Chapter 8 - A Sister's Plea
Two months later, my phone rang while I was reviewing a contract in my study.
The caller ID showed an unfamiliar local number. I answered it calmly.
"Hello?"
"Natalie?" Khloe's voice came through the speaker, small, cracked, and completely devoid of the sharp arrogance she had carried for two years.
I remained silent for a beat. "Yes, Khloe."
"Nat... please don't hang up," she begged quietly. I could hear the hum of background retail noise—clothing racks clinking, cash registers chiming. "I'm calling on my break."
"What do you want, Khloe?"
"I... I wanted to ask how Mom is doing," she whispered. "I try to call her phone, but her number was changed."
"Mom is doing exceptionally well," I said flatly. "Her health is restored, her home is peaceful, and she is surrounding herself with people who respect her."
Khloe let out a shaky breath, a quiet sob escaping her lips. "Nat... it's so hard down here. Julian and I are fighting constantly. We're living in a tiny apartment near the highway. After Julian's restitution payments and our basic bills, we barely have enough for groceries. I'm working forty hours a week on my feet... my back hurts every night..."
I sat back in my leather chair, listening to her complain about the very lifestyle millions of ordinary people managed with dignity every single day.
"You're working for your living, Khloe," I said coldly. "Just like I worked sixteen-hour days in fifty-degree heat in Dubai for six years to buy that house. Did you think money just appeared out of thin air? Did you think my mother's comfort was free?"
"I know... I know we were wrong!" she cried out. "We were arrogant and stupid! But please... can I at least see Mom? Can I come over for an hour just to apologize to her face-to-face? I miss my mother, Nat!"
I gripped the phone, my mind rewinding to the image of my mother kneeling on the stone patio, scrubbing grease, terrified that her own daughter would throw her out on the street.
"You missed your mother when you took her credit cards?" I asked softly. "You missed your mother when you moved her into a room near the garage? You missed her when Julian called her the maid in front of a stranger?"
Khloe was silent, weeping softly into the phone.
May you like
"If Mom ever tells me she wants to see you, I won't stand in her way," I said, my voice firm as mountain granite. "She is a sovereign woman, and it is her choice. But until she asks for you... you do not come to this house. You do not call her. You pay your monthly restitution, you do your work, and you learn what it means to earn your own life."
Before she could answer, I ended the call, set the phone on the desk, and looked out the window at the peaceful Texas sky.
