Chapter 2 - The Shattered Facade
By 7:00 AM the following morning, my phone had accumulated forty-seven missed calls, thirty-two text messages, and three voicemails.
I sat at the marble island of my penthouse apartment, sipping black coffee while reviewing the quarterly yield reports for Northline Capital. My assistant and head of operations, Marcus, stood nearby, flipping through a tablet.
“Your brother Lucas tried to enter the Northline building at 6:30 AM,” Marcus reported dryly, adjusting his glass frames. “Security turned him away. He yelled something about you stealing his life and threatened to sue.”
“Let him try,” I replied, taking a slow sip of coffee. “On what grounds? Unauthorized generosity?”
“Your mother has also posted three separate updates on Facebook,” Marcus added, tapping his screen. “She’s running a smear campaign. Photos of you as a child with captions about ‘unfilial daughters’ and ‘heartbreak.’ Her friends are leaving comments calling you an ungrateful monster.”
I paused, my cup halfway to my lips. I opened my own Facebook app. Sure enough, my mother had crafted a masterclass in emotional manipulation.
“Heartbroken beyond words today. After devoting forty years of our lives to raising our children, one of them has turned her back on us during our most sacred celebration. Money changes people, but to destroy a family’s joy over a simple misunderstanding is something a mother’s heart can barely endure. Please pray for our family during this painful trial.”
Below the post were dozens of comments from local socialites, family friends, and distant relatives.
“How horrible! After all you did for her!” “Claire always was cold. Shame on her!” “Karma will catch up to her, Evelyn. Stay strong!”
I let out a soft laugh. It was predictable. My mother had always used public perception as a weapon. Whenever I refused to give up my weekends to clean her house or cover Paige’s shopping sprees, she would host tea parties and whisper about how “difficult” and “distant” I was.
“Should we issue a press release or have legal issue a cease and desist?” Marcus asked.
“No,” I said calmly, setting my cup down. “Let her build her tower of lies. The higher she builds it, the harder the crash when I pull the foundation out.”
Before Marcus could respond, my intercom buzzed. The front desk guard’s voice came through, sounding flustered. “Ms. Vance, I’m so sorry to disturb you, but your father and brother are downstairs in the lobby. They are causing a scene with the concierge. Should I call the police?”
I looked at Marcus. “Tell them to send my father up alone. Tell Lucas if he sets foot in the elevator, I’ll have security drag him out in handcuffs.”
Five minutes later, my front door swung open.
Dad stepped inside. He looked exhausted. The polished, arrogant patriarch from the night before was gone. His suit was wrinkled, his eyes were bloodshot, and he carried himself with the slumped shoulders of a defeated man.
He looked around my penthouse—the floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the city skyline, the modern artwork, the plush Italian leather furniture—and a flash of deep resentment flickered across his face.
“Nice place,” he spat out, attempting to regain his dominant posture. “Must be nice living like a queen while your family suffers.”
“You look tired, Dad,” I said, remaining seated behind my desk. “Did Bellamy House accept your credit card last night, or did you have to wash dishes?”
His jaw tightened. “Lucas paid for it. On a high-interest credit card. Because his own sister decided to throw a temper tantrum and embarrass us!”
“I didn’t throw a tantrum. I simply accepted your statement,” I said smoothly. “You told me I wasn’t part of the family. I agreed. And since I am not part of the family, I have no obligation to subsidize your luxury lifestyle or baby-sit eight children for a week.”
Dad slammed his fist against my mahogany desk. “You owe us! Everything you have, you owe to this family! If your mother and I hadn’t raised you, you wouldn’t be standing here today!”
“You raised me to be your servant,” I corrected him, my voice turning icier by the second. “You sent Lucas to private college—I got a scholarship. You bought Paige a brand-new car for her eighteenth birthday—I worked three jobs to pay for my second-hand sedan. And three years ago, when your company was on the verge of bankruptcy due to your gross mismanagement, I didn’t just support you—I saved you.”
Dad scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “You didn’t save anything! Northline Capital gave us that loan! A real financial institution!”
I smiled, a cold, empty smile, and pushed a document across the desk toward him.
“Read the signature line on the master agreement, Dad.”
He snatched the paper, his eyes skimming down the legal jargon until they hit the bottom. His eyes widened. The color drained from his face until he looked like a ghost.
“Northline Capital LLC. Managing Director: Claire Vance.”
“I didn’t just arrange the loan, Dad,” I whispered, leaning in. “I am Northline. I financed your payroll. I paid off your concrete suppliers. I cleared your legal debts. I own seventy percent of Sterling Builders’ convertible debt. Which means, technically... I own you.”
Dad stumbled back a step, dropping the paper as if it had burned his fingers. “You... you kept this from us? You let us believe...”
“I let you believe whatever you wanted because I wanted to see if you would ever value me for me,” I said, standing up. “And last night, you gave me my answer. You traded me for a babysitter’s duty list.”
“Claire... please,” Dad’s voice suddenly cracked, the arrogance completely vanishing, replaced by sheer panic. “If the board finds out... if the bank knows Northline controls our debt... Sterling Builders will go under! We have three major contracts pending!”
“Then I suggest you start acting like a professional businessman instead of a bully,” I said, turning my back on him to look out at the city skyline. “Because as of 9:00 AM this morning, Northline Capital has initiated a full audit of Sterling Builders.”
“An audit? Why? We’re family!”
“No, Dad,” I turned back, looking at him with absolute indifference. “You said it yourself last night. ‘You don’t know because you are not part of us.’ Now, get out of my home before I have security throw you out.”
Dad stood frozen for a moment, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Realizing he had no leverage left, he turned and practically ran out of the penthouse.
May you like
Marcus stepped back into the room from the side office. “An audit? Are you going to call in the debt?”
“Not yet,” I smiled, picking up my coffee cup. “Calling in the debt is too quick. I want them to panic first. Let’s see how long my loving family lasts when the money faucet is turned off.”
