Chapter 3 - The Golden Boy Returns
The heavy oak front door swung open. Scott stepped in, wearing a tailored Italian suit, scrolling through his phone with a self-important smirk on his face.
He didn’t immediately notice the tension, or the man in the suit, or the shattered glass.
“Mom, I told you to make sure the dry cleaning was done by—”
He stopped dead in his tracks. The smell of cheap alcohol hit him first. Then he saw the puddle on the Persian rug. Finally, his eyes locked onto the empty, glass-strewn pedestal where his prized fake bottle had sat.
“What the hell happened here?!” Scott roared, his face flushing dark red.
He lunged forward, falling to his knees to inspect the damage, acting as if a family member had just died. “My bottle! My eighty-thousand-dollar vintage! Caroline, what did you do?!”
Bernice ran to him, grabbing his arm, her makeup running down her face in messy black streaks.
“Scott! Scott, do something! She’s lost her mind! She broke your bottle, and now she brought some con artist here claiming she owns the house!”
Scott stood up, towering over me. For a moment, the old fear—the quiet intimidation he had used to keep me in line for the past year—tried to creep up my spine. But it found no purchase. I was made of stone now.
“Are you insane?” he shouted, stepping into my personal space. “I am going to sue you for everything you have! Do you know how much that cost? You’re going to work at a diner for the rest of your pathetic life to pay me back!”
I looked him dead in the eyes. I didn't flinch.
“It cost two hundred and fifteen dollars on eBay, Scott. You bought it from a seller named 'AntiqueProps99' on November 14th of last year. You filled it with Jose Cuervo and food coloring.”
Scott froze. The color drained from his face so fast he looked ill. His mouth opened, but no words came out.
Bernice looked from me to her son, confusion replacing her panic. “Scott? What is she talking about? You bought that at Sotheby's.”
Scott ignored her, his eyes locked on me, terrified. “How... how do you know that?”
“I know everything, Scott,” I said softly. The calmness in my voice seemed to scare him more than screaming would have.
I nodded toward Mr. Sterling. The lawyer stepped forward, handing Scott a sleek black folder.
“Mr. Hayes. This is a formal notice of eviction. You have twenty-four hours to vacate this premises. Additionally, these are the divorce filings. And finally, a notice of withdrawal of capital.”
Scott snatched the folder, his hands shaking. He flipped through the pages. The deeper he read, the heavier his breathing became.
“Withdrawal of capital?” Scott whispered, his eyes wide. “Apex Solutions… the venture firm… Horizon Capital…”
“Is entirely owned by my trust,” I finished for him. “The two million dollars that saved you from bankruptcy? That was my money. The line of credit that keeps your company afloat right now? My money.”
I took a step closer to him. He instinctively took a step back.
“I bought the car you drive. I bought the clothes you wear. I paid for the spa days your mother enjoys while calling me a peasant. I gave you everything, Scott, because I loved you.”
May you like
I looked at the window, where the rain was washing the dirt off the ruined chicken in the yard.
“And in return, you and your mother threw my father’s love to the dogs. So now, the charity is over.”
