Thad let out a short, dismissive bark of laughter, taking a slow sip of the twenty-three-year-old bourbon:
“Coraly is an orphan, Talia. She grew up in state foster homes before my mother found her working behind an accounting desk in Macon. For eight years, she has survived on our charity. She lived in the carriage house apartment rent-free; she drove a company-leased Buick; she wore what Marisol told her to wear. When I told her she had fulfilled her purpose, the girl simply broke. Her spirit was already crushed before the surgeon even made the first cut.”
Marisol smirked, swirling her champagne flute:
“The girl was terrified of Mother. She probably thought that if she refused to sign, Mother would have her kicked out of the hospital without her pain medication. Honestly, Thad, you should have seen her face when you dropped those papers onto her bed. It was like looking at a stray dog that finally realized it wasn’t being kept for its pedigree.”
