Chapter 7 - Forty-Eight Dollars
Eleanor scrambled forward on her hands and knees, clutching at the hem of my tailored slacks. ""Blair! You can't put us out on the streets! I gave birth to you! I gave you piano lessons! I introduced you to high society!""
""You threw my clothes into a puddle because I refused to marry an eighty-year-old man who wanted a trophy doll to beat behind closed doors,"" I snapped, pulling my hem out of her grasp with cold disgust. ""You watched me pack one cardboard suitcase while the landlord threatened to call the police on me. You stood in the doorway and laughed while Harper poured milk over my high school diploma.""
Harper shrank back against the sideboard, tears cutting black mascara tracks down her pale cheeks. She didn't dare speak. The haughty, cruel debutante who had shoved me in the lobby had completely vanished, replaced by a terrified girl with no money, no fiancé, and no future.
I opened my handbag once more. I reached into the zippered side pocket and pulled out a small, worn leather money clip. I pulled out two crisp twenty-dollar bills, a five-dollar bill, and three single dollar bills.
Exactly forty-eight dollars.
I dropped the crumpled cash onto Eleanor’s lap.
""That is forty-eight dollars,"" I said evenly. ""The exact amount your husband slipped into my pocket while you weren't looking ten years ago. He thought forty-eight dollars was enough to wash his hands of his daughter’s survival. Take it. Divide it however you like.""
Eleanor stared down at the green paper resting on her designer skirt as if it were burning coals. ""Forty-eight dollars? Blair, that won't even pay for an Uber to a hotel!""
""Then you can take the bus,"" I answered. ""The inbound Silver Line stops right outside the front lobby. A one-way ticket is two dollars and seventy-five cents. If you budget carefully, you can afford a shared room at the Budget Inn on Route 1. The rooms smell heavily of bleach, Eleanor. I know from experience. You’ll have to get used to it.""
""Blair, please..."" Richard begged, leaning forward with his head in his trembling hands. ""I'm sick. My heart... the doctor said I need bypass surgery in three months. We have no insurance left.""
I turned my eyes toward my father. A knot tightened in my throat, but I forced it down, remembering the ten freezing nights I spent sleeping in the back of an unheated van behind a laundromat, coughing until my ribs cracked, while Richard Sterling attended charity galas in tuxedo jackets.
""You had forty years to build an honest life, Dad,"" I said, my voice softer now, but cut from iron. ""You squandered your inheritance on bad horses, expensive whiskey, and Eleanor’s social climbing vanity. You traded your eldest daughter away to cover your margin calls. You don't get to ask for mercy from the child you tossed into a trash heap.""
Arthur Keating stood up, buttoning his jacket with crisp finality. ""Marcus, have your security escort these individuals off the premises. If any of them set foot on an Opeline property, file immediate trespass charges.""
""Understood, Mr. Keating,"" Marcus replied, gesturing to four uniformed guards who moved in swiftly, grabbing Eleanor and Harper by the arms.
""Don't touch me! I am Eleanor Sterling!"" my mother shrieked, kicking wildly as they hauled her toward the service elevators. ""Blair, you ungrateful monster! You will burn in hell for this! I cursed the day you were born!""
Her screams grew muffled as the heavy fire-rated elevator doors slid shut. Richard walked out behind them on his own feet, his head hanging low, refusing to look back, his shoulders slumped as if carrying the weight of a ruined lifetime.
The penthouse suite was finally peaceful again.
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Arthur turned to me with an approving nod. ""You handled that with far more grace than they deserved, Blair.""
""It wasn't about grace, Arthur,"" I whispered, turning to gaze out the floor-to-ceiling glass at the dark expanse of the harbor. ""It was about closing the ledger.""
