Chapter 4 - The Landlord’s Ultimatum
The fallout from the viral video did not stay confined to the digital world.
On Thursday morning, four days after the wedding, I received an email from Crestview Luxury Apartments—the complex where Dalia had been living in a two-bedroom apartment that I had co-signed eighteen months earlier.
The email was from the property manager, a sharp woman named Marcus Cole:
Dear Ms. Holt, We are writing to inform you that as the primary guarantor on Lease #402 (Occupant: Dalia Holt), your formal revocation of financial guarantee has been processed. However, as per Section 12 of the lease agreement, the tenant must either provide a qualified replacement guarantor or pay a three-month advance rent deposit of $5,400 by Friday, August 14th at 5:00 PM. If neither condition is met, the lease will be formally terminated, and eviction proceedings will commence.
I stared at the email. $5,400.
Dalia didn't have five hundred dollars in her checking account, let alone five thousand. My parents’ savings had been severely drained over the years by their own poor financial decisions and constant bailouts for Dalia.
At 2:00 PM, my father called me from an unknown landline number.
When I answered, his voice sounded broken, aged by ten years in less than a week.
"Vera," he said quietly. "I’m calling from my office at the hardware store. Your mother doesn't know I’m calling."
I paused, setting my pen down. "Hello, Dad."
"Vera... I watched the video you posted," my father said, his voice trembling slightly. "I... I didn't realize how bad it was. At the wedding, when it happened, I was sitting at the head table. I saw the cake go down, but your mother ran over so fast... she told me Dalia had fainted and knocked the table over by accident."
I closed my eyes. A sharp, bittersweet ache bloomed in my chest. "She lied to you, Dad. Dalia didn't faint. She threw champagne across the room, smashed our photos, and shoved the cake down while screaming that I thought I was better than everyone."
There was a long, heavy silence on the line. I could hear my father breathing heavily, the sound of static rustling through the phone line.
"Your mother has been protecting her for too long," my father admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "I let it happen because it was easier than fighting with Eleanor every night. But Vera... Dalia is facing eviction tomorrow. She has nowhere to go. My hardware store salary can't cover five thousand dollars right now. We can barely pay our own mortgage this month."
"Dad," I said gently, feeling a wave of deep sadness for the tired man on the line. "I love you. But I cannot pay that money. If I pay it now, Dalia will learn that all she has to do is throw a big enough tantrum and wait for someone to bail her out."
"I know," my father sighed, a ragged breath escaping his lungs. "I know you're right, Vera. I just... I don't know how our family survived this long on lies."
"We didn't survive, Dad," I said softly. "We were just pretending. Dalia needs to face this reality. It's the only chance she has at ever growing up."
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My father went quiet for a long moment. "Will you... will you at least let me come visit you and Micah next weekend? Without your mother? Without Dalia?"
Tears welled in my eyes, but a warm, quiet hope touched my heart. "I would love that, Dad. The door is always open for you."