Chapter 3 - The Cold Ledger
Grant reached the window, panting, his knuckles white as he gripped the glass frame. ""Are you proud of yourself? Look at what you're doing to us! Paige is having a panic attack! I have a reputation in this city!""
""You had a mother, too,"" I said, my voice barely louder than a whisper, but cold enough to freeze water. ""Until twenty-four hours ago.""
""I lost my temper!"" he spat, spitting flecks of saliva against the glass. ""You provoked me! Coming into my home, throwing that stupid piece of junk in front of my associates, talking down to me like I'm still a child! You've been manipulating me with your money my entire life!""
""I have never asked you for a single penny,"" I said. ""I bought this house for two point two million dollars cash. I paid sixty-four thousand dollars a year in property taxes. When your architectural firm had three dry quarters in 2024, who quietly contracted two commercial strip-mall designs through a dummy developer to keep your payroll afloat?""
Grant froze. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
""Did you really think an unknown boutique firm with zero commercial portfolio was suddenly selected by Piedmont Development Partners out of nowhere?"" I asked, looking directly into his wide, frightened eyes. ""I owned thirty percent of Piedmont, Grant. I guaranteed the loan for your office lease on South Boulevard. I paid for the foundation you stand on, and you used that ground to kick me when I was down.""
""Mom... please,"" his voice finally cracked, the arrogance instantly evaporating into the whining tone of the terrified boy he had always been beneath his expensive clothes. ""You can't sell the house. If word gets out that we got evicted, the partnership with the Henderson Group is dead. They only signed with me because they thought I had deep family backing. If they find out we're broke—""
""You are broke, Grant,"" I interrupted. ""Because true wealth is character, and you have declared moral bankruptcy. You hit a woman whose hands raised you. And you did it while your wife smiled.""
Behind him, Paige was running down the driveway in her silk slippers, her phone pressed to her ear. ""Grant! The bank just declined my debit card at the pharmacy! What is happening?""
""You'll find your personal joint account is still intact,"" I told him, looking past his shoulder at Paige. ""Whatever salary you drew from your firm is yours. But the Ashford family trust credit cards—the ones you used for your trips to Aspen, your wife’s designer handbags, and those vintage sports cars—have been canceled. The corporate card was in the name of Ashford Holdings. You committed grand larceny using it for personal luxury, but I won't prosecute if you leave this property without further incident by five o'clock.""
""You're leaving us with nothing?"" Grant gasped, tears of fury and terror welling in his eyes. ""Where are we supposed to go?""
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""You're a grown man with an architectural license and an able body,"" I said. ""Go build something of your own. Just like Arthur and I did.""
I nodded to Sam. Sam tapped the accelerator, and the sedan pulled smoothly away from the curb, leaving Grant standing in the middle of Hermitage Road while moving men carried Paige’s Louis Vuitton luggage out of the grand double doors.
