Chapter 2 - Stripping the Illusions
Dean’s fingers shook violently as he fumbled with the double-deployant clasp of the platinum timepiece. The heavy watch hit the walnut table with a sharp, hollow clatter. Dean backed away, rubbing his reddened wrist, his eyes darting frantically toward Ruth and Celeste for protection. But nobody moved. Nobody breathed.
Gabriel picked up the watch. He weighed it in his palm. It felt repulsive. He placed it directly atop the receipt that documented its purchase: $8,400. Paid by debit card ending in 4109. Natalie’s private checking account from the Bucktown savings and loan.
“Andrew,” Gabriel said without raising his head.
His younger cousin Andrew, who had spent the last twenty minutes boasting about the vintage Mustang parked in the circular cobblestone driveway outside, slid the brass key fob across the table. His face was the color of curdled milk. “Gabe, man, I didn’t know. I swear I thought it was from the corporate entertainment pool. You always give cars for milestones.”
“The car was purchased from an estate auction in Rockford,” Natalie said quietly, her voice cutting through the heavy room. “You talked about that car every Thanksgiving since your father passed, Andrew. You said it was the only car your dad ever loved. I spent three months negotiating with the probate lawyer to get the price down to twelve thousand dollars. I took the weekend night shift delivering wedding cakes to cover the difference.”
Andrew buried his face in his hands, slumped over the dining table, completely silenced by an avalanche of shame.
Gabriel’s chest heaved. He looked at Celeste. “The earrings. Take them off.”
“Gabriel, this is monstrous!” Celeste shrieked, clutching her earlobes defensively. “I am your father’s sister! I raised you after your mother fell ill! You cannot humiliate me in my own brother’s ancestral home!”
“My father died six years ago, Celeste,” Gabriel replied, stepping around the table with slow, predatory deliberation. “And this house was purchased entirely with my capital when his estate went into receivership. You do not own a single brick, a single shingle, or the very chair your vanity is currently occupying. Take off the earrings, or I will have Marcus and the security team remove you through the service gate without your shoes.”
Sobbing with indignation and wounded pride, Celeste tore the sparkling studs from her ears and threw them violently onto the tablecloth. They rolled and settled against the silver napkin ring.
Grandmother Ruth’s cane struck the floorboards with a sharp rap. “Enough of this peasant theater! Gabriel, you are a Marlowe. You act like a common thug! So the girl bought gifts. So she worked at a shop. Does that erase the thousands of dollars you give these people every month? Does that erase the legacy of our name? Control your house, boy, before you become the laughingstock of the city!”
May you like
Gabriel stopped right beside Ruth’s chair. He looked down at the old matriarch who had dictated every family movement for half a century with an iron, manipulative fist. He reached down, grasped the soft, plum-colored cashmere shawl draped over her shoulders, and lifted it away.
“No, Grandmother,” Gabriel said, his voice dropping into a register of chilling clarity. “This family is not a legacy. It is a slaughterhouse of parasites. And for eight years, you have been drinking the blood of a woman who was too kind to tell me she was bleeding.”
