Chapter 8 - THE PRICE OF PRIDE
I stared at the leather envelope, then slowly looked up into Vivian's hollow eyes.
"Ethan is facing assault charges because he struck a person on video in front of six hundred witnesses, Vivian," I said calmly. "The state prosecutor brought those charges, not me."
"But if you submit a letter saying it was a misunderstanding..." Vivian whimpered, tears spilling over her wrinkled cheeks, "they'll give him probation! They won't send him to prison! He can't survive in prison, Nora! He’s a Mercer!"
"He was a Mercer," I corrected her gently. "A name that apparently meant he could raise his hand against a woman and expect her to apologize for bleeding on his shirt."
Vivian flinched, taking a step back as if I had struck her.
"I raised him to be strong!" she cried out, her old arrogance flaring up for a brief, ugly second before dying out. "I raised him to protect our family standing! You don't know what it was like after my husband died... the debts, the creditors knocking on our door every night! I had to keep up appearances! I had to make sure people respected us!"
"You didn't raise him to be strong, Vivian," I said, standing up from my chair and walking over to the floor-to-ceiling window. "You raised him to be a coward who hid behind wealth he didn't earn. And when that wealth disappeared, he had nothing left inside him except violence."
"We gave you a home!" Vivian screamed, her voice echoing off the glass walls. "We gave you a title! You were nobody before you met my son!"
I turned around slowly, looking at her with quiet authority.
"My mother owns thirty percent of the ports on this coast, Vivian," I said. "I had more wealth in my trust fund at age ten than your family generated in three generations. I chose to live simply because I wanted a real life, not a hollow museum built on debt and vanity. I thought Ethan was real. I was wrong."
Vivian slumped into one of the leather guest chairs, covering her face as loud, ragged sobs tore through her throat.
"What am I supposed to do?" she wept. "I have no money. The bank took the house. My friends won't answer my calls... they laugh at me, Nora. They laugh at me in the clubs!"
"Then you finally know how it feels," I said, walking back to my desk and picking up the leather envelope containing her last asset. I slid it back across the table toward her.
"Keep your summer house, Vivian," I said. "Sell it. Rent a small apartment. Learn how to cook your own meals. Learn how to live without looking down on people. That is the only mercy I am going to give you."
May you like
Vivian looked at the envelope, then looked up at me, realizing with absolute clarity that there would be no deal, no rescue, and no return to her old life.
She picked up the envelope with trembling fingers, stood up slowly, and walked out of my office without saying another word.
