Chapter 2 - The Midnight Meltdown
I stepped into my loft just before nine o'clock. The apartment was completely dark, save for the soft blue ambient glow of the city skyline pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I dropped my keys into the ceramic bowl by the entryway, kicked off my practical black flats, and finally took a long, unimpeded breath. The suffocating smell of catered banquet food, white gardenias, and institutional lemon bleach evaporated from my senses, replaced by the clean, quiet cedar scent of my own home.
I hadn't even hung up my light coat before my phone began chiming with a barrage of voicemail notifications.
I walked over to the marble kitchen island, poured a glass of cold water, and pressed play on the speakerphone.
The first recording was from Camille. Her voice was unhinged, sharp enough to cut glass, stripped entirely of the sweet, polished bride persona she had performed for the photographers two hours earlier.
""Rowan! Pick up your damn phone right now! What the hell did you tell Dad's associates before you walked out? Julian’s father just pulled Dad aside into the hallway during the father-daughter dance! He said their development board just received an automated system cancellation email from Asterline Engineering! Julian’s dad is on their board! Dad is having a literal coronary in the corridor and Mom is crying in the powder room! Call Dad back right now and fix whatever petty stunt you pulled, or I swear to God you are completely dead to this family!""
The voicemail beeped and cut off.
The second message was from my father. His voice shook with an explosive mixture of fury, panic, and wounded patriarchal authority.
""Rowan. I don't know what kind of childish prank you think you're playing, or how you even know anyone at Asterline, but this is not a game. I just spoke to our procurement manager. He said our priority intake account was manually revoked from an administrative IP tied to a Mercer family profile. If this is your idea of getting back at me because your mother asked you to help out with dinner service tonight, you have crossed a catastrophic line. We have sixty-two million dollars in bonded commercial construction tied up in the Apex filing on Monday. You call whoever you know at that agency and tell them it was an input error, or don't bother ever showing your face at our house again!""
I leaned back against the counter, taking a slow sip of water.
It was staggering to hear the sheer arrogance in his words. Even with his company's survival hanging over the edge of a cliff, he still couldn't fathom that I had any real power. In his mind, I was merely an annoying pest who had somehow tripped a wire or complained to a low-level clerk. He couldn't conceive of a reality where his daughter—the girl he banished to the service entrance—actually held the deed to the ground he was standing on.
My screen buzzed again. This time it was an incoming call from Derek.
I hesitated for a second, then slid my thumb across the green icon.
""Rowan?"" Derek sounded breathless, the distant thump of wedding bass and drunken laughter still leaking through the background. ""Oh thank God. Rowan, you have to talk to Dad. The wedding is completely falling apart.""
""The wedding looks fine from here, Derek,"" I said quietly. ""Camille has her dress, her husband, and two hundred guests. She doesn't need me there. She made that abundantly clear.""
""Look, I'm sorry about the seating thing, okay? I really am,"" Derek stammered, his words slurring slightly around the edges. ""I told Mom it looked messed up, but she insisted Camille wanted the tables reserved exclusively for high-tier donors and Julian’s family connections. She said you wouldn't care because you hate formal parties anyway! But Rowan, whatever you did with Asterline—Dad is out in the parking lot screaming at our account director. He threw his scotch glass against the country club fountain. Julian’s father looks like he’s about to walk out and take the entire bridal party with him. They're saying Mercer Architectural breached their engineering warranty!""
""I didn't breach anything, Derek,"" I replied calmly. ""Asterline fulfilled every single active project on Dad's ledger. The three pending foundations that were under review will be completed and stamped by Tuesday morning as agreed.""
""Then why did they cancel the new permits? Why did the priority status vanish?"" Derek pleaded. ""Dad says Asterline handles their emergency turnaround! Without that priority stamp, the city inspector won't even look at the Apex Tower blueprints before the zoning cut-off on Monday! The city council votes at five o'clock! If the permit isn't logged, the city revokes the anchor contract and hands the whole high-rise build to Sterling Construction!""
""Then Dad should have hired an in-house engineering team that can meet deadlines instead of running a skeleton crew to pocket higher profits,"" I said coldly.
""Rowan, please! Why are you acting like this? What does an engineering agency have to do with you anyway? Did you report Dad's firm to their billing department because you were mad about an apron?""
I let out a short, hollow laugh that carried no warmth whatsoever. ""Derek, ask yourself a very simple question. Why would a multibillion-dollar engineering consultancy listen to a single word from a daughter you all treated like kitchen help?""
He went dead silent.
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""Goodnight, Derek. Enjoy the cake.""
I disconnected the call before he could formulate an answer, powered my cell phone completely down, and tossed it into the bedside drawer. For the first time in ten years, I slept through the entire night without setting an alarm.
