Chapter 3 - The Wolf at the Door
The morning light broke over the harbor, painting the gray Atlantic waters in pale shades of gold. I hadn't slept a wink. I remained behind my desk, dressed in the same black funeral dress, watching the tide roll against the seawall we had reinforced with our own bare hands thirty years ago.
At 8:30 AM, the heavy oak door of my office swung open without a knock.
Ethan strode in, carrying a leather briefcase and an oversized cardboard storage box. He was wearing his victory suit, smelling of expensive cologne and victory, flanked by Vanessa, who was tapping furiously on her smartphone while chewing on a pastry.
"Mom," Ethan said, dropping the cardboard box onto my antique coffee table with a hollow thud. "I told you to call me when you cooled down, but you didn't answer your phone. So I came up myself."
I looked at him calmly. "What is that box for, Ethan?"
Vanessa looked up from her screen, blowing a loose curl out of her face with visible irritation. "For your personal belongings, Mom. Be reasonable. The Sterling transition team arrives at ten to begin inventory. We can't have your old photo frames and knitting supplies cluttering the executive suite."
"You spent twenty minutes in the ballroom last night making a scene," Ethan chimed in, leaning against my desk with his arms crossed. "People were whispering, Mom. Do you know how embarrassing that was for us? Mr. Sterling was standing right there. We had to apologize to half the city council for your outburst."
"My outburst?" I murmured. "I was objecting to the theft of my life's work."
"It wasn't theft!" Vanessa snapped, stepping closer, her tone dripping with venom. "It's progress! You’re sixty-one years old! You have arthritis, you refuse to upgrade the booking software, and you treat the maids like they're family! This is an eighteen-million-dollar asset, Mom, not a bed-and-breakfast in the woods! We saved this hotel from your outdated ideas."
"And what about your husband's debts, Vanessa?" I asked quietly, keeping my eyes fixed on hers.
Vanessa froze. A brief flicker of panic flashed across her polished features before she masked it with a sneer. "What are you talking about? Bradley is an investor."
"Bradley is a parasite," I replied smoothly. "And you, Ethan... did you honestly think I wouldn't find out what happened to the third-floor expansion fund?"
Ethan's face hardened, his smirk vanishing into an ugly, impatient scowl. He reached into his coat pocket and tossed a set of keys onto my blotter.
"The condo down in Boca Raton is fully paid for," Ethan said, his voice cold and devoid of any filial warmth. "The driver will take you to the airport at three. You get twelve thousand dollars a month from our trust fund, on the condition that you do not contact our board, you do not talk to the press, and you never step foot on this property again."
He leaned down until his face was inches from mine.
"You had your run, Mom. But the game changed while you were busy checking bedsheets. Sign the final release, take your Florida condo, and enjoy your retirement. Because if you fight us, we'll petition the court for a conservatorship and prove you’re suffering from cognitive decline. Don't make us do that to you."
The room was suffocatingly quiet.
I looked at my son—the boy I had nursed through pneumonia, the boy whose college tuition Robert and I had paid by remortgaging our home twice.
"I won't be going to Florida, Ethan," I said softly.
May you like
Vanessa sighed, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling. "God, she’s impossible. Let’s go, Ethan. The Sterling attorneys are waiting downstairs in the boardroom. Let security pack her junk."
They turned their backs and walked out, leaving the empty cardboard box sitting on my table.
