Chapter 6 - The Fall of Patricia
The news of Derek’s surrender hit the financial markets like an earthquake.
By four o'clock that afternoon, Vance Capital issued an official press release announcing the immediate resignation of Derek Vance from all corporate boards and operational duties "due to personal legal matters." The story of the wedding assault was no longer just a viral video; it was a landmark corporate execution.
I sat in my apartment—my old, cozy apartment downtown that Derek had tried to force me to sell—watching the news ticker scroll across the bottom of the television screen.
Lena was sitting on the rug, surrounded by takeout boxes, celebrating with a glass of cheap wine.
"His mother is outside," Lena said suddenly, looking at her phone.
I frowned, setting my tea down. "What?"
"The building manager just texted me," Lena said, showing me her screen. "Patricia Vance is down in the lobby. She’s demanding to see you. The guards aren't letting her up, but she’s making a massive scene in front of the neighbors."
I walked over to the window, looking down at the street below.
Parked illegally in front of the main entrance was Patricia’s silver Bentley. She was standing near the glass doors, wearing her full mink coat, screaming at the young security guard who was holding his hands up in a defensive posture.
"Stay here," I told Lena, reaching for my coat.
"Claire, don't go down there," Lena warned. "She’s crazy. She’ll attack you."
"She can't hurt me anymore, Lena," I said softly. "The cameras are everywhere down there."
When I stepped out of the elevator into the lobby, Patricia’s voice was ringing off the marble walls.
"...Do you know who I am?! I will buy this miserable building and fire every single one of you by morning!"
"Mrs. Vance," I said, my voice cutting through her tirade as I walked smoothly across the lobby floor.
Patricia turned instantly. Her face was bright red, her expensive makeup smeared around her eyes, her hair disheveled. She looked like a woman whose entire world had been torn apart in less than twenty-four hours—because it had.
"You vicious, evil little monster!" Patricia shrieked, lunging toward me.
The security guard instantly stepped between us, putting a broad arm out to hold her back.
"Look at what you’ve done to my family!" Patricia screamed, her voice cracking with hysterical fury. "You ruined my son's career! You stole his company shares! You humiliated us in front of the entire country!"
I stopped five feet away from her, keeping my hands folded calmly in front of my wool coat. I looked at her—at the diamond rings, the mink coat, the expensive face lift—and I felt a deep, strange pity for her.
"I didn't ruin your son, Patricia," I said quietly. "You did."
Patricia froze, her mouth agape. "What did you say?"
"You spent thirty years teaching Derek that his actions had no consequences," I said, every word dripping with cold truth. "When he broke a boy's arm in high school, you paid the family to keep quiet. When he got kicked out of college for cheating, his father bought a new library wing. And when he grabbed me by the throat six months ago, you told me that 'men just have big tempers.'"
Patricia’s eyes widened in shock. "You... you were supposed to be a good wife to him! You were supposed to support him!"
"A good wife doesn't let her husband turn into a monster," I replied. "And a good mother doesn't pretend her son’s violence is a joke. You watched him drive my face into a table, Patricia. You laughed. You stood there in your silk dress and laughed while your son broke my nose."
The lobby was dead silent. The security guard was staring at Patricia with absolute disgust. Two neighbors who had walked in from the street stood by the mailboxes, listening to every single word.
Patricia looked around the lobby, suddenly realizing that her status, her money, and her name could no longer protect her from the sheer horror of what she had allowed her son to become.
"He... he was just excited," she whimpered, her voice suddenly losing its venom, falling into a pathetic, desperate whine. "It was his wedding day..."
"He’s going to trial, Patricia," I said, stepping closer to her, looking her straight in the eye. "And if you try to come near me, my apartment, or my family again, I will release the audio recording of you telling me to 'learn how to take a hit like a real Vance woman' from the night of our rehearsal dinner."
Patricia staggered back half a step as if I had physically struck her. She covered her mouth with a trembling hand, her face turning pale as ashes.
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"Leave my building, Patricia," I said softly. "Before I have the guard arrest you for harassment."
She didn't say another word. She turned on her expensive heels, her mink coat swishing around her ankles, and stumbled out into the rainy street like an old woman who had suddenly lost her way in the dark.
