Chapter 6 - The Desperate Plea
By noon, my phone was ringing off the hook.
I had forty-seven missed calls from my mother, thirty-two from my father, and dozens of frantic text messages from Vanessa.
“Emma, please talk to Alexander! He’s destroying us!” “Emma, Logan is going to jail! How could you do this to your own brother?!” “Emma, Mom took too many sleeping pills! Call us right now!”
I sat on the balcony of Alexander's penthouse, watching the river below as the text messages kept coming.
Alexander walked out onto the balcony, holding two cups of fresh coffee. He handed one to me, taking a seat in the lounge chair beside mine.
"You can turn the phone off, Emma," he said gently. "You don't have to carry their panic."
"I know," I sighed, staring at the screen. "It's just strange. For years, I thought if I worked hard enough, if I sacrificed enough, they would finally love me. But they never saw me as a daughter. I was just a shield."
"Some people don't know how to love," Alexander said softly. "They only know how to trade. You were valuable to them only as long as you absorbed their damage."
Suddenly, the penthouse intercom chimed. Alexander's assistant, Marcus, spoke through the speaker: "Mr. Hayes, Richard Whitmore and his daughter Vanessa are in the lobby. Security is holding them, but Mr. Whitmore is causing a scene."
Alexander looked at me. "Do you want me to have them removed?"
I took a deep breath, setting my coffee cup down. "No. Let them come up. I want to say what I should have said seven years ago."
Five minutes later, the elevator doors opened into the penthouse foyer.
My father looked ten years older. His suit was wrinkled, his hair disheveled, and his eyes wild with terror. Vanessa hovered behind him, her usual composure completely gone.
"Emma!" my father cried out, rushing forward until Alexander stepped smoothly into his path, blocking him. "Emma, you have to stop him! The SEC froze our accounts! Logan is in handcuffs at the precinct!"
"Good," I said coldly, standing my ground. "He belongs in handcuffs."
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"He's your brother!" Vanessa yelled, tears smearing her mascara. "Emma, how can you be so cruel? We're your family!"
"Family?" I scoffed, letting out a bitter laugh. "Family doesn't frame a eighteen-year-old girl for theft. Family doesn't make her sleep on a cot in the basement while her brother buys sports cars. Family doesn't put an apron on her during Thanksgiving and force her to serve dinner like a servant while you sip wine!"
