Chapter 3 - THE AFTERMATH IN THE PARKING LOT
The cool night air hit my face the moment I pushed through the brass doors of the Italian restaurant. My hands were perfectly steady as I unlocked my five-year-old Honda Civic, but beneath my ribs, my heart was hammering like a jackhammer.
I hadn't cried. I wouldn't cry. I had spent six years preparing for this exact night.
Ever since I turned twelve and realized my mother bought Brandon a brand-new Ford F-150 for his high school graduation while refusing to pay for my dental braces, I knew where I stood in the family hierarchy. I was the secondary asset. The spare parts generator. The kid whose purpose was to quietly excel so my parents could divert every resource toward keeping their golden boy from drowning in his own bad decisions.
I sat in the driver's seat, turning the key in the ignition.
Before I could shift into reverse, my driver's side window was violently slammed by a heavy palm.
"Get out of the car, Leo!"
My father stood in the dim light of the restaurant parking lot, his tie pulled loose, his face twisted in a mask of rage I had seen dozens of times during my childhood. Behind him, my mother was hurrying across the asphalt in her heels, sob-hiccuping, followed by Brandon and Jessica.
I rolled the window down two inches.
"Unlock the damn door, Leo!" my father bellowed, banging his fist against the frame. "You think you’re smart? You think you can talk to me like that in front of my brothers? In front of my business partners?"
"Dad, move away from the vehicle," I said calmly.
"You turn off this car right now!" my mother yelled, reaching the door and slapping her hands against the glass. "You listen to your father! Do you have any idea what you've done? Brandon's house goes into auction in two weeks if those funds are reversed! He has a family!"
"He’s twenty-six years old, Mom," I replied through the crack. "He hasn't held a job for longer than four months since he graduated high school. He wrecked two businesses you financed for him. And now he's getting sued for fraud by his own former business partners."
"That wasn't his fault!" my mother screamed, her voice cracking in the humid night air. "He was taken advantage of!"
Brandon stepped up beside my father, his posture defensive, his eyes dark with resentment. "Leo, come on, man. You’re going to college on scholarships anyway. You don't need three hundred grand sitting in a bank account while I lose my home!"
I looked at my brother through the glass. This was the boy who had stolen my video game console when I was fourteen to sell it for concert tickets, and my parents had punished me for "provoking him" by leaving it in my bedroom.
"You never cared where I went to school, Brandon," I said softly. "You just wanted my money."
"It’s not your money! It’s family money!" my father roared, grabbing the door handle and yanking on it repeatedly. "My father earned that money! He would be turning in his grave if he saw you turning against your own blood!"
"Grandfather set up the trust specifically to protect me from you, Dad," I said. "He told me himself on his deathbed in Chicago. He said, 'Leo, your father will eat you alive if you let him. Keep the papers safe.'"
My father froze, his hand dropping from the handle as if it had been burned.
"He... he told you that?" my father whispered, shock piercing through his rage.
"Every word," I said. "Now move your foot away from my back tire."
"Leo, please!" my mother begged, suddenly changing her tone, grabbing the window frame with both hands. "We’re your parents! We gave you a roof over your head! We fed you! How can you be so heartless?"
"You threw me a birthday dinner tonight just to humiliate me in front of thirty-two people, Mom," I said, my voice ice-cold. "You clapped when Dad told me my future was wiped out. You enjoyed it."
I shifted the car into reverse.
May you like
"Monday at noon," I reminded them. "If the money isn't back, Mr. Harrison files."
I stepped on the gas. The tires screeched slightly against the asphalt as I backed out of the space, leaving my father, mother, and brother standing under the harsh amber streetlights of the parking lot, looking small, desperate, and entirely exposed.
