Chapter 2 - THE GALA OF PARASITES: WITNESSING THE AUDACITY OF GREED FROM THE SHADOWS
The new security guard stationed at the front entrance blinked rapidly, his eyes widening in sheer terror as Leo handed over his identification card. The guard knew the name. Everyone in Texas corporate circles knew the name Leo Vance. But seeing the reclusive, multi-millionaire founder standing right in front of him—unannounced, unannounced, and looking like a tired traveler with a duffel bag—drained every ounce of color from the young man's face.
"S-Sir," the guard stammered, his hand trembling as he handed the ID back. "I... we didn't know you were—"
"Quiet," Leo interrupted, holding up a single finger. A playful smirk touched his lips. "Don't ruin the surprise. Keep doing your job."
The guard nodded frantically, stepping aside and swinging the heavy mahogany doors wide open.
The moment Leo stepped across the threshold, the air changed. It wasn't the warm, welcoming atmosphere of a home; it was the suffocating, decadent stench of unearned wealth and hedonistic betrayal. The grand foyer opened into a massive dining hall where a feast fit for Roman emperors was laid out across a custom walnut table. Silver platters groaned under the weight of imported Beluga caviar, giant prime rib roasts, fresh Maine lobsters, and towering seafood pyramids. Crystal chandeliers cascaded brilliant light over streams of vintage Dom Pérignon flowing freely from a rented ice sculpture.
Leo stood frozen in the shadows near a massive decorative fiddle-leaf fig tree, his smile freezing on his face.
His mother, Margaret, sat at the head of the table. She was draped in layers of heavy gold necklaces, diamond-encrusted bracelets, and a designer silk dress that screamed excess. She cackled loudly as Jennifer’s husband poured another glass of champagne. Jennifer herself wore a haute couture gown that cost more than a brand-new sedan, her fingers glittering with gems that Leo recognized—gems he had specifically purchased for Emma’s birthday three years ago, which Margaret had claimed Emma "lost interest in."
And then there was Michael.
His younger brother stood unsteadily in the center of the room, raising a crystal flute high in the air, a smug, arrogant grin plastered across his face.
"Here’s another toast to my brother’s endless wire transfers!" Michael shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings. "May the idiot stay overseas forever while we live like kings on his dime!"
The room erupted into raucous laughter, clinking glasses, and cheers from a dozen hangers-on, local socialites, and sycophants who didn't even know Leo personally.
Leo felt as though someone had driven a rusted iron spike straight through his chest. The breath was violently knocked out of his lungs. His vision blurred at the edges. Every word echoed in his ears, bouncing off the walls of his brain. Endless wire transfers. Stay overseas forever. Idiots. They weren't just spending his money; they were mocking him. They were laughing at his absence, mocking his tireless work ethic, and treating his multi-million-dollar empire as their personal piggy bank.
But amidst the sea of laughing, obnoxious faces, a cold, suffocating panic gripped his heart.
Where was Emma?
Leo’s eyes darted frantically across the dining room, scanning every guest, every corner, every doorway. She wasn't sitting beside Margaret. She wasn't mingling with the guests. She wasn't anywhere in sight. A cold sweat broke out across Leo’s forehead. He abandoned his spot by the plant, his long strides carrying him silently past the partygoers, who were too drunk and self-absorbed to notice the ghost walking among them.
He rushed up the grand staircase, taking the steps three at a time. He threw open the door to the master suite—their sanctuary.
Empty. The bed was made with sterile precision, untouched. Her closet contained only a few modest, faded clothes. All the designer dresses, the luxury bags, the jewelry he had bought her over the years? Gone. Or replaced.
His pulse roared in his ears like a freight train. He tore down the hallway, throwing open guest rooms, checking the study, storming toward the back of the house. Nothing. The mansion was a gilded cage, and the queen of the castle had vanished into thin air.
Descending the back staircase like an avenging fury, Leo cornered a young caterer rushing past with an empty tray of appetizers.
"Excuse me," Leo said, his voice dropping an octave, razor-sharp and terrifyingly calm. "Where is Mrs. Emma?"
The young waiter paused, looking at Leo with casual indifference, completely unaware of who was standing before him. "Oh... Emma?" the waiter muttered, adjusting his bow tie. "I think she’s out back near the outdoor kitchen. Ms. Jennifer had her washing all the pots a little while ago."
For a second, the universe stopped spinning.
May you like
Washing pots.
The woman who had shared his poverty, the woman who had built the foundation of his soul, the legal co-owner of this multi-million-dollar estate was out back, scrubbing greasy dishes like a captive scullery maid while parasites feasted on her labor inside.
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