“Is that why he told me you were dead?” I asked, realizing the cruel logic behind his lie.
“Yes, he declared me dead to ensure you would never seek me out,” she confirmed. “I moved down here to Mississippi because I was heartbroken, but I eventually returned to contact him again.”
“Why did you contact him again after leaving?” I inquired.
“I returned to make Charles pay for what he did,” Beatrice admitted openly, her eyes narrowing. “I was struggling financially, barely surviving on a tiny income, and Charles knew it very well.”
“So he offered to pay your rent out of remorse?” I asked.
“In the beginning, he offered the money willingly out of sheer guilt,” she explained, shrugging her shoulders. “But the situation did not remain voluntary for very long.”
“What happened to change it?” I pressed.
“Eventually, Charles decided he had paid enough and tried to stop sending the money,” Beatrice said, her jaw tightening. “So I simply reminded him of what evidence I still held in this metal box.”
“You possessed the original bank records,” I realized.
“I possessed the ultimate truth,” she corrected smoothly. “I made it very clear that if the monthly payments ever stopped, you and your growing children would learn every single disgusting detail about his past.”
