The Burden
The pungent smell of burning charcoal and bourbon-glazed ribs permeated the thick July air of Atlanta’s most exclusive neighborhood. The Patterson mansion’s sprawling backyard—two acres of perfectly manicured lawn, imported Italian stone pathways, and a custom-built gazebo that had been featured in Southern Living—was packed with forty guests milling between the buffet tables and the Olympic-sized pool.
I stood beside the drinks table holding a glass of iced tea I hadn’t touched in twenty minutes, watching my husband hold court like the king he believed himself to be. The pale blue floral dress I wore had been Mark’s choice three years ago—he’d said it made me look “appropriate for a CEO’s wife.” Today, he’d told me it looked “old-fashioned and dowdy.” I’d worn it anyway.
My name is Elena Morales Patterson, though I’d be dropping that last name soon enough.
Thirty-four years old, raised in the Georgia foster care system, college graduate on a full scholarship, former forensic accountant. For the past five years, I’d been Mrs. Mark Patterson, wife of the CEO of Patterson Logistics, a woman expected to smile prettily at charity galas and never ask questions about where the money actually went.
Mark stood in the center of a circle of admirers—business partners in golf shirts, neighbors who drove German cars, distant relatives who only appeared when there was free premium alcohol.
He was holding court with a bottle of craft beer, his handsome face flushed with heat and ego, laughing at his own jokes about quarterly earnings and commercial shipping routes. At forty-two, Mark Patterson still had the athletic build of his college football days, the charm of a born salesman, and the moral compass of a broken slot machine.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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