Chapter 78
Serena
My father's face went from pale to crimson in the space of a heartbeat. His shoulders jerked, hands slamming onto the table hard enough to make the cheap flatware rattle. "What the fuck did you just say?"
The profanity hung in the air—shocking from a man who'd spent my entire childhood lecturing me about proper language and decorum. His voice shook with barely controlled rage. "You want to repeat that? Say it again, I dare you."
But my mother—cunning, calculating Catherine Vance—placed a hand on his shoulder. Light. Restraining. Her eyes never left mine, and I watched her reassess the situation in real time. The tailored blazer I was wearing. The confidence in my posture. The fact that I'd walked in here like I owned the place.
"Richard." Her voice was silk over steel. "I'm sure Serena didn't come all this way just to gloat about our... temporary difficulties." She tilted her head, studying me like I was a puzzle she was trying to solve. "Did you, darling?"
"Oh, don't waste your breath on her." Elena's voice dripped with venom as she pushed back from the table. "Mom, seriously. Just throw her out. Have you forgotten what she did last time? How she humiliated me? Humiliated all of us?"
I pulled out a chair—my old seat at the table, actually—and sat down without waiting for permission. The scrape of wood against marble echoed through the tense silence.
"Actually, I'll stay." I reached for the last hard-boiled egg sitting alone in a chipped porcelain bowl at the center of the table. The only one left. My fingers closed around it as three pairs of eyes tracked the movement—sharp, hungry, resentful.
Tap. Tap. Tap. The shell cracked under my knuckles as I peeled it with deliberate slowness, letting fragments fall onto the table like snow. "You know, Mother is right. She's always been the pragmatist in this family."
I looked up, meeting Elena's furious gaze as I took a bite of the egg they'd probably been saving.
"If everyone here shared your particular talents, Elena—your gift for clinging to petty resentments while the house burns down around you—you'd all be sleeping under a bridge by Christmas."
Elena's face flushed. "You—"
"Enough!" My father's fist hit the table again. "What the hell do you want, Serena? Spit it out."
But my mother was faster. She leaned forward, and I watched greed flicker to life in her eyes like a candle being lit. That familiar, hungry look I'd seen a thousand times before.
"Isn't it obvious?" My mother's voice cut through the tension, sharp and calculating. "She's not here to gloat. Look at how she's dressed—this isn't a social call." Her gaze raked over my tailored suit with predatory assessment. "Maybe she's finally realized we're family after all. She's here to help us."
The certainty in her voice was absolute, the same tone she'd used when arranging my life like pieces on a chessboard. I watched her mind work, saw the exact moment she shifted from assessment to strategy.
"Wesley's moved on—unfortunate timing, that—but there are other options. The Morrison family's eldest just returned from London. The Hendersons have that nephew making waves in commercial real estate. A suitable marriage could salvage everything. If you were willing to reconnect with the right people—"
I bit into the egg. Chewed. Swallowed.
"Shut up."
The command cracked through the room like a whip.
"You're right about one thing—I am here to help." I set down what remained of the egg, my voice flat and cold. "But I'm not here to sell myself like livestock to fix the mess you idiots created. So let's get one thing crystal clear, Mother: I'm done being your solution to problems you're too incompetent to solve yourselves. I'm not your bargaining chip."
My mother recoiled as if I'd slapped her. "What did you just—"
"I told you!" Elena stood up, her chair screeching. "I told you she was useless! Mom, Dad, just throw her out. She's wasting our time with this attitude when we have actual problems to—"
I reached for the milk carton sitting forlornly in the center of the table. The last bit of dairy in the house, probably. I picked it up, examined it, then grabbed an empty glass and poured every last drop into it. The carton crumpled in my hand as I tossed it aside.
Then I drank. Long, slow gulps while three pairs of eyes watched me with a mixture of confusion, fury, and—if I wasn't mistaken—fear.
I set down the empty glass with a satisfied sigh.
"Like I said. I'm here to help you." I leaned back in my chair, crossing my legs. "Your company is hemorrhaging money. Vance Heritage is barely keeping the lights on. You're drowning in debt, your reputation is in tatters, and based on what I'm seeing here—" I gestured at the pathetic breakfast spread, "—you're about one month from bankruptcy."
My father's jaw worked. My mother's hands clutched at her napkin. Elena had gone very still.
"So here's what I'm offering." I let each word land with weight. "I'll buy the company. I'll assume all the debts—every single penny you owe. I'll take on the liability, the headaches, the mess you've made of Grandfather's legacy."
I paused, watching hope bloom across their faces like poisonous flowers.
"But I want all of it. Every share. Complete control. You sign over everything, and you walk away."
The silence stretched for three full seconds.
Then my father's face split into something that wasn't quite a smile. More like a predator sensing wounded prey. He tried to hide it—the satisfaction, the calculation—but I caught it anyway. That flicker of triumph that said he thought he had me.
"You're serious." He leaned forward, elbows on the table. "You're actually serious about this."
"Deadly serious."
"Well." He exchanged a look with my mother. "That's quite an offer, Serena. Quite generous, really, considering the current market conditions. But let's talk numbers." His fingers drummed on the table. "The company may be struggling, yes, but it still has value. The art collection alone is worth—conservatively—several hundred thousand. The name recognition, the client relationships, the infrastructure. Even in a down market, we're looking at a valuation of at least six, seven million."
"Seven million is very reasonable," my mother chimed in, and suddenly she was all smiles, standing up to butter a piece of toast. She set it in front of me like an offering. "But you're family, darling. Family takes care of family. So we'll make it easy for you." Her smile widened. "Five million. You give us five million dollars, and we'll sign over every share. Clean break. Everyone wins."
Elena, catching on now, nodded enthusiastically. "Five million is more than fair. Actually, it's a steal. Most people would charge twice that for a company with our reputation."
I looked at the toast. Then at my mother's eager expression. Then at my father's barely concealed greed. Then at Elena, who was practically salivating at the thought of five million dollars.
Slowly, deliberately, I pushed the toast away.
"You want to know my offer?" I let a smile curve my lips—the kind of smile that probably looked more like a wolf baring its teeth. "My final, non-negotiable, take-it-or-leave-it offer?"
Three heads nodded, almost in sync.
I leaned forward, my voice dropping to something soft and dangerous.
"One dollar."
The words hung in the air like a guillotine blade.