Chapter 79
Serena
My father shot to his feet, the chair crashing backward. "Get out!" His voice cracked on the words, spittle flying. "Get the fuck out of my house!"
My mother rose more slowly, her face a mask of outrage and disbelief. "Are you even our daughter anymore? Kicking us while we're down? This is extortion!"
I didn't move. Didn't even blink.
"Extortion?" I let out a soft laugh. "That's an interesting word choice, Mother. Because from where I'm sitting, I'm offering a lifeline to three people who are drowning." I leaned back in my chair, crossing my legs. "But maybe I'm misremembering the timeline. Let me think... when exactly is that five hundred thousand dollar loan from Chase due? Oh, right. Next Friday."
The color drained from my mother's face.
"And that's the easy one," I continued, my voice conversational. Almost friendly. "Because at least Chase is a legitimate institution. They'll be civil about the foreclosure process. Professional, even." I turned my gaze to my father. "But that million-dollar loan you took from that private equity firm—what was their name again? Meridian Capital? The one with the twenty-eight percent interest rate that you thought no one would find out about?"
My father's jaw went slack.
"That one comes due in three days." I smiled. "Tuesday morning, to be exact. And unlike Chase, those people? They don't have the same commitment to professionalism. I hear they're quite creative when it comes to collecting."
"How—" My mother's voice came out as a whisper. "How do you—"
"Know all this?" I pulled out my phone, scrolling through the financial documents Lance had sent me. "I did my homework, Mother. Something you might have tried before taking out predatory loans to maintain the illusion of wealth." I looked up. "Your company's total assets—and I'm being generous here—might cover about ten percent of what you owe. Maybe fifteen if we're really optimistic about the art collection's value."
I let that sink in for a moment.
"Which means after the liquidation, you're still looking at roughly one point eight million in outstanding debt. And when you can't pay that..." I gestured around the dining room, at the expensive wallpaper and the crystal chandelier that had been in the family for three generations. "This house? Gone. The cars? Seized. Your bank accounts? Frozen. Everything."
The silence was absolute. My father had gone from red to a sickly gray. My mother was gripping the edge of the table like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
But Elena—perfect, pampered Elena—was staring at me with pure, undiluted rage.
"This is your fault," she hissed. "You did this. You and your—your tantrum with Wesley. If you'd just married him like you were supposed to, none of this would be—"
"Oh, Elena." I turned to face her fully, and I let her see the contempt in my eyes. "I almost forgot about you. Let me think about your prospects for a moment." I tapped my chin thoughtfully. "No job. No skills. No trust fund because Father gambled it away. And after that spectacular disaster at Le Bernardin—you know, the one where you tried to drug me and ended up drugged yourself?—your reputation in our social circles is... well, let's call it 'compromised.'"
Elena's face went white, then red. "You—"
"So when Mom and Dad lose this house, when they're flat broke and can't afford to keep you in designer clothes and weekly salon appointments..." I tilted my head. "Where exactly do you think you'll go? What's your plan? Because I'm genuinely curious."
Elena lunged across the table.
I didn't flinch. Didn't move. Just watched as my mother grabbed Elena's arm mid-swing, yanking her back with surprising strength.
"Stop it!" My mother's voice was sharp, desperate. "Elena, stop!"
"But she—Mom, she's—"
"If you hit me," I said softly, not breaking eye contact, "I walk. That door closes, I get in my taxi, and you never hear from me again. And Tuesday morning, when those men from Meridian Capital show up to collect..." I shrugged. "Well. That becomes your problem, not mine."
Elena froze, her arm still raised, her face twisted with fury and helplessness.
"Serena's right." My mother's voice cracked. She was still holding Elena's arm, but now she was looking at me with something that might have been fear. Or respect. Possibly both. "Elena, sit down."
"Mom—"
"Sit. Down."