Chapter 1: Thirteen Bottles of Revenge
"These dusty old bottles are ruining my party!""
My daughter-in-law screamed those words before hurling a bottle of vintage Bordeaux against my marble kitchen floor.
The explosion of glass made twenty guests turn toward us.
Then she picked up another bottle.
And another.
By the time I reached her, thirteen bottles of my late husband's wine collection lay shattered beneath her designer heels.
" HARLOW! STOP!""
I grabbed her wrist, but she jerked away, sending another bottle crashing against the kitchen island.
Red wine spread across the white marble like blood.
"Are you out of your mind?"" I shouted.
Harlow Bellmont, thirty-four, adjusted her diamond bracelet and looked at me with a smile that made my stomach turn.
"Relax, Corinthia. They're just bottles.""
Just bottles.
My husband, Edward, had spent thirty years collecting them.
He had traveled through France, Italy, and California, carefully selecting each vintage. Some bottles had cost hundreds of dollars. Others were nearly impossible to find.
But the 1982 Bordeaux was different.
Edward had purchased it for our first wedding anniversary. He'd wrapped it in tissue paper and told me we would open it together on our fiftieth.
We never made it.
Edward died eleven months before our fiftieth anniversary.
And that bottle had become one of the last tangible pieces of our life together.
Harlow knew that.
She had watched me dust the wine cabinet every Sunday. She had heard the story about the anniversary bottle at least five times.
Yet she had just destroyed it.
"Happy New Year, Corinthia!"" she announced, raising her champagne glass.
"No wine for you!""
A few guests exchanged uncomfortable glances.
My son, Nathan, rushed into the kitchen.
"What happened?""
I pointed at the floor.
"Your wife destroyed your father's wine collection.""
Nathan looked at the broken glass, then at Harlow.
"Honey, why would you do that?""
Harlow threw her hands up.
"Because your mother refused to move those disgusting bottles! I needed room for the champagne station. I've been planning this party for weeks.""
"They belonged to your father," Nathan said quietly.
"Oh, here we go again."" Harlow rolled her eyes.
"Everything in this house belonged to Edward. He's been dead for almost a year. When does this family get to move on?""
I felt something inside me go cold.
"Those bottles were not hurting anyone.""
"Well, now they're gone.""
She smiled and took another sip of champagne.
Nathan rubbed his forehead.
"Mom, please. It's New Year's Eve. Don't make a scene.""
I stared at him.
"Your father bought that 1982 Bordeaux to celebrate our fiftieth wedding anniversary.""
Nathan looked away.
"Mom, I know. But it's already done.""
Harlow laughed.
"Maybe Edward should've taken the wine with him.""
Silence swallowed the kitchen.
Even the music coming from the dining room seemed suddenly distant.
I looked at the woman standing among my husband's memories, wearing a dress I had helped pay for and a bracelet purchased with money from our family.
Then I slowly reached into my pocket.
I called Michael Reeves, the attorney who had handled Edward's estate.
"Michael," I said calmly.
"I need you at my house. Bring the complete estate file.""
Harlow burst out laughing.
"Are you seriously calling a lawyer over broken wine?""
I didn't answer.
Twenty-three minutes later, Michael walked through the front door carrying his familiar leather briefcase.
He was sixty-two, silver-haired, and usually impossible to rattle.
But when he entered the kitchen and saw the destruction, his expression changed.
"Corinthia, what happened?""
"Thirteen bottles," I replied.
"All destroyed.""
He crouched beside the shattered remains of the 1982 Bordeaux.
"Good Lord.""
Harlow folded her arms.
"Can we please stop acting like someone died? It's wine.""
Michael slowly stood.
"Mrs. Bellmont, do you understand what this collection was worth?""
Harlow scoffed.
"Probably a few hundred dollars.""
Michael opened his briefcase.
"An independent appraisal conducted before Edward's death valued these thirteen bottles at approximately ninety-four thousand dollars.""
Harlow's champagne glass stopped halfway to her lips.
"Ninety-four thousand?""
Nathan gripped the counter.
"Mom, is that true?""
I looked at him.
"Your father never collected anything carelessly.""
Harlow suddenly changed her expression.
"Well, I didn't know they were worth that much!""
I pointed toward the small security camera above the kitchen entrance.
"You didn't look particularly concerned when you were laughing.""
Michael examined the bottles again.
Then he opened a document inside his briefcase.
His eyebrows drew together.
"Corinthia, there's something I don't understand.""
"What?""
He turned the paper toward me.
It was an inventory report dated three months earlier.
Under the heading WINE COLLECTION, someone had written:
Sold in full. Payment received: $94,000.
I stared at the page.
"Michael, I never sold Edward's wine.""
"I know.""
He pointed to the signature at the bottom.
It looked almost exactly like mine.
But I had never signed it.
Then Michael whispered something that made the room feel ten degrees colder.
May you like
"Corinthia, according to this document, the wine was sold before it was destroyed.""
And suddenly, Harlow wasn't smiling anymore.
