Chapter 2 - The Fall of the Golden Boy
Uncle Thomas pushed past Brittany into the kitchen, followed by Aunt Susan and four cousins. Thomas was a blustery man who wore his wealth loudly, sporting a cashmere vest and an expansive grin that withered the moment he registered the room's atmosphere.
“What’s going on in here?” Thomas asked, his eyes landing on the bare counters, the empty stove, and the open trash can where four pounds of glazed short ribs sat in a puddle of grease. “Did an accident happen?”
Patricia recovered her footing with terrifying speed. A master of immediate victimhood, she pressed the back of her hand against her forehead, her eyes welling with manufactured tears.
“Thomas... thank God you’re here,” Patricia gasped, pointing a shaking finger at me. “She’s had a psychotic break. She threw the entire celebration dinner into the garbage! Fourteen hours of cooking, ruined out of pure spite because she didn’t want to host Danny’s family! And when I tried to stop her, she attacked me!”
A collective gasp rippled through the doorway. Aunt Susan’s face contorted into disgust. “Claire! How could you? On Daniel’s biggest night?”
Brittany chimed in, crossing her arms defensively. “She’s always hated us, Aunt Susan. She thinks she’s better than everyone just because she sits on her laptop all day. She literally dumped the food right in front of Mom!”
Daniel stayed slumped over the island, his head down, silent.
“Daniel?” Uncle Thomas’s voice rumbled with stern authority. “Is this true? Did your wife deliberately sabotage your promotion dinner?”
I didn’t give Daniel the chance to weave a lie.
“Uncle Thomas,” I said clearly, stepping around the island so that everyone in the doorway could see me. My cheek was still red and swollen from Patricia’s hand, the faint outline of her fingers visible under the bright recessed lighting. “Before Daniel answers, perhaps Brittany can tell everyone why there are two commercial catering trays filled with fourteen pounds of beef currently sitting in the trunk of her white Lexus outside.”
Brittany’s smug expression vanished. Her mouth dropped open. “I—what? That was for my friends! Mom said I could have it!”
“You took the meat meant for twenty guests to give to your brunch friends?” Aunt Susan asked, her brow furrowing. “Patricia, you told me Claire refused to cook enough!”
“That’s not the point!” Patricia barked, her voice turning shrill as her mask slipped. “The point is Claire’s behavior! Look at Daniel! She has harassed and degraded him on the greatest day of his professional life! He worked eighty hours a week to earn that Managing Director title!”
“He didn't earn anything, Patricia,” I said.
I tapped the screen of my phone, which was connected to the kitchen’s Bluetooth ceiling speakers. A crisp, chime tone rang out, followed by the recorded voice of Vanguard’s Senior VP of Legal Counsel:
*“Daniel Miller. Case File 409-B. Embezzlement of $142,000 via fictitious vendor invoicing routed through ‘B-Line Marketing LLC’—registered under Brittany Miller. Corporate card abuse totaling $38,000 in personal travel to Cabo and Miami. Termination effective immediately. Restitution or criminal prosecution pending board decision.”*
The silence that followed was deafening. You could hear the hum of the digital oven clock.
Uncle Thomas turned slowly toward Daniel. “What did that just say?”
“Danny?” Aunt Susan stepped back as if Daniel were contagious. “What is B-Line Marketing?”
Brittany’s hands began to shake. “Danny... you said that money was an angel investment from your private firm! You said it was a legitimate business grant!”
“Shut up, Brittany!” Daniel finally roared, slamming his palms down on the counter. The vehemence in his voice made everyone flinch. He raised his bloodshot eyes to me, his chest heaving. “You recorded that? You’ve been spying on me? You’ve been digging into my accounts?”
“Your accounts?” I laughed, and the sound was completely devoid of warmth. “Daniel, you used my company's capital. You set up a dummy corporation using my sister-in-law’s social security number, transferred money from my late mother’s commercial development fund, and used it to buy yourself Rolexes and pay for Brittany’s failing boutique clothing store.”
“Your company?” Patricia scoffed, desperate to claw back control. “Stop lying! Everyone knows you have nothing! You grew up in foster homes before Evelyn took you in! You’re nobody!”
“Evelyn Holloway didn’t just ‘take me in,’ Patricia. She legally adopted me when I was nine years old,” I said, looking her dead in the eye. “She left me fifty-one percent of Vanguard Asset Management. When Daniel applied there four years ago, I never told him because I wanted to know if he loved me for who I was, or what I had.”
I took a slow breath, letting the realization dawn on them.
May you like
“Now I know.”
***