Chapter 4 - Cracks in the Armor
I didn't have to wait long. Less than two hours after I hung up on Evelyn, the elevator doors at the end of the executive suite chimed. I heard raised voices in the lobby, followed by the heavy, rhythmic stride of my brother Richard pacing down the hallway, with our sister Claire clicking closely behind him in her designer heels.
They didn't knock. Richard pushed past my secretary and threw my office door open so hard it bounced off the magnetic stop.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Jason?!" Richard bellowed, his face flushed red, his expensive tie slightly askew. "Mom is sitting on my living room sofa in complete hysterics! She’s hyperventilating! She said you cut off her cards, took her car, and put an eviction notice on her house!"
Claire pushed past him, her arms crossed tight over her fur coat, her eyes blazing with fury. "You’re acting like a psychopath, Jason! She’s an elderly woman! How is she supposed to survive without her allowance? She can't live on basic social security! And I just checked the family portal—you canceled the lease on the lake house too?!"
I didn't stand up. I stayed seated behind my mahogany desk, quietly signing a stack of legal documents with a black fountain pen. I didn't even look up at them until I finished my signature.
"Richard. Claire. Welcome," I said softly.
"Don't give us that cold, corporate act!" Richard shouted, slamming his palm onto my desk. "Fix this! Right now! Call the bank, reactivate her credit lines, and tell the real estate agents to pull the listing on Whispering Oaks. You’re embarrassing the entire family!"
I set the pen down, aligned the paper perfectly, and finally looked Richard straight in the eye.
"Richard," I said gently, "how much did you personally contribute to Mom’s living expenses over the last ten years?"
Richard blinked. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his mouth opening slightly before he closed it again. "That’s... that’s completely irrelevant. You’re the CEO. You have the liquidity—"
"Zero," I stated flatly. I turned to Claire. "And you, Claire? How much did you transfer to her account last year?"
Claire sneered, tossing her hair back. "I run a non-profit gallery, Jason! I don't have millions sitting around like you do! That doesn't mean you get to cut off our mother out of spite!"
"Both of you have lived off the corporate surplus of my company for a decade," I said, standing up slowly. I was taller than Richard, and as I stood to my full height, both of them took an involuntary step back. "I paid for your kids' private school application fees. I funded your summer vacations under the guise of 'family team building.' And on Christmas Eve, while my son sat on the floor, your children sneered at him while he held a broken pencil."
"It was a joke!" Claire snapped. "Mom was just trying to motivate him! Noah is soft, Jason! He spends all day crying and scribbling in his little notebooks! He needs to grow a spine!"
"My son is ten years old," I said, my voice dropping into a register that made the glass panels behind me hum softly. "And if you ever speak about him like that again, Claire, I will instruct my legal team to review the emergency loans I extended to your gallery three years ago. The ones with thirty-day callable clauses."
Claire’s face went completely pale. She shrank back against the wall, her lips trembling.
"Mom’s monthly operating expenses run around eleven thousand dollars," I continued, turning back to Richard. "Since you are so deeply concerned about her well-being, step up. Pay her rent. Fund her spa days. Buy her a new Mercedes."
"I... I can't do that!" Richard stammered, his bluster completely evaporating. "My liquidity is tied up in the market! I have tuition payments for the prep school, and—"
"Then buy her a pencil and tell her to study harder," I said smoothly.
I pressed the intercom button on my desk. "Security, please escort Mr. and Ms. Vance out of the building. Revoke their access cards and add them to the restricted visitor list."
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"You monster!" Richard yelled as two broad-shouldered security officers stepped into the room. "You can't do this to your own blood! You’re going to burn in hell for this!"
"I’m not burning anything, Richard," I said, picking up my pen again as they were led away. "I’m just stop funding the fire."
