Chapter 6 - The Last Supper
Evan strutted into the dining room like a king entering his conquered territory.
He wore a fresh designer suit, his hair slicked back, exuding a repulsive, unearned confidence. He didn't even notice the three people sitting at the far end of the long table. The ambient lighting and his own monumental ego blinded him to everything but the feast before him.
He walked straight to the center of the table. Without using the serving utensils, he reached out, grabbed a thick, juicy slice of prime rib with his bare hands, and took a massive bite. Grease dripped down his chin.
He chewed loudly, swallowed, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
He looked down the table at me, a cruel, victorious smirk stretching across his face.
"Good girl," he sneered, laughing. "You finally learned your place. Now go get my checkbook."
I didn't move. I didn't speak. I simply took a slow sip of my wine.
Annoyed by my silence, Evan took a step forward. "Did you hear me, you old—"
He stopped dead.
Miriam Cole and the two men in suits slowly turned their high-backed chairs around from the head of the table, stepping out of the shadows.
Evan froze, the piece of meat slipping from his fingers and landing on the pristine linen tablecloth with a sickening plop.
"Hello, Evan," Miriam said, her voice like cracking ice.
Evan's eyes darted frantically from Miriam to the men, then finally to me. The color drained from his face, leaving him a pale, sickly gray.
"What... what is this?" he stammered. "Who are these people?"
"They aren't my friends, Evan," I said quietly, my voice carrying effortlessly across the long room. "They are the estate lawyers. And they have just finished notarizing your complete disinheritance."
"You can't do that!" Evan roared, his shock instantly morphing into rage. He slammed his fists on the table, rattling the crystal. "Dad left this estate to me! Half of it is mine by right!"
Miriam stood up, picking up a document.
"Under Section 4, Paragraph B of the Halstead Family Trust," she read flawlessly, without looking at the paper, "the primary beneficiary, Eleanor Halstead, retains sole and absolute discretion to sever any secondary beneficiary in the event of financial malfeasance, hostile action, or moral turpitude."
"Moral turpitude?!" Evan screamed, lunging toward the end of the table.
Both male lawyers stood up immediately, blocking his path. Evan stopped, chest heaving.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the sealed letter from his father. I slid it down the long polished table. It stopped right in front of him.
"Your father left that for you," I said. "He knew you were stealing from him five years ago. He knew you were waiting for the cancer to kill him so you could pay off your bookies."
Evan stared at the handwriting on the envelope. He staggered backward, hitting the sideboard. "You're lying. He didn't know anything."
"I have the audio recordings, Evan," I said softly. "The lawyers have heard them. And so have the police."
His head snapped up, pure terror finally breaking through his arrogant facade. "The... the police?"
"Those 'investors' at the gate?" I continued, leaning forward. "I had Halstead Logistics' corporate security run their plates this morning. They are members of a loan-sharking syndicate. You owe them over two million dollars, not two hundred thousand. And since you used company servers to wire them interest payments, you've committed federal wire fraud."
Sirens wailed in the distance. Not ambulances this time. Police cruisers.
"Mom... Mom, please," Evan's voice broke. He fell to his knees on the hardwood floor, the very picture of a broken, pathetic child. "They'll kill me. If I don't pay them, they'll kill me. You can't do this. I'm your son!"
I looked at him. I looked at the man who had shoved me down a flight of marble stairs and stepped over my bleeding body for a paycheck.
"My son died a long time ago," I said, my voice empty of anger, empty of sorrow, empty of everything. "I don't know who you are."
The heavy oak front doors burst open, and armed officers swarmed into the foyer.
May you like
As they dragged Evan away, screaming and sobbing my name, I didn't shed a tear. I simply turned back to the table, picked up my knife and fork, and finally sat down to eat.
The prime rib was perfect.
