Missing Piece

Chapter Three

Melanie

As Roger had said in the night, he was at my doorstep at sharp eight. He's never been one to ′not be on time'. Roger is like the most punctual person I've ever known. And I'm glad that I've picked up my habit of punctuality from him and unlike mom who's as tardy as they come. Ask her to meet at 10 and she'll show up at 12.

As of now he's driving us to Wyatt Mansion. The soft rock music from radio playing in background fills the silence as he hustles us through busy lanes of Boston. I look out as the landscape changes from the tall skyscrapers to lavish houses as we drive further into an upscale neighborhood. Each passing mansion looks classier than the previous one. Rich people sure know how to choose their houses.

After driving around for an hour, Roger finally stops the car in front of big wrought iron gates. He talks to some guards at gatepost and then the automated gates open. He maneuvers his way through the cobblestone driveway to staff-parking garage, reserved for helps working in the mansion.

He parks the car and we both climb out. We make our way to the mansion. The Victorian style four stories building never seizes to astonish me. It's no doubt the most beautiful house in the neighborhood. I remember the first time coming here. My jaw had literally dropped down seeing this glorious place. Roger had laughed his butt off watching me drool over the mansion. For me it looked like a castle straight out of a Disney movie.

With Roger by my side, I climb up the stairs leading up to the house. And being the clumsiest person that I'm, I trip on the first step. Roger catches me just before I have a print of marble step on my face. He helps me to my feet and takes my hand in his, not trusting me to walk adeptly on my own. He guides us through the house and towards right.

The interior is even more gorgeous than the outside. The exquisite crystal chandelier on the ceiling of living room, that's blazing brightly, is rumored to have once belonged in the palace of some French Monarch. And knowing how rich Wyatts are, I have no doubt that it's true.

Roger stops in front of mahogany door and knocks. He looks at me sideways and gives me a warm smile.

"Come in," the flat voice of Lawrence Wyatt resonates from behind the door. Roger inhales sharply before pushing the door open.

Entering the room, which by the looks of it, is a study, I see Lawrence Wyatt sitting behind his desk and reading through a file. He doesn't bother looking up.

Roger clears his throat. "Sir."

"Ah, Roger." Mr. Wyatt looks up with his sharp green eyes. The deep forest green eyes that are inherited by all of his spawns except for one. "Right on time. We need to go to the office right now." He says completely ignoring my presence as if seeing me here is everyday occurrence.

"Sir, I wanted to ask you something." Roger starts. "I need your help."

"What is it?" Lawrence asks nonchalantly going back to scanning through the documents laid on his desk, like what Roger's gonna say isn't worth his time.

Roger goes on explaining him from Marcy's diagnosis of cancer to our current trouble with money. Or the lack of it. And nor once that asshole looks up from his desk to give any indication that he's listening.

Bless Roger for having so much patience. If had it been me, I'd have smashed Lawrence's face on that very desk several times.

"...Mr. Wyatt, I promise I'll pay you back every single penny." My eyes shift back to Roger as he finishes talking bringing me out of my violent thoughts.

"That's a lot of money, Roger. Sorry, I wish I could help you, but I can't." He says with a blank face. Then his stare moves to me finally registering my presence. "Is this the daughter that has cancer?" The dimwit asks and without waiting for anyone of us to reply he speaks. "Sorry, dear I can't help you out." This time at least he has decency to look apologetic. He then looks back at Roger, getting up from his chair. "Now be useful and get the car out Roger, I have to be in office, come on." And with that said he walks past us.