Chapter 7 - The Desperate Visit
The main lobby of the Grand Mercer Hotel was a masterpiece of polished Italian marble, soaring glass columns, and towering floral arrangements. But today, the serene elegance was shattered by a screeching voice echoing across the atrium.
“Let go of me! Do you have any idea who I am?” Lydia yelled, flailing her arms as two stone-faced security guards formed an immovable barrier between her and the private elevators. “My sister is upstairs! Maya Ellis! She is my sister, and she works for this company! You have no right to touch me!”
Guests in expensive coats were whispering and filming the spectacle on their smartphones. Lydia looked completely unhinged. The glamorous facade she had worn the previous evening had completely melted away. Her mascara was smeared, her designer trench coat was wrinkled, and her eyes were bloodshot from crying and sleeplessness.
The private elevator chime rang, and the doors slid open.
Nathaniel and I stepped out, flanked by the hotel’s head of security.
When Lydia saw me, her jaw dropped in absolute shock. She stared at my impeccably tailored charcoal suit, my polished leather pumps, and my styled hair. For a brief second, she looked as though she were seeing a ghost. Then, her desperation took over.
“Maya!” she cried out, rushing forward, only to be firmly blocked by the security guard’s outstretched arm. “Maya, thank God! Tell these meatheads to get their hands off me! Tell them I’m your sister!”
I walked forward slowly, stopping three feet away from her. I didn't feel angry. Looking at her now, stripped of her petty power and vindictive cruelty, all I felt was a profound sense of sadness for how hollow she truly was.
“What are you doing here, Lydia?” I asked evenly.
Lydia’s lower lip trembled, and she dropped to her knees right there on the polished marble floor, clasping her hands together in front of her chest. It was a theatrical, humiliating display meant to manipulate everyone watching.
“Maya, you have to help me!” she wailed, tears streaming down her blotchy cheeks. “Everything is falling apart! Mrs. Kensington canceled her entire supply contract this morning! She called five other major boutique owners, and by noon, four of my primary wholesale accounts were terminated! They said they refuse to do business with someone who abuses family!”
I crossed my arms, watching her without blinking. “Actions have consequences, Lydia.”
“You don't understand!” she sobbed, crawling an inch closer against the security guard’s stance. “The bank called! Because those contracts were canceled, they called in my commercial loan! If I can't deposit two hundred thousand dollars by Friday afternoon, they are going to repossess my store, my inventory, and my house! Everything I’ve worked for will be gone!”
She looked up at me with pleading, bloodshot eyes. “Maya, please! You’re rich now! I saw the tech news releases on Twitter an hour ago—you’re the Chief Technology Officer of Mercer Hospitality! You have millions! Two hundred thousand dollars is pocket change to you! Pay off my bank loan, Maya! I’m your sister! Blood is thicker than water! You can't let your own flesh and blood end up homeless!”
A few onlookers in the lobby murmured, watching to see how the glamorous new executive would handle her sobbing, destitute sister.
Nathaniel stepped up beside me, placing a supportive hand on the small of my back. He didn't say a word, allowing me total control over how to handle this moment.
I took a deep, steadying breath.
“When my company laid me off, Lydia,” I said, my voice quiet yet crystal clear, cutting through the vast lobby, “I came to you asking for a temporary place to sleep while I applied for jobs. You had a four-bedroom house with three empty guest rooms. Instead, you put me in an unheated utility closet.”
Lydia flinched as if struck.
“You took my car keys so I couldn't interview,” I continued, counting the grievances with cold clarity. “You forced me to scrub your floors, cook your meals, and endure your insults every single day. And when I accidentally spilled wine while serving your wealthy friends like a slave, you told everyone at that table that I was a useless, pathetic parasite who deserved to starve.”
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“I was stressed! I was trying to impress them!” Lydia cried out, burying her face in her hands. “I’m sorry! I swear I’m sorry!”
“You’re not sorry for how you treated me, Lydia,” I said, looking down at her with unwavering conviction. “You’re only sorry that the person you kicked while she was down turned out to hold the keys to the future you wanted so badly.”
