Chapter 3 - The Golden Son’s Panic
I swiped the green icon, setting the phone on the coffee table between us.
The moment the line connected, my brother’s voice exploded through the high-definition speakers of the penthouse, strained, high-pitched, and laced with frantic rage.
"Claire! Where the hell are you?!" Ryan screamed. "Did you lose your mind?! Dad is having a hyperventilating fit in the study! The board members are calling every five minutes because Mercer’s firm just executed a debt reclamation notice!"
I leaned back against the velvet cushions, looking up at the high ceiling. "Hello, Ryan. Happy Thanksgiving."
"Don't give me that sarcastic garbage!" Ryan roared. "What did you tell Julian Mercer?! What kind of lies did you feed him to make him ruin our family business on a holiday?!"
Julian leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, his dark eyes fixed on the phone as if he could see my brother through the signal.
"She didn't tell me anything, Ryan," Julian spoke up, his voice dangerously calm, cutting through Ryan’s hysteria like a razor through paper.
The line went dead quiet for three agonizing seconds.
"Mr... Mr. Mercer?" Ryan stammered, his voice dropping two octaves into a pathetic, desperate whine. "Look, sir... there’s been a massive misunderstanding. Claire was just joking around tonight. She loves cooking! She always helps Mom in the kitchen! It’s a family tradition!"
"Is it a family tradition for the golden son to steal two hundred thousand dollars from his sister's educational trust fund when she was nineteen?" Julian asked smoothly.
Ryan choked on his own air. "What... what are you talking about? That’s private family business!"
"It was private family business until four hours ago," Julian replied. "Now it is corporate fraud. I have your signatures on the forged wire transfers from 2019, Ryan. You used her trust money to cover your margin calls on Tesla stock options."
"That... that’s a lie!" Ryan gasped, though his cracked voice betrayed his absolute terror. "Claire, tell him! Tell him Dad gave me permission!"
"Dad gave you my money, Ryan," I spoke up, my voice steady, ice-cold, and entirely without mercy. "Just like he gave you my college degree, my future, and five years of my life. You spent thirty minutes at dinner tonight boasting about your new yacht in the Hamptons while I was standing over a sink scrubbing grease off your turkey platter."
"Claire, please!" Ryan sobbed, the arrogance completely draining from him. "If Mercer pulls that bridge loan, Bennett Development goes into involuntary Chapter 11 by Friday! Dad will lose the Greenwich house! The banks will repossess Mom’s cars! Do you want our parents out on the street?!"
I looked at Julian. He was watching me silently, giving me complete autonomy, waiting to see what I would do with the weapon he had placed in my hands.
"They won't be on the street, Ryan," I said softly. "They still have you. The golden son. You can sell your yacht."
I reached out and tapped the red button, cutting the call mid-sentence.
The quiet returned to the penthouse, vast and serene.
Julian let out a low, appreciative hum, reaching out to take my hand once more. "Cold, my darling. Perfectly executed."
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"I learned from the best," I murmured, resting my head against his shoulder.
"Good," Julian said, kissing the top of my head. "Because tomorrow morning, the real battle begins. We are buying Bennett Development Group for pennies on the dollar, and I am putting your name on the deed as CEO."
