Chapter 5 - The Debt Crumbles
Wednesday.
Maya was next.
She was a micro-influencer, heavily reliant on sponsorships from fitness brands, skincare lines, and meal prep companies.
By Wednesday noon, every single one of them had dropped her.
She posted a tearful, filterless apology video on her Instagram.
"I was just so shocked," she sobbed to the camera, wiping away a fake tear. "I didn't know what to do when my mom poured the coffee. I was laughing out of nervousness. Elara is my sister, and I love her so much. We're a family."
The internet ripped her to shreds.
Body language experts did frame-by-frame breakdowns of her malicious grin in the original video. Brands released statements explicitly condemning her behavior.
But the true collapse happened that evening.
Beatrice.
My mother had spent her entire life projecting the image of extreme wealth. Designer bags, luxury leased cars, memberships at the Obsidian Resort.
But I knew the truth. I had seen the mail she tried to hide.
She was drowning in debt. Mortgages, credit cards, personal loans. She was a house of cards waiting for a strong breeze.
And I was a hurricane.
With the news of my newly acquired immense wealth, Beatrice’s creditors suddenly realized that the "rich" Vance family was a sham, and the only one with actual money was the daughter they had just publicly alienated and assaulted.
The banks panicked. They started calling in her loans.
At 6:00 PM, my phone rang.
It was a blocked number, but I knew who it was. I answered.
"Elara!" Beatrice’s voice was hysterical. She was crying, genuinely sobbing. Not for me. For herself. "Elara, please! You have to help me!"
"Hello, Beatrice," I said, my voice completely flat.
"They're taking the house, Elara! The bank is foreclosing! My credit cards are frozen! I can't even buy groceries!"
"That sounds like a personal problem."
"I am your mother!" she shrieked. "You have nine hundred million dollars! You can fix this with a phone call! You owe me! I raised you!"
"You raised me to be a prop in your fake life," I replied calmly. "And when I didn't fit the aesthetic, you poured boiling coffee on me. The burns on my scalp are still healing, Beatrice."
"It was an accident! I tripped!"
"Caleb caught it in 4K, Beatrice. You didn't trip. You aimed."
"Please! I'm begging you! Maya lost everything, Caleb is ruined... we need you!"
"I checked my bank accounts today," I said slowly, letting every word sink in like a blade. "I have more money than I could spend in a hundred lifetimes. I could pay off all your debts, buy you a mansion in Beverly Hills, and fund Caleb and Maya’s lives forever, and I wouldn't even notice the money was gone."
Silence on the other end. Hope.
"But," I continued, "I am not going to give you a single cent. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not when you're living on the streets."
"You... you monster! You selfish trash!"
"There's that phrase again," I whispered. "Have a nice life, Beatrice."
I hung up.
May you like
I blocked her number.
I felt lighter than I had in twenty-five years.
