Chapter 3 - The Desperate Descent into the Lobby
The sleek glass-and-steel lobby of Apex Heritage Development smelled of fresh coffee, polished concrete, and quiet, high-end success. From my second-floor mezzanine office overlooking the main reception area, I watched the scene unfold below with detached clinical fascination.
It was them.
My mother, Linda, looked ten years older, her designer linen blouse rumpled, her face streaked with mascara tears as she argued frantically with my receptionist. My father, David, stood behind her, his shoulders slumped, his once-arrogant posture replaced by a frantic, hunted slouch. He kept adjusting his tie, sweating through his custom suit jacket despite the air-conditioned chill of the lobby.
And then there was Ethan.
At twenty-four, my golden-boy brother looked like a walking disaster. He was wearing an expensive, wrinkled designer leather jacket, but his eyes were bloodshot, his hair unwashed, and his fingers trembled as he scrolled frantically through an empty smartphone screen. He didn't look like a pampered prince anymore; he looked like a terrified parasite whose host had finally died.
"I am telling you, we have an appointment!" my mother shrieked at the young receptionist, her voice echoing off the minimalist stone walls. "We are family! Tell the owner of this company that David and Linda Miller are here to see her right now! It's an emergency!"
"Ma'am, unless you have a scheduled corporate consultation with our managing director, I cannot let you past security," the receptionist replied coolly, displaying the unflappable poise I trained my staff to maintain.
"You don't understand!" David bellowed, stepping forward and slamming his palm onto the marble front desk. "Our entire livelihood is on the line! We need to see the CEO immediately! What is her name again? The paperwork said... Victoria... Victoria Vance?"
My birth name was Victoria, though everyone in my professional life called me Tori—a deliberate separation from the girl they had left in the dirt.
I took a slow sip of my coffee, adjusted the cuffs of my tailored charcoal blazer, and stepped out onto the glass-railed mezzanine.
"You can stop shouting in my lobby, David," I called out, my voice cutting cleanly through the spacious room.
All three of them froze. Slowly, synchronously, their heads snapped upward.
My mother’s jaw dropped so low I thought it might dislocate. My father’s face drained of every remaining drop of color until he looked like a corpse under fluorescent lights. And Ethan—golden-boy Ethan—stared up at me as if he were looking face-to-face with a resurrected ghost.
"V-Victoria?" my mother whispered, her voice cracking into a pathetic, high-pitched squeak. "Tori? Is that... is that really you?"
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"The one and only," I replied evenly, resting my hands on the glass railing. "Though I'm surprised you remember my name. Last I checked, you were too busy touring European art galleries to keep track of my existence."
Without waiting for their permission, I turned and walked back to my office, leaving my executive assistant to open the secure stairwell door and escort my broken family up to the lion's den.
