Chapter 6 - The Desperate Pilgrimage
The private jet charter had cost Meridian twelve thousand dollars, but Lucia hadn't taken it out of corporate funds; she had written a personal check from her liquid holdings. She sat in her corner office on the forty-second floor of the Meridian Tower in downtown Austin, looking out over Lady Bird Lake.
The Texas winter was mild, seventy degrees and clear, a brilliant contrast to the gray, slush-filled misery of Hartwell.
A knock sounded on the heavy oak door of her office. Marcus, her executive assistant, stepped in, holding an electronic tablet.
"Lucia? You have a situation downstairs in the lobby."
Lucia didn't turn from the window. "What kind of situation?"
"A man claiming to be your brother," Marcus said, his tone carefully neutral. "He doesn't have an appointment. Building security stopped him at the turnstiles because he was causing a disturbance with the front desk receptionists. He’s demanding to see the CEO."
Lucia took a slow sip of her green tea. "What is he wearing?"
Marcus blinked, surprised by the question. "A... a heavy winter coat. He looks disheveled. He’s carrying a manila folder and shouting about legal contracts."
Lucia looked at her watch. It was two o'clock on Tuesday afternoon. Tyler had taken a commercial flight out of Indianapolis, paid for God-knows-how—probably by maxing out the last personal credit card he had left that hadn't been linked to the trust—and had come straight from the airport.
"Send him up," Lucia said calmly.
Marcus hesitated. "Do you want security present?"
"Have two guards wait in the corridor outside the boardroom," she said. "Tell Tyler I will meet him in Boardroom B in five minutes. Not in my office. In the boardroom."
Five minutes later, Lucia walked into the sleek, glass-enclosed conference room. The center of the room was dominated by a twenty-foot slab of polished black quartz, surrounded by twelve ergonomic leather chairs. Through the glass, the bustling expanse of Meridian’s engineering floor was visible—dozens of young, brilliant software engineers, data scientists, and product managers working quietly beneath suspended acoustic panels and ambient lighting.
Tyler was standing by the far glass wall, clutching a battered manila folder against his chest. He looked like an alien who had crash-landed on an advanced planet. His winter boots were salt-stained and scuffed; his eyes were ringed with dark, purplish circles; his hair was greasy and uncombed.
When the glass door clicked shut behind Lucia, Tyler spun around, his chest heaving.
"You," he breathed.
Lucia didn't offer a hand. She didn't smile. She pulled out the chair at the head of the table, sat down, and folded her hands neatly on the cool black stone.
"Sit down, Tyler."
Tyler didn't sit. He took three aggressive steps toward the table, slamming the manila folder down onto the quartz.
"Do you have any idea what you've done?" Tyler’s voice was hoarse, cracking with hysteria. "Do you have any idea what’s happening back home right now? Mom is in bed with a panic attack! The doctor had to come to the house! Dad won't leave his recliner—he’s just sitting there in the dark staring at the wall! The hardware store is locked, Lucia! There’s a padlock on the front door from the county sheriff!"
Lucia didn't flinch. Her pulse didn't jump a single beat. "The state tax levy. I warned Dad about that three years ago before I took over the payments. He ignored the notices."
"You took over the payments because you're his daughter!" Tyler screamed, leaning over the table, his spit landing on the polished quartz. "You were supposed to be helping us! Not setting a trap! You bought the mortgage on the store through a dummy corporation? Who does that to their own father? What kind of sick, twisted psychopath spies on her own family like that?"
"A daughter who knew her father was too proud to survive his own stupidity," Lucia said, her voice dropping into a register so cold, so quiet, that Tyler’s shouting was instantly snuffed out.
"Sit down, Tyler," she repeated. "This is my building. This is my company. If you raise your voice one more time, security will remove you from the premises, and you can explain to the Austin Police Department why you're trespassing on corporate property."
Tyler’s chest rose and fell rapidly. He looked toward the glass wall, where two six-foot-two corporate security guards were standing casually just outside the door, their eyes locked on him through the glass.
Slowly, the fight draining out of his limbs like dirty water, Tyler pulled out a chair and sank into it. He buried his face in his hands for five long seconds, his shoulders shaking.
"Lucia... please," he choked out, his arrogance finally cracking open to reveal the pathetic, terrified child underneath. "The marina took the boat yesterday morning. They brought a crane and a flatbed while the whole neighborhood watched. Brooke left me. She moved her stuff out of my apartment while I was at the airport. She said she wasn't going to be stuck with a loser who was about to go bankrupt."
Lucia watched him. There was no pleasure in the sight, only a profound, hollow weariness.
"And what did you expect me to do, Tyler?"
Tyler looked up, his eyes wet, his hands trembling on the table. "Just... turn it back on. Just the boat note and the truck. That’s all I need, Lucia. I can find another job—I can manage another store! Just give me six months of the trust back so I don't lose the truck and the apartment! We're family! You have seventy million dollars! What is eight thousand a month to you? It’s nothing! It’s pocket change!"
Lucia leaned back in her chair.
"You're right, Tyler. To Meridian, eight thousand dollars a month is a rounding error. It’s what we spend on cloud computing architecture every twenty minutes."
A desperate spark of hope flared in Tyler’s eyes. "Then please—"
"No," Lucia said.
The word was like a steel door slamming shut in a vault.
"Why?" Tyler whispered, tears spilling freely over his cheeks now. "Why are you being so cruel? Because of Dad? Dad’s old! He’s from another generation! He doesn't know how to talk to people! Why are you punishing me for what Dad said about Ellie?"
"Because you laughed," Lucia said.
Tyler froze.
"You sat at that table, drinking four-hundred-dollar whiskey that my labor paid for," Lucia said, each word falling with the precise, crushing weight of a lead weight. "And when an old, bitter man made a five-year-old girl cry over four ounces of water, you didn't defend your niece. You didn't tell him to stop. You leaned back, you smirked, and you told me nobody forced me to come."
Lucia stood up. She walked around the table until she was standing three feet from where her brother sat cowering.
"You thought you were a prince, Tyler. You thought you were the golden boy who was born to ride on the shoulders of everyone around you. You treated me like dirt when we were kids, you treated me like a failure when I left for college, and you treated my daughter like an inconvenience in a house that wouldn't have had electricity if I hadn't paid the utility arrears."
"Lucia, I'm sorry," Tyler sobbed, reaching out toward her hem. "I swear to God, I'm sorry! I'll apologize to Ellie! I'll buy her whatever she wants! I'll get down on my knees—"
"Don't you dare speak her name," Lucia snapped, her eyes flashing with a sudden, terrifying heat that made Tyler pull his hands back as if he had been burned. "You don't apologize because you're sorry. You apologize because the cards declined. And that is the only language you and Kenneth understand."
She walked toward the door, her heels clicking cleanly against the hardwood floor.
May you like
"Your flight back to Indiana leaves at six," Lucia said without turning around. "I had Marcus book you a seat in coach. It’s the last dollar of mine you will ever see."
***
