Chapter 3 - The Reality Of The High-Rise
I didn't flinch. I didn't raise my voice. I looked at Margaret’s smug grin, then at Bradley’s gleeful expression, and finally at Alexander, whose skin had turned completely gray.
“I’m delighted you’re enjoying Alexander’s paycheck, Margaret,” I said pleasantly, checking the gold watch on my wrist. “Because beginning today, you will have plenty of opportunities to support him in return.”
Margaret frowned, clutching her Hermès bag closer. “What on earth is that supposed to mean?”
“Alexander decided yesterday that our marital expenses are completely separate,” I explained calmly. “He believes that since we already live in this house, maintaining our lifestyle is completely free. He believes electricity, water, high-speed fiber internet, private security, landscaping, and property taxes are mythical concepts invented by people who worry too much about spreadsheets.”
I turned to Alexander. “Since you gave away your entire income and have zero liquid capital until next month, I assume your mother will be handling your half of the monthly obligations.”
Margaret let out a sharp, mocking laugh that bounced off the marble walls. “Don't be ridiculous, Eleanor! A mother does not pay bills for her grown son’s house! This estate belongs to the two of you! You make good money doing whatever little computer consulting work you do in that office. Pay the bills yourself! Stop trying to punish my boy just because he loves his mother more than he loves your selfish demands!”
“Mom, wait—” Alexander tried to intervene, raising a hand.
“No, Alexander! Let me speak!” Margaret scolded him sharply. “She has always been cold! She has always acted superior just because her family had money! Well, you are the man of the house now! You make ten thousand dollars a month! You don’t need to beg her for anything!”
Bradley nodded enthusiastically from the sofa, already kicking his dirty sneakers onto my hand-knotted Persian rug. “Yeah, Eleanor, chill out. What’s the big deal? It’s just some utility bills. You’re loaded anyway.”
I smiled—a slow, razor-sharp smile that finally sent a jolt of genuine terror through Alexander’s spine. He knew that smile. He had seen me use that exact smile when negotiating eight-figure corporate mergers across Manhattan boardrooms.
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“You’re entirely right, Margaret,” I said softly. “I don't need to ask Alexander for a single cent. And starting today, Alexander will no longer receive a single cent of subsidy from me. Enjoy your new car, Bradley. Enjoy your shopping spree, Margaret. And Alexander... I strongly suggest you review the title paperwork inside your desk drawer before five o'clock tonight.”
Without waiting for another word, I picked up my briefcase, walked out the front door, and slid into my Porsche. Through the tinted window, I saw Margaret laughing dismissively while Alexander stood frozen on the porch, his eyes wide with a dawning, suffocating panic.
