Chapter 5 - The Hospital Waiting Room
Piedmont Hospital’s cardiac observation waiting room smelled of industrial floor wax and stale coffee.
When I stepped off the elevator, the first person I saw was Fallon. She was sitting in a plastic armchair, her designer handbag clutched in her lap, mascara streaked down her cheeks. Grady stood beside her, awkwardly patting her shoulder while staring at his phone.
Mom was sitting near the window, looking ten years older than she had on graduation day. Her hair was unbrushed, and her expensive linen blazer was wrinkled.
As I walked down the linoleum corridor, Fallon looked up.
Her red-rimmed eyes flared with immediate, bitter hostility.
"What are you doing here?" she hissed, standing up. "Did you come to gloat? Did you come to watch everything fall apart?"
"Your mother called me and said Dad was in the hospital," I said, keeping my voice level. "I came to see if he's okay."
"He's okay because you weren't around to stress him out!" Fallon shouted, earning a sharp look from an elderly nurse at the triage desk. "This is all your fault! If you hadn't caused that massive scene at graduation, if you had just handed over your prize money like a decent daughter—"
"Fallon, stop it," Mom murmured from the window, her voice barely audible. "Just... stop."
Fallon stared at her mother in disbelief. "Mom? Are you defending her? She literally had us thrown out by security!"
"Your father is on the other side of those doors," Mom said, her voice cracking as a fresh tear spilled down her cheek. "And the accountant just left. He told us the truth, Fallon. The money from Vanguard... it's gone. Harrison Vance isn't answering his phone. His office in Coral Gables is completely empty."
Fallon's jaw dropped. "What do you mean, empty? What about my boutique's inventory loan?"
"There is no loan," Mom whispered. "There is nothing."
I stood a few feet away, watching them unravel. It wasn't a satisfying moment. It was hollow, tragic, and entirely predictable. They had lived their entire lives on a foundation of smoke and mirrors, believing that charm and expensive shoes could outrun basic math.
"Can I see him?" I asked quietly.
Mom looked up at me, her eyes hollow. "He's sleeping. The doctor said no visitors for another hour. But... Sloan?"
"Yeah, Mom?"
"The accountant said... he said you understand real estate portfolios. He said you look at commercial valuations every day." She swallowed hard, her pride finally shattering into dust. "Is there... is there any way to get the money back?"
May you like
I looked at my mother, then at Fallon, who was now trembling with silent panic as she realized her boutique, her luxury lifestyle, and her wedding plans were built on a pile of ash.
"No, Mom," I said softly. "There isn't."
