Chapter 2 - THE FOLDER ON THE MAHOGANY TABLE
Nobody moved. The silence in the dining room was so absolute you could hear the soft crackle of the fireplace across the hall.
Regina’s wineglass tipped slightly in her hand, a drop of Cabernet spilling onto the pristine white tablecloth. Richard’s eyes darted to the manila folder in Blake’s hand. The reaction wasn’t anger. It was panic.
“Blake,” Candace whispered, her voice trembling as she looked between her son and her father. “What are you talking about? Sit down right now.”
“Let the boy speak, Candace,” Richard said, attempting to regain his booming, authoritative tone, though a slight quiver betrayed him. “He’s clearly had too much cider and wants to make a scene.”
“I’m entirely sober, Grandpa,” Blake said evenly. He slid the thick paper out of his jacket and placed the folder flat on the polished wood.
Richard’s heavy hand reached out across the table to grab it. “Give me that.”
Blake snatched it back out of reach before Richard’s fingers could touch the edge. “No. You don't get to burn this one.”
“Blake, stop this!” Regina snapped, her voice high and sharp. “It is Christmas dinner! Show some respect for your grandfather!”
“Respect is earned, Grandma,” Blake replied without lifting his voice. He unclipped the top metal fastener of the folder. “And respect is something Grandpa hasn't given to my sister—or to you—in thirty years.”
I stepped forward, placing a hand on Blake’s shoulder, not to stop him, but to let him know I had his back. Candace stared at me, her eyes wide with betrayal. “Douglas, did you know about this?”
“I knew he found something,” I said honestly. “I told him to wait. But after what Richard just said to Abigail, I think waiting is over.”
Abigail was sitting straight up now, her tears forgotten as she stared at her brother.
Blake pulled the first document out. It was a printed certified property deed from Cook County, Illinois. He laid it in front of Uncle Thomas, Candace’s older brother.
“That’s a deed for a four-bedroom brownstone in downtown Chicago,” Blake explained calmly. “Purchased fifteen years ago under a shell company called 'Apex Legacy Holdings.' Grandpa is listed as the sole managing director.”
Thomas looked at the paper, then up at his father. “Dad? What is this? You told us Apex was a real estate investment group for the family trust.”
“It is!” Richard snarled, his face flushing dark red. “It’s private business! This child has stolen confidential documents from my private study!”
“I didn't steal anything from your study,” Blake said calmly. “You left the tax schedules on the printer in the guest room two months ago. You forgot that the public records clerk’s office digitized all property transfers from 2008 onward. Anyone can access them for five dollars.”
Blake reached back into the folder and pulled out a high-resolution photograph printed on glossy paper. He didn't hand it to Richard. He slid it directly toward Regina.
The photograph slid across the mahogany table, stopping right next to Regina’s crystal wineglass.
Regina leaned down, her gold-rimmed reading glasses resting on the tip of her nose. The moment her eyes scanned the photo, the color drained entirely from her face.
The photo showed Richard standing on the steps of the Chicago brownstone during a sunny afternoon. His arm was wrapped lovingly around a middle-aged woman with dark hair. In front of them stood a young man, around twenty-two years old, holding a diploma from Northwestern University. Richard was smiling at the young man with a look of pure, unadulterated paternal pride—a look he had never once given to anyone in this room.
“Who... who is this?” Regina’s voice was a barely audible squeak.
“Her name is Elena Vance,” Blake said. “And the guy next to her is Marcus. He’s twenty-two. Grandpa paid his entire tuition at Northwestern. Out of the family trust account.”
Regina stared at the picture. Her lips began to quiver. She turned slowly to look at her husband of forty-four years.
“Richard?” she asked softly.
Richard stood frozen. The proud, untouchable patriarch looked suddenly small, his posture collapsing under the weight of twenty-three pairs of eyes staring at him in utter shock. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.
“Mom?” Candace cried out, rushing to her mother’s side as Regina’s eyes rolled back.
Regina gasped, clutching her chest, and slumped sideways into her daughter’s arms.
Panic erupted around the table. Chairs scraped back. Glasses clinked and tipped. Aunt Sarah shouted for someone to call an ambulance, while Uncle Thomas yelled at Richard, demanding answers.
May you like
Amid the chaos, Blake slowly picked up the photograph, put it back into the folder, and closed the clasp. He turned to Abigail, reached down, and took her hand.
“Come on, Abby,” Blake said softly. “Let’s go home.”
