Chapter 3 - The Wolf at the Door
The door to my room flew open, slamming against the rubber stopper with a violent bang. My mother stood on the threshold, her designer sunglasses pushed up into her bleached hair, her face flushed a mottled, ugly red. Behind her, Chloe hovered, her arms crossed over her designer jacket, her eyes darting around the private suite with a mix of jealousy and calculating rage.
"You miserable, ungrateful little bitch!" Eleanor shouted, ignoring the nurse who tried to step between us. "You think because you got a little scratch on your face you have the right to humiliate me? Do you have any idea what it felt like to have my card declined in front of the entire tour group? The desk agent looked at me like I was a criminal!"
I didn't move. I didn't raise my voice. I looked at the woman who had watched me bleed from a car crash through a telephone screen and felt nothing but an icy, liberating vacuum.
"Get out of my room, Eleanor," I said softly.
Chloe stepped forward, her voice dripping with artificial sweet poison. "Avery, come on. Stop being so dramatic. You’re in a private suite, you clearly have the firm's insurance paying for everything, and you have a nanny taking care of the bastard baby. Mom worked herself to the bone raising us after Dad died. The least you can do is fix the transfer. We owe the cruise line three thousand dollars in port fees right now."
"The 'bastard baby' has a name. It’s Eli," I said, my voice dropping to a register that made Chloe step back involuntarily. "And as for Dad's death... he left a two-million-dollar life insurance policy. Where did it go, Mom?"
Eleanor’s eyes widened slightly, her jaw tightening. "That is none of your business! That was my money to manage!"
"You spent it in three years," I said, pointing to the laptop screen Sarah had turned toward them. "And then you invented a fake mortgage crisis to trap me into paying you a monthly salary. For nine years, I paid for your lifestyle while you told everyone I was the 'cold, clinical one' who didn't care about family. Well, you were right. I am cold now. The money is gone. It is never coming back."
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"We will sue you!" Eleanor screamed, lunging toward the bed, her manicured nails clawing the air. "I am your mother! You owe me!"
"She doesn't owe you a dime," a deep voice boomed from the doorway. Grandfather Arthur stepped into the room, two armed hospital security guards flanking him. "But you, Eleanor, owe Vance Holdings exactly seven hundred thousand dollars in unauthorized loans against the family estate. And I am here to foreclose."
