Chapter 7 - The Journey South
Desperation has a way of eroding pride until only raw, ugly entitlement remains.
By the first week of February, the mechanics' liens had finalized. The country club had officially revoked Kenneth and Joanne’s memberships, posting their names on the delinquent register in the lobby. The GMC Denali had been voluntarily surrendered to avoid the humiliation of another midnight tow truck on Maple Avenue.
Kenneth, Tyler, and Joanne were left sharing Joanne’s seven-year-old crossover, a vehicle Kenneth had once declared "only fit for grocery runs."
One evening, sitting in the dim living room where the heat had been turned down to sixty-two degrees to save on propane, Tyler slammed a printed sheet of paper onto the coffee table.
"She’s speaking in Austin on Thursday," Tyler said.
Kenneth looked up from his cup of instant tea. "What?"
"The Texas Technology & Logistics Expo," Tyler said, pointing at the printout. "Austin Convention Center. Main stage. Two o’clock. She’s the keynote speaker."
Kenneth shook his head. "Arthur Vance made it clear. If we go near her office—"
"This isn't her office!" Tyler argued, his eyes bloodshot, his voice cracking with manic intensity. "This is a public convention! Hundreds of people! Press, investors, business leaders! She can’t call corporate security to hide behind closed doors when there are reporters in the room!"
Joanne looked between her husband and her son, horrified. "Tyler, no. You can’t ambush your sister at a professional conference."
"Why not?" Tyler shot back, his face twisting. "She ambushed us! She ruined Dad’s reputation! She let my truck get repossessed! She humiliated this whole family in front of the entire town! You know what people are saying about us at the grocery store, Mom? They’re laughing at us!"
"They’re laughing because we were frauds, Tyler!" Joanne cried out. "We let everyone believe we were rich while Kenneth’s business was rotting from the inside out!"
"Enough!" Kenneth barked, slamming his palm against the arm of his chair.
The room fell quiet.
Kenneth stood up, his joints aching in the cold room. He looked at the printed photograph of Lucia on the expo flyer. She was wearing a tailored navy blazer, her hair sleek, her chin raised, looking every bit like the formidable chief executive she had become.
In Kenneth’s mind, the narrative had already twisted itself into a comforting shape. Lucia was his daughter. He had given her life. He had provided the discipline that forged her intellect. Her success was, by extension, a product of his household. She was acting out because of a childhood grudge—a minor dispute over a Christmas dinner tablecloth that had gotten out of hand.
If he stood before her as a father—if he confronted her face-to-face, man-to-man, patriarch to child—she would crumble. She had always wanted his approval. That was why she had sent the money in the first place, wasn't it? To impress him. To prove she was worthy of the Brennan name.
"Pack your bags," Kenneth said to Tyler.
Joanne gasped. "Kenneth, please. Don't do this."
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"We’re driving to Austin," Kenneth declared, his voice regaining a fraction of its former booming arrogance. "She wants to play corporate games in public? Fine. We’ll show her what happens when you turn your back on family."
***
