude.
She took a slow breath. "Elizabeth, whatever else, Natalia is still your sister. If you don't help, she'll be forced to marry a man thirty years her senior. You can't just stand by."
Elizabeth's smile was razor-sharp. "She's not my blood sister. And marrying an older man? He'll probably spoil her."
The words landed like a slap. Calista's face hardened. "So you're refusing?"
"Yes," Elizabeth said simply.
Calista's eyes chilled. "Then don't blame me for being ruthless."
Her gaze was steady, but there was something complicated in it. "If you don't want the world to know what happened between you and Elijah, the old director of the orphanage, you'll give the Howard family seventy billion."
Elizabeth's casual expression vanished. "What did you say?"
"You may have lost your memory," Calista said coldly, "but some things happened. Facts are facts."
Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. In truth, she hadn't lost her memory at all. Only she and Quinton knew Elijah had never succeeded in his attempt. But the certainty in Calista's tone made her pause.
"How do I know you're not lying?" she asked.
Calista had anticipated the question. She reached into her bag and withdrew an old, worn photograph, sliding it across the table. "I have the negatives. I can make as many copies as I like."
Elizabeth picked it up between slender fingers. The girl in the picture was ten years old, wearing a faded sundress donated to the orphanage, her smile bright and unguarded. Elizabeth remembered—Elijah had taken that photo. That was the year his gaze had begun to change.
She turned the photograph over. On the back, in a scrawled hand, were the words: [Your daughter tastes sweet.]
"Elijah's handwriting," Calista explained. "Not long ago, someone came asking about your time at the orphanage. I didn't give them this photo. I was still thinking of you as my daughter. Don't push me."
Elizabeth studied the words, hearing every syllable of Calista's threat.
She didn't feel hurt—only faintly amused.
"You're telling me… not to push you?" she echoed, a smile tugging at her lips.
When she had been eleven, Elijah had tried to touch her—but Quinton had burst in and stopped him. The attempt had failed. And yet a single photograph, paired with someone's insinuation, could paint a damning picture. She knew all too well how quickly people would believe the worst.
For a mother to use something like this… Calista's cruelty was almost impressive.
Elizabeth's voice was calm. "Why do you have this photo? And when exactly did you receive it?"
Her sudden, sharpened gaze made Calista falter for the first time.
There it was—that flicker of guilt in her eyes.