Chapter 216
Serena
My mother's face lit up. "Oh, I knew you'd love it! See, I told you, Richard—she has such fond memories of her grandfather. That's why we made sure to personalize it! To commemorate your success!"
"Who," I said very quietly, "plated this in gold?"
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
"Well, the silver was so dull," my mother continued, oblivious. "We thought—"
"Who. Added. The gold."
"It was Elena's idea!" my father blurted. "She said silver looked cheap. She thought the gold would make it more impressive, more CEO-like—"
I threw the case back into its box so hard the cardboard crumpled.
"The original silver," I said, my voice shaking with barely controlled rage, "sat in Grandfather's study for sixty years. He polished it himself every Sunday. I watched him do it." I looked up at them, my vision blurring. "That piece, untouched, would have meant something. It would have been the one thing—the only thing—I'd have actually wanted from you."
I took a breath, steadying myself.
"I would have looked at it and remembered him. I might have softened enough to sit through a lunch. Maybe even helped with whatever financial hole you've dug yourselves into this time. After all—" my voice turned cold, "—that's why you're really here, isn't it? To borrow money."
My mother's smile returned, vulture-quick. "Oh, well, yes, we do have some temporary cash flow issues—"
"But you destroyed it." I looked at Elena for the first time since they'd arrived. "You took something beautiful and irreplaceable, something that connected me to the only member of this family who ever gave a damn about me, and you spray-painted it gold like some kind of rapper's tooth."
"I was trying to help!" Elena's voice pitched higher. "I thought—"
"You thought wrong." I turned back to my parents. "And now you've ruined my morning, wasted my team's time, and insulted my grandfather's memory with your garbage. So here's what's going to happen. You're going to take your fake Hermès and your vinegar wine and your plastic diamonds, and you're going to leave. Right now."
"Serena—" my father started.
"Now."
For a moment, I thought he might actually argue. Then his face did something complicated—fury and shame and calculation all mixing together—and he turned on Elena instead.
"You stupid, stupid girl!" He grabbed her arm, shaking her. "I told you not to add anything! I told you to leave well enough alone!"
"But I thought—" Elena tried to pull away.
"You don't think!" My mother joined in, her voice rising to match his. "You never think! This is exactly like the Henderson situation—you ruin everything you touch!"
"That wasn't my fault—"
The slap was loud enough to echo off the walls.
Elena stumbled backward, one hand flying to her reddening cheek. For a second, she looked so shocked that I almost—almost—felt sorry for her.
Then my father was in her face, spittle flying as he shouted. "Why did I listen to you? Why did I waste three years betting on you instead of Serena? If I'd invested in her from the start—if I'd supported her business instead of throwing money at your pathetic attempts to marry rich—we wouldn't be in this mess!"
"Richard," my mother hissed, glancing nervously at my team. "Not here—"
"Yes, here!" He whirled on her. "She needs to hear this! They all need to hear it! We backed the wrong daughter, and now we're paying for it!"
I should have felt vindicated. Triumphant, even. Instead, I just felt tired.
"Enough," I said.
They all turned to look at me.
"I don't care whose fault it was. I don't care about your regrets or your financial problems or your pathetic attempts to butter me up with costume jewelry and ruined antiques. I care that you're still standing in my office when I told you to leave."
My father opened his mouth.
"If I have to call security," I continued, "I will. And trust me, that scene will be much more embarrassing than this one."
For a long moment, no one moved.
Then my mother bent to gather the shopping bags, her movements jerky and graceless. My father followed suit, roughly shoving tissue paper back into boxes. Elena just stood there, one hand still pressed to her cheek, staring at me with something that might have been hatred or might have been fear.
I couldn't tell anymore.
Didn't care to try.
"Out," I said softly.
They went.