OP-DEC: Operation Deceit

Prologue

PROLOGUE

FROM THE CORNER AT THE TOP of the stairs, a cherub-faced girl of eleven beheld the lighted parlor of her family home. Young Claire discreetly angled herself out of the line of sight, brushing her dusky curls from her eyes to better see the room. The scene before her gentle blue eyes wasn't what she expected to find. Mother and Father had gone out that evening to one of their flamboyant parties somewhere in the city of Boston, and Claire had leapt from her bed to greet them the instant she heard their voices. She couldn't wait until morning to draw out the stories of what lay beyond their quiet Brookline home. Instead, Mother and Father fought. Claire frowned with disappointment, knowing she must wait for the glamorous stories until tomorrow.

Claire lay on her stomach. She could just make out her mother from the chin down. The woman sat on one of the two sofas in the sitting room. Her knuckles strained white, gripping the arm of the sofa to which she leaned. Claire pressed herself lower. The face, elegantly framed in a wavy blond bob, almost always held a smile, but now an agonized strain marred its beauty. Behind Mother's seat, Father paced frantically and bellowed something terrible.

Father's mood would bring uncomfortable penalties for even the slightest breach. The girl's heart beat harder at the idea, warning her to flee back to her bed. Claire pressed herself against the wall. It was well after bedtime and she should have been asleep long ago. With large eyes, Claire came back to the scene. Panicked by all the yelling, she couldn't decide whether to stay or go.

Mother's head lolled wearily. Father continued to pace before the door, appearing in regular intervals. His voice followed him in and out like waves on a beach; the tones harshly peaked. The force of his movements stifled Claire's breath. Her gaze settled on Mother again. The woman's hands were clenched, and her teeth tore at her lip. Claire whispered pleas for her mother to speak up for herself.

"I don't understand where this is coming from," Father said, loosening the bow tie around his throat. "Are you ill again? Is that what this is about?"

Mother folded her hands in her lap and lowered her head, refusing to speak a word in response. The deep breath she drew through her nose confirmed the message of her posture.

"It's you who's sick," Mother finally hissed. "How could you do this to us?" she demanded, her voice full of anguish.

"You're delusional," Father said, halting before the door. His thick hand clutched at the back of his neck nervously. "I'll call Doctor O'Reilly. You need to rest. You've been under so much stress lately. What with me being forced to let those men go. That's when it started. I apologized for that, but there was nothing I could do. I told you-"

"It has nothing to do with what I've been through. I know what I saw tonight," Mother defended vehemently.

"That's for a doctor to decide," Father said ominously.

"I've never been delusional, Carroll," Mother replied. "It's you-you continue to try and cast me aside. Now I know why." She shook her head. "You're going to get rid of me," Mother blurted. "After what I've learned I should not be surprised you'd try to do so yourself," she said, sitting back in her chair, eyes searching the floor in disbelief. "I mean nothing to you anymore. You've lost yourself in this ghastly affair. You've become a twisted man in love with money and power."

Mother rose from her chair and approached the door. Father offered her his hand. She looked at it with dismay and shied away. Her eyes darted to his. Discomfort changed to fear. Hiding her face in her hand, Mother wept.

"Irene, you know it's not true," Father said in a vastly different tone. Closing his arms around her, he continued, "Because I love you, I want to get you help. I cannot stand the thought of losing you.