When I was young we lived in one of the richest cities in America. We lived in the richest neighborhood, and were richer than anybody else that lived near us. We had a huge house, with everything a little girl could want. Large screen TVs, pool tables, numerous gaming systems. These were all just small party favors to my parents.
The neighborhood admired our house and began to call it 'Lawrence Creek Manor'. They envied us. They envied our house, our wealth, our possessions, and our "perfect" family. Unbeknown to the neighbors that surrounded us, our lives were far from perfect. But as a little girl growing up in Lawrence Creek Manor, I was happy.
That all changed the year I turned sixteen.
My mother always loved the drama. She'd strut around smoking her French cigarettes out of long cigarette holders, and drinking out of crystal campaign glasses like she was Audrey Hepburn. My mother was no Audrey, in fact she was a grade A whore. She also liked to spend my father's money. She'd go into town and buy things she didn't even need. Another dress or a pair of shoes. My mother had my father's money spent before it even reached the bank account. I still wonder if that's where my mother met Robert.
Robert McCoy was the mayor of the town we lived in. Apparently he had been a real nice guy – until politics corrupted him. And my father... my father chose not to know of the affair.
My father was a great man. Or at least he was in my eyes, I'm sure others would disagree with me. I had no clue what my father did for a living. All I knew was that we were rich, and once a month I'd have to eat dinner in the kitchen with my nanny, while my father conducted his business meetings. But when I was thirteen, I saw 'The Godfather' for the first time, and began to place two and two together.
As soon as my father learned I saw the movie, he knew that I knew. After the first thirteen of my life, my father admitted to everything. He told me he was one of the biggest mob bosses in the state. I know he lied to protect me, but ironically after he confessed everything to me I felt safer than I ever had. I think this was about the time my mother began plotting.
I look back on my life now and wonder if my parents every really loved each other. My mother's evil plan took her year to think up. She wanted to destroy the man who made her who she was. The man that bought her life, and all the expensive things in it. She wanted him to die. And she wanted McCoy to help.
On August ninth, only days after my sweet sixteen, my father got a message saying that a rival was coming over for peace talks at dinnertime. My father didn't want me anywhere near the house. He sent me to my friends house a half-an-hour before dinner. This is when my mother put her plan to action. Her plan had one flaw – me.
You see I hadn't gone to my friend's house like a good little girl. Something about this meeting didn't settle right in the pit of my stomach. I had snuck around to the backyard, and climbed on top of our pool house's roof. From there I climbed onto an old oak tree, whose branches extended to our back balcony. I then entered our house through the sliding glass doors that lead into my room. I quietly crept through the house and halfway down the stairs. That's where I saw everything.
My father's rival showed up right on schedule, the only problem was he didn't show up alone like they had agreed. Instead he showed up with McCoy and two of his lackies. The lackies had Tommy guns. My father didn't even have time to react before the his body with bullets. From my spot on the stairs I watched my father crumple to the stairs. I saw his crimson blood pour out on the white marble floor. From my spot on the stairs I watched my father die.
When they were sure my father was dead, my mother walked out of the kitchen hand-in-hand with McCoy, and smoking out of her God-damned cigarette holder. McCoy handed a briefcase to the lackies. He told that it contained one million dollars – the amount they had agreed on. I hadn't stuck around to hear the lackies' reply, by that time I was already half way to the pool house.
I hit the ground with my world spinning. My stomach was churning, and I wondered if it would ever stop. I sat on the floor of the pool house rocking back and forth. My father was dead. Would she come after me next? I knew what I had to do. On shaky legs, I ran to my friends house. I confessed everything, about my entire life, and the last hour of my father's. He was the one who convinced me to call the police.
That was the same friend sitting next to me when the jury read the final verdict. I find it ironic that my mother always said orange was her color.