Chapter 42 The Family Meeting
The living room of the Sterling mansion has witnessed a lot of history.
This is where we confronted William about his secret daughters. Where we told Sophie and Sam that their father was going to prison. Where we gathered after the trial, exhausted and triumphant, to begin the slow process of rebuilding. Where Oliver met the family for the first time. Where Sophie has held countless pancake negotiations and Sam has staged elaborate dinosaur invasions.
Tonight, it's a war room.
Margaret has pushed the furniture against the walls. The coffee table is covered with maps and photographs and the notes I brought from Vincent's cabin. Caroline is making tea in the kitchen, the way she always does when she needs to keep her hands busy. My mother is sitting on the couch, her rosary beads wrapped around her fingers, her lips moving in silent prayer.
Sophie and Sam are at a neighbor's house—Margaret's idea. "They don't need to hear this," she said. "Not yet. They're children. They deserve to be children for as long as possible."
Eleanor is pacing. She's been pacing since I arrived, her journalist's notebook clutched in her hand, her reading glasses pushed up on her head. She's already filled three pages with questions and observations and the beginnings of a strategy.
Caleb is standing by the window, looking out at the pool. The lights are cycling through their eternal colors—blue to purple to green. He's been quiet since I told him the full story, but his jaw is set in a way I recognize. It's the same expression he wore when he testified against our father.
Oliver is sketching. It's how he processes—turning chaos into lines, fear into form. His pencil moves across the page in quick, sure strokes, and I can see the shape of the room emerging: the maps, the photographs, the family gathered around the table.
"All right," Margaret says, settling into her chair. "I think we've waited long enough. Maya, tell us everything."
I do.
I start with the letter from Gerald Webb and the meeting at the Harbor Diner. I tell them about Isabella Moretti—her sharp eyes and sharper mind, her binder full of evidence, her complicated love for the father who abandoned her. I describe the cabin in the White Mountains, Vincent's wall of maps, the photographs of Marcus Webb and his associates. I explain the plan: the security firm, the surveillance, the Christmas gathering that might be our only chance to stop Marcus before he hurts anyone.
When I finish, the room is silent.
Margaret speaks first. "You've been dealing with this for weeks. Alone."
"I had Isabella. And Vincent."
"You had strangers. You should have had us."
"Would you have done anything differently?" I ask. It's the same question I asked Eleanor.
Margaret is quiet for a moment. Then she shakes her head. "No. I would have done exactly what you did. But I'm still your mother—one of your mothers—and I'm allowed to wish you hadn't carried this alone."
"I know. I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize. Just... let us help now."
Caroline sets down her teacup. "This Marcus Webb. He blames us for William's conviction. He thinks the family should have protected William instead of testifying against him."
"Yes."
"And he wants to punish us. On Christmas."
"That's what Vincent believes."
Caroline looks at Margaret. Something passes between them—a silent communication that's developed over years of co-parenting and shared grief. Then Caroline says, "Then we'll be ready. We've survived worse than this. We survived William himself."
"Caroline's right," Eleanor says. She's stopped pacing. "We've faced down a billionaire who tried to erase us. We've testified in a nationally televised trial. We've rebuilt our lives from nothing. Some disgraced fixer who thinks he can terrorize us on Christmas is not going to win."
"What about the twins?" Caleb asks. He's still by the window, but he's turned to face the room. "Sophie and Sam. They're twelve and ten. They don't know about any of this. How do we protect them without terrifying them?"
"We send them away," my mother says quietly. It's the first time she's spoken. Everyone turns to look at her. "On Christmas Eve, we send them somewhere safe. My sister in Phoenix. She's been asking to meet them for years. We say it's a special Christmas trip. A surprise."
"Sophie will never agree to that," Oliver says. "She's been planning Christmas for months. The seating chart alone took her three weeks."
"She'll agree if we frame it as an adventure," Margaret says slowly. "A special trip with Aunt Rosa. She's always wanted to see the desert."
"And Sam?" Caleb asks.
"Sam will go wherever Sophie goes. You know that."
There's a pause. Then Eleanor says, "What about the rest of us? We can't all leave. If Marcus is watching the house, he'll know something is wrong."
"We stay," I say. "All of us. We act like everything is normal. We decorate the house. We bake cookies. We do every Christmas tradition Sophie has ever invented." I look around the room. "And when Marcus Webb comes, we're ready."
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The next hour is spent filling in details.
Vincent's security firm—a company called Meridian Protection—will arrive a week before Christmas. They'll pose as holiday decorators, setting up lights and garlands while actually installing additional cameras and motion sensors around the property. Vincent will coordinate remotely from the cabin, monitoring communications and tracking Marcus's movements.
Isabella will arrive two days before Christmas, ostensibly as my friend from college. She'll help monitor the surveillance system and serve as a liaison between the family and Vincent.
Eleanor will research. It's what she does best. She's already pulling up everything she can find on Marcus Webb—his business dealings, his associates, his criminal record. "If he has a weakness," she says, "I'll find it."
Caleb will handle physical security. He's been working with his college's campus safety department, and he has contacts in private security. "I'll coordinate with Meridian," he says. "Make sure we're not just relying on strangers."
Oliver will document. "If this goes wrong," he says, "if something happens, we need a record. Evidence. I'll draw everything. Every person who comes near this house. Every detail."
Margaret and Caroline will manage the household—keeping up appearances, maintaining normalcy, making sure the twins don't suspect anything.
My mother will pray. "And I'll make tamales," she adds. "If we're going to face danger on Christmas, we're going to do it with full stomachs."
It's almost midnight when we finally stop talking. The maps are annotated. The plans are sketched. The roles are assigned. We've gone from a family recovering from trauma to a family preparing for battle.
"I'm proud of us," Eleanor says quietly. "I know that sounds strange, given the circumstances. But six years ago, we were strangers. Enemies, even. Now we're planning a counter-offensive against a domestic terrorist over Christmas cookies."
"We've come a long way," Caleb agrees.
"From pool house to war room," Oliver says.
"The title of your next exhibition," I say.
He grins. "I was thinking 'The Theory of Collision,' but that one's already taken."
Margaret stands up and stretches. "We should get some sleep. There's a lot to do tomorrow."
"One more thing," I say. "Before we go to bed."
They all turn to look at me.
"I want to say thank you. For believing me. For not panicking. For being willing to fight." I look around the room at each of them—my siblings, my mothers, my family. "I spent a long time thinking I had to handle everything alone. That's how I survived—being invisible, carrying things by myself. But I'm not invisible anymore. And I don't want to be alone anymore."
"You're not alone," Caroline says softly. "You've never been alone. Even when you didn't know it."
"I know that now." I take a breath. "Whatever happens on Christmas, whatever Marcus Webb throws at us, I'm glad I'm facing it with you. All of you."
Eleanor crosses the room and pulls me into a hug. Then Caleb joins. Then Oliver. Then Margaret and Caroline and my mother, until I'm surrounded by the people who chose me, who stayed, who refused to let me disappear.
"We're going to be okay," Eleanor whispers. "I don't know how. I don't know when. But we're going to be okay."
I close my eyes and let myself believe her.