WHISPERED LIES OF THE BILLIONAIRE

How long, Amelia, do you plan to stay there? It won't make a difference to stare. The loud, acrid voice of my father cut through the quiet as I paused in the doorway.

Grandeur once glistened in the mansion—our mansion. At this point, it seemed to be a tomb of shattered promises and dim memories. The beauty was engulfed by the shadows while the chandeliers continued to glow dimly in the last of the brightness. With a drink of whiskey hanging from his hand, my father sat slouched forward in his favorite recliner. It was a blow I hadn't anticipated to see him so devastated.

After saying, "Father, there’s still hope," I entered and left my suitcase by the entrance. Even I thought the words sounded corny, but I had to utter them. I had to be convinced.

He laughed sarcastically, which made my stomach turn. "Have hope? The vultures came for our assets, and hope fled. The instant I signed away everything, hope vanished. All of us are done, Amelia.

My voice quiver, but I snapped, "We're not finished." I made myself stare at him, and my hands at my sides clinched into fists. "You're surrendering, but I won't. Something is still within our power.

He raised his watery, red-rimmed eyes to mine. The look of the man I had once adored briefly changed before being engulfed by embarrassment and tiredness. "What would you like us to do, too? Were we to sell the garments we wear? "Beg on the streets?" The wrath dissolved into sadness as his voice cracked. "I let us down, Amelia. "I let you down."

When he said those words, it felt like a knife to the chest. My dad wasn't meant to fail. Our family was based on his unwavering foundation; he was the man who had created an empire out of nothing. He was only a shadow of that man today, though, and I was now bearing the responsibility for his failure.

I muttered, "I'll fix it," but my throat constricted as uncertainty tore at my determination. "I don’t know how yet, but I will."

Before he could speak another word, I turned on my heel and walked into the empty shell of what had been our house, my heels clicking on the marble flooring. Everywhere I turned, I was teased by memories—the warmth that was vanished, the laughter that used to fill the halls. There was a strong whiff of whiskey and defeat now.

Other than a pile of foreclosure notices, the great table in the dining room was deserted. I ran my fingertips over the papers, feeling the actual power of their contents bearing down on me. Millions... Our debtors were circling like wolves, and we owed millions.

My dad rose up, his footsteps heavy behind me, and I heard his chair crack. He said, "Amelia," in a gentler, almost beseeching tone. "You're quite young. You're not deserving. Make a fresh start somewhere far from here and get out.

"And abandon you?" I whirled around to confront him, pain and rage rising to the surface. Are you interested in that? For me to flee as everything breaks down?"

The remorse in his eyes was sufficient enough even though he didn't say anything. I felt a mixture of affection and hate in my chest. I adored my father, but I felt suffocated by his vulnerability. I would be on my own if he couldn't defend us.

My bedroom was the only room that still seemed like mine, so I went upstairs after leaving the dining room. With the once-bright decorations either sold or packed away, the walls were now empty. The covers were tangled from sleepless nights, and I had not made my bed. Dumping my face into my hands, I slid against the edge of the mattress.