Chapter 26
Elara's POV
"Well, Marcus." Martha's voice could've frozen hell over. "Since you're all too proud to accept family help, don't come crying when you can't make ends meet."
My stomach dropped. Here it comes.
She leaned forward, and I caught a whiff of her expensive perfume—something floral and suffocating. "That warehouse management job you're so proud of? Rick's my cousin. One phone call, and you're done."
Mom's hand clenched around mine so hard I felt my bones grind together. I glanced at her—she'd gone sheet-white, lips pressed into a thin line.
Dad's hands were balled into fists on the tablecloth, knuckles bone-white. But he didn't say anything. Just sat there, jaw working like he was chewing glass.
Derrick settled back in his chair, arms crossed. Waiting. He knew exactly what he was doing—dangling our survival over a cliff and watching us squirm.
My pulse hammered in my ears. The urge to flip this table and tell them all to go to hell was so strong I could taste it.
But that wouldn't help Dad keep his job. Wouldn't put food on our table.
"Uncle Derrick." Vivian's voice cut through the tension, dripping with fake sympathy. She'd finally looked up from her phone, her glossy lips curved in what she probably thought was a kind smile. "Cousin Elara, you really should talk some sense into Uncle Marcus."
I wanted to reach across the table and wipe that smug look off her face.
She tilted her head, studying me like I was a particularly pathetic puppy. "I mean, Ethan needs recommendation letters for job applications, right? And with your asthma being so severe, those medical bills aren't going to pay themselves."
Her eyes glittered with satisfaction. She was enjoying this—the power trip of watching us squirm while she played generous benefactor.
"If you upset Dad," she continued, voice saccharine-sweet, "your whole family will be blacklisted in the werewolf community. You won't have anywhere to go."
The casual cruelty of it made my blood boil. This wasn't about business or family obligations. This was about control. About keeping us desperate and grateful.
I took a slow breath, forcing my racing heart to calm. Getting emotional wouldn't help. I needed to think.
Vivian was right about one thing—Goldman family had connections. But she was also showing her hand. If they were this desperate to strong-arm us, it meant they needed Dad. Which meant we had leverage.
I just had to find it.
"Cousin Vivian's absolutely right." I kept my voice level, almost pleasant. "Medical bills are expensive."
Martha's eyebrows shot up. Derrick leaned forward slightly, probably expecting me to cave.
"I remember three years ago when Mom needed surgery." I met Martha's gaze dead-on. "We asked Uncle Derrick for a loan to cover the medical costs. He said no."
The color drained from Martha's face.
"We ended up paying for it ourselves," I continued, my voice steady despite the fury churning in my gut. "Dad worked double shifts for six months. So this 'lifeline' the Goldman family keeps offering? We've never actually received it."
Ethan sat up straighter beside me. I could feel his shock radiating off him in waves.
Martha's mouth opened and closed like a fish. "That's—we had our own financial difficulties at the time—"
"Of course." I gave her my best understanding smile. It felt like swallowing broken glass. "I'm just saying, we've learned not to count on Goldman family generosity."
I turned to Vivian, whose smug expression had frozen into something brittle. "As for Ethan's job prospects, he'll find work on his own merit. We don't need anyone's charity."
Ethan's hand found mine under the table and squeezed. Hard.
Derrick's face had gone an ugly shade of red. "You ungrateful little—"
"Ungrateful?" The word came out sharper than I intended. I reined it back in, forcing calm into my voice. "Uncle Derrick, with all due respect, you're not offering help. You're offering a transaction."
His eyes narrowed to slits. "Watch your tone, girl."
"I'm just being honest." I kept my hands folded on the table, even though they wanted to shake. "You want Dad to use his old connections to smooth over your illegal development project. In exchange, you're threatening to destroy his livelihood if he refuses."
"That's not—" Martha started.
"That's exactly what this is." I cut her off, my voice cold. "And you're banking on us being too desperate to say no."
Derrick stood up so fast his chair nearly toppled backward. "You have no idea what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" I rose to meet his glare, even though my legs felt like jelly. "The pack rules you keep invoking—strength, hierarchy, knowing your place—those only seem to apply when they benefit you."
My heart was trying to hammer its way out of my chest, but I couldn't stop now.
"When Dad got exiled, you told him 'pack law is pack law.' Rules couldn't be bent, not even for family." I paused, letting that sink in. "But now you want him to break those same rules to bail you out of a mess you created."
Derrick's face had gone from red to purple. "How dare you—"
"She's right."
The words were so quiet I almost didn't hear them.
Dad's voice. Rough, like he'd swallowed gravel.
Every head at the table swiveled toward him.
He was still staring at his plate, but his hands had stopped shaking. "Elara's right, Derrick."
"Marcus—" Mom's voice cracked.
But Dad shook his head slowly, like he was waking up from a long sleep. "When I got exiled five years ago, I begged you to help me appeal the decision. You said the Alpha's word was law. That I'd brought shame on the family by questioning orders."
He finally looked up, and I saw something in his eyes I'd never seen before. Not anger—something harder. Colder.
"That order I refused?" Dad's voice was steady now. "The Alpha wanted me to kill a group of humans who'd accidentally witnessed a shift. Teenagers. They were just camping in the wrong place at the wrong time."
My breath caught. I'd known Dad was exiled for refusing an order, but not this. Not that the stakes had been innocent lives.
"I told the Alpha it was murder," Dad continued. "He said it was necessary. When I refused, he stripped my rank and cast me out." His gaze locked on Derrick. "And you stood there and told me I deserved it for not knowing my place."
Derrick's mouth worked soundlessly.
"Now you're asking me to compromise what little integrity I have left." Dad's hands were steady on the table. "To help you illegally develop protected land because you're too cheap to do it the right way."
"It's not the same—" Derrick started.
"It's exactly the same." Dad stood up, and for the first time since we'd arrived, he didn't look small. Didn't look beaten down.
He looked like the man who'd once been trusted enough to serve directly under an Alpha.
"You want me to trade my principles for your profit." Dad's voice didn't waver. "The answer is no."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Martha had gone white as a sheet. Vivian looked between her parents like she couldn't believe what she was hearing.
Derrick's expression cycled through shock, disbelief, and finally settled on pure rage.
"I see." His voice could've cut steel. "So that's how it is."
"Yeah." Ethan shoved his chair back and stood up, his voice shaking with barely controlled fury. "That's exactly how it is. You're not offering family help—you're holding our futures hostage and calling it a favor."
"Ethan—" Mom reached for his arm.
"No, Mom." Ethan's jaw was set in that stubborn way that reminded me so much of Dad. "I'm done sitting here listening to them tear you down."
He turned to Derrick, and I saw his hands were shaking—not with fear, but with rage. "You want to blacklist us? Go ahead. At least we'll still be able to look at ourselves in the mirror."
Martha shot to her feet, her chair screeching against the floor. "Well. I can see where your children learned their appalling manners, Marcus."
"Our manners?" I heard myself laugh, sharp and bitter. "You invited us here to blackmail Dad into helping you break pack law, and you're worried about manners?"
Derrick's hand slammed onto the table hard enough to make the silverware jump. Several diners at nearby tables looked over.
"Enough!" His voice carried across the restaurant. "You want to throw away the only lifeline you'll ever get? Fine. But don't come crawling back when you're sleeping in your car."
Dad's voice was quiet but firm. "We won't."
He turned to Mom and held out his hand. "Emily. Kids. We're leaving."