Chapter 4 - Trevor’s Desperate Plea
Tuesday morning brought rain and a fresh wave of humiliation for the newlyweds.
Local tabloids and social media pages had gotten hold of the story. Pictures of Catherine’s mud-stained dress, taken by a discreet wedding guest before we left, had leaked online. The headlines were brutal: MILLIONAIRE HEIR’S BRIDE FLOODS MOTHER-IN-LAW AT WEDDING; VANCE DYNASTY COLLAPSES IN MUD SLIDE.
Around 10:00 AM, there was a sharp, frantic knocking at the penthouse door.
Jennifer, who had stayed with us at the hotel to help manage the chaos, went to look through the peephole. She turned around, her expression disgusted.
“It’s Trevor,” she whispered. “He looks like absolute hell.”
“Don't open the door,” I said quietly.
“Dad, he’s going to wake up the whole floor banging like that,” Jennifer said, crossing her arms.
“Let him bang. Security will be here in two minutes to escort him out.”
Before security could arrive, however, Trevor’s voice echoed through the heavy oak door.
“Dad! Please! Open the door! I know you’re in there!”
The banging stopped, replaced by the sound of muffled sobbing. It was pathetic, the kind of wet, ugly crying of a man who had never faced a real crisis in his life and suddenly found himself drowning.
“Dad, just talk to him,” Catherine urged softly from the sofa. She looked pale, her eyes filled with that eternal maternal weakness that I had spent the last forty-eight hours trying to cure. “He’s your son, Ray. Just hear what he has to say.”
I sighed, standing up from my desk. “Alright. But I’m opening it, not you.”
I walked over and unlocked the heavy door, pulling it open.
Trevor stumbled forward, catching himself against the doorframe. He was wearing a rumpled designer suit he had clearly worn for two days straight, his hair was unwashed, and his eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. Behind him stood two hotel security guards, looking apologetic.
“Mr. Vance, we tried to stop him,” one of the guards said.
“It’s fine, Marcus. Leave us,” I instructed.
The guards nodded and stepped back down the hallway.
Trevor looked up at me, his lower lip trembling. “Dad... thank God. Please, you have to help me. Madison and I... our hotel room was canceled this morning because our credit cards were declined. We had to pack our bags and move into a terrible motel near the highway. The bank account for my consulting firm is frozen. I can’t even buy groceries.”
I did not move. I stood in the doorway, blocking his entry, my arms crossed over my chest.
“You have a wife, Trevor,” I said coldly. “Ask her father for money. Paul Prescott is a prominent developer, isn't he?”
Trevor flinched. “Paul’s company is falling apart! His lawyers said Vantage Capital recalled his construction loan yesterday! He’s having emergency meetings with his board trying to avoid bankruptcy! He doesn't have any money to give us!”
“Then I suppose you’re going to have to find a job,” I replied evenly.
Trevor stared at me, his eyes wide with incomprehension. “A job? Dad, I run a consulting firm! I’m an executive!”
“You run a consulting firm that exists solely because I pay your rent, cover your payroll, and hand you clients on a silver platter,” I corrected him. “Without my backing, you are a thirty-five-year-old man with a business degree and zero practical skills. You’re unemployed, Trevor. Welcome to the real world.”
Trevor’s face twisted in anger, the pathetic weeping instantly vanishing, replaced by the ugly entitlement I knew so well.
“This is because of Madison, isn't it?!” he shouted, his voice echoing down the hotel hallway. “You never liked her! You never wanted me to marry her! Just because she didn't come from your precious country club background, you and Mom have been trying to sabotage us from day one!”
“Your wife pushed your mother into the mud, Trevor,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “And you stood there and laughed. If you think this is about her background instead of her absolute lack of basic human decency, you are even more stupid than I thought.”
“She made a mistake!” Trevor pleaded, his voice cracking again. “People make mistakes at weddings! Why are you destroying my entire life over a little dirt?”
“It wasn't dirt, Trevor. It was your character. And you failed the test.”
I reached out and pushed the heavy door closed.
“Dad! Wait! Dad!” he screamed, hitting the wood with his fists.
I locked the deadbolt.
May you like
Catherine was standing behind me, tears quietly spilling down her cheeks. Jennifer walked over, put her arm around her mother’s shoulders, and led her back toward the balcony.
“You did the right thing, Dad,” Jennifer whispered fiercely. “Don’t look back.”
