Chapter 9
When the private elevator doors opened into my office reception area five minutes later,
Brendan looked like a man who had been dragged through a physical and emotional meat grinder.
His expensive designer shirt was wrinkled,
his hair was wild and disheveled from the wind outside,
and the usual arrogant,
smug expression on his face had been replaced by a raw,
panicked desperation.
He didn't even notice the sheer luxury of my private suite,
nor did he notice the high-ranking executives who glared at him from the hallway as he was escorted into my room by two large security guards.
The moment his eyes landed on me,
sitting calmly behind a massive desk of polished black quartz,
he stumbled forward,
his hands outstretched like a beggar.
"Cassidy,"
he cried out,
his voice high,
thin,
and completely broken.
"You have to stop this,
you have to call off your lawyers,
this has gone too far!"
"My mother...
she had a panic attack on the sidewalk outside the estate,
the police wouldn't even let her go back inside to get her blood pressure medication!"
"They forced us off the property,
Cassidy!
We had to take a common city bus to get down here because none of our ride-sharing apps or credit cards would work!"
I didn't answer him right away;
instead,
I slowly picked up a crystal glass of warm tea,
took a deliberate sip,
and set it back down on the desk with a soft,
clinking sound.
"A common city bus,
Brendan?"
I asked,
my voice dripping with a subtle,
ironic amusement.
"How terrible for you to have to experience the reality of the people who actually build the infrastructure of this city."
"The very people you and your mother routinely mocked during your lavish dinner parties."
Brendan gripped the edge of my quartz desk,
his knuckles turning white as he leaned in,
his eyes wide and bloodshot.
"Cassidy,
I am sorry,
okay?
I am sorry for what my mother did,
she was out of line,
she shouldn't have poured that water on you!"
"But she is an old woman,
she didn't know who you really were,
she thought you were just trying to take my money in the divorce!"
"If you told us the truth from the beginning,
if you told us that you owned the holding company,
none of this would have ever happened!"
I let out a soft,
humorless laugh that made Brendan flinch backward.
"So,
what you are saying,
Brendan,"
I said,
leaning forward so my eyes locked onto his trembling gaze,
"is that your family only treats people with basic human decency if they have a billion dollars in their bank account?"
"If a woman is just a regular person,
a schoolteacher,
a pregnant ex-wife with no obvious wealth,"
"it is perfectly acceptable to humiliate her,
to throw dirty water on her,
to insult her child,
and to kick her out into the cold before dessert?"
Brendan swallowed hard,
his jaw working as he tried to find a lie that could save him,
but his mind was too slow to match the sharp trap I had set for him.
"No...
no,
that's not what I meant,"
he stammered,
sweat dripping down his neck and soaking into his collar.
"I mean...
we are a family,
Cassidy!
We have a history together!
You can't just destroy my father's legacy over a single mistake!"
"Your father’s legacy was built on a lie,
Brendan,"
I said,
opening a folder on my desk and turning it around so he could see the financial charts inside.
"Your father was a minority manager who embezzled millions from the primary trust twenty years ago to cover his personal gambling debts."
"My grandfather covered those debts to prevent a public scandal that would ruin the company’s reputation,"
"but in exchange,
your father signed over every single piece of family equity to our sovereign trust."
"Your family has been living on our charity for two decades,
Brendan,
May you like
and tonight,
the charity has officially run out."
