Chapter 6 - Shadows at the Rainier Club
The Rainier Club remained one of the last bastions of old-money exclusivity in downtown Seattle. Its dark oak paneling, leather-bound library archives, and hushed dining rooms had hosted generations of captains of industry, timber barons, and railroad magnates.
When I walked through the heavy mahogany doors at precisely 1:00 PM, the maître d’ greeted me with a deferential bow, immediately recognizing the CEO of Sterling-Vance Holdings.
“Right this way, Ms. Vance,” he murmured, guiding me past the main dining hall toward a secluded corner booth tucked beneath a stained-glass skylight.
Ethan was already seated, wearing a sharply tailored navy suit and a silk tie that didn't scream for attention, but quietly whispered quality. When he saw me approach, he stood up, pulled out my chair with old-school courtesy, and waited until I was seated before taking his own place.
“You’re punctual to the minute,” Ethan noted, signaling a waiter with a subtle lift of two fingers. “I’m starting to suspect you’re an algorithm disguised as a human being.”
“Algorithms don't drink Pinot Noir at lunch, Ethan,” I replied, opening the leather portfolio containing the joint venture agreement. “Though given the week I’ve had, maybe I should consider it.”
The waiter appeared instantly, taking our orders with practiced discretion before vanishing back into the woodwork.
Ethan leaned across the table, his eyes studying my face with a sharp, analytical intensity. “Your parents tried to contact my father this morning.”
I didn't look up from the contract pages. “Did he take the call?”
“Of course not,” Ethan said. “My father had their numbers blocked across all corporate and personal devices the moment the forensic audit hit our desk. But Richard left a rambling, desperate voicemail on my mother’s private line. He was begging for a personal loan of fifty thousand dollars just to cover their rent and legal retainers for the next month.”
“And?”
“My mother deleted it without listening to the second half,” Ethan said smoothly. “Your family’s social credit in this city has officially hit absolute zero. Within forty-eight hours, the country club revoked their memberships for ‘conduct unbecoming,’ and their closest friends have acted like they’ve contracted a contagious disease.”
“When your entire identity is built on how much money people think you have, losing the money means losing your humanity,” I said, my voice entirely devoid of pity. “They taught me that lesson a long time ago. I’m just making sure they finally learned it too.”
Ethan nodded slowly, resting his chin on his knuckles. “You know, looking back... it’s amazing how blind I was. I actually thought Brielle was just spoiled. I didn't realize the entire family was a manufactured facade designed to trap an old-money heir into subsidizing their debts.”
“You weren't the first victim of their social engineering, Ethan, and you won't be the last,” I said, sliding the contract across the table toward him along with my gold fountain pen. “Sign on page twelve, initial paragraphs four through seven, and let’s officially lock down the Bellingham mill before the bankruptcy judge changes his mind.”
Ethan picked up the pen, flipping directly to the designated page. Just as the nib touched the paper, a sharp, disruptive clatter broke the hushed silence of the Rainier Club dining room.
We both looked up.
Striding past the mahogany screens toward our table was a figure I hadn't expected to see outside of a courtroom: my mother, Diane.
May you like
She looked a decade older than she had three days ago. Her hair was unwashed, her makeup was smeared beneath her eyes, and she was wearing a mismatched outfit that looked like it had been grabbed blindly from a discount rack. Behind her, a flustered maître d’ was trying frantically to intercept her, muttering apologies about dress codes and membership requirements.
“Claire!” Diane shrieked, her voice echoing off the vaulted wooden ceilings of the exclusive dining room, turning the heads of every prominent executive and investor in the room.
