Chapter 7 - A Mother’s Last Stand
The raid on the Hawthorne estate was broadcast live by local news helicopters. FBI agents in blue jackets were seen carrying boxes of documents out of the massive mansion, while Arthur Hawthorne was led out in handcuffs, his face covered by a jacket to shield himself from the cameras.
Vivian, however, was nowhere to be found. She had cut off her ankle monitor and vanished before the agents breached the doors.
A nationwide warrant was issued for her arrest, but for forty-eight hours, she seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth.
Matthew and I stayed inside our apartment, guarded by two of my father’s retired Marine friends who volunteered to watch the perimeter. The tension was palpable. A desperate woman with nothing left to lose is a dangerous entity.
At 2:00 AM on a rainy Thursday, my phone buzzed. It was an unknown number.
I answered it, putting it on speaker. "Sarah Miller."
"You think you’ve won, don't you, you little b***h?"
It was Vivian. Her voice was slurred, ragged, and frantic. I could hear the sound of windshield wipers scraping violently in the background and the roar of an engine.
"Vivian, where are you?" Matthew shouted into the phone. "Turn yourself in! Dad is already in custody. It’s over!"
"It’s not over!" Vivian screamed, laughing hysterically. "He took everything from me! My friends won't answer my calls! My house is gone! My life is ruined! And it’s all because of her! She brought her dirty little life into our world and poisoned you!"
"Vivian, listen to me," I said, my voice calm and controlled, using the same tone I used during crisis negotiations in the military. "You need to pull over. Tell me where you are."
"I’m at the vineyard, Sarah," she hissed, her voice dropping into a terrifying whisper. "The place where you tried to steal my son. I’m standing in the ballroom right now. And I have a gallon of gasoline. If I can't have my life back, no one gets anything. I’m burning this place to the ground, and if you want to save it, you better get here before I light the match."
The line went dead.
Matthew looked at me, terror in his eyes. "She’s going to kill herself, Sarah. She’s completely lost her mind."
"Call Agent Reynolds and the local police," I commanded, already throwing on my boots and a jacket. "Tell them to send emergency services to the vineyard immediately."
"Where are you going?" Matthew asked, grabbing his keys.
May you like
"I’m going with you," I said. "She wants me there, Matthew. If we don't handle this right now, she’s going to take innocent lives down with her."
We raced through the torrential rain, the tires of our car splashing through deep puddles on the dark, winding country roads leading to Charlottesville’s wine country. My heart hammered against my ribs, not out of fear for myself, but out of fear for the tragedy that was unfolding. Vivian Hawthorne was a monster, but she was still Matthew’s mother.
