Chapter 6 - The Fall of the Favorite
The true depth of the catastrophe finally broke through Dad’s thick skull. He wasn't mourning his daughter’s moral depravity, nor was he mourning his mother’s stolen care funds. He was calculating the collateral damage to his contracting firm.
“Arthur,” Dad said, his voice pleading as he reached out toward the judge. “Arthur, you know me. We’ve played golf at the club. We’ve bid on county municipal contracts together. This is a family dispute. It got out of hand. Nora is angry, and rightfully so, but we can handle this internally. Please, don't let this spoil our relationship.”
Judge Harrington didn't even turn his head. He adjusted his cufflinks, stepped away from the table, and looked at Marcus.
“Manager,” Arthur said. “My party will settle our share of the dinner directly. Please charge my personal card for eight covers, including the private reserve wine my table consumed. I will not be a guest to fraud.”
“That won't be necessary, Your Honor,” I said gently. “The wine was a gift from my personal cellar, extended to you in good faith before this circus began. Consider it paid.”
Arthur looked at me, his eyes softening with deep, genuine respect. “You are an exceptional young woman, Nora. I only regret that my son had to discover the truth of your sister's character through your suffering. If you ever need legal representation or references for your expansion projects, you call my chambers directly.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Arthur nodded to Bradley. “Let’s go, son. We have nothing more to see here.”
As the Harrington family walked toward the double doors, the other guests realized the party was over. Nobody wanted to be caught in the splash radius of a criminal investigation. Within two minutes, thirty guests had grabbed their coats, murmured vague apologies, and filed out through the side exits, leaving only Chloe, Mom, Dad, and Chloe’s two closest college friends, who stood frozen in horror near the coat check.
Chloe lay collapsed across the head table, sobbing hysterically into the crumpled linen. Her emerald dress was smeared with butter and barbecue residue from where she had leaned against the serving bowl.
Dad looked at the bill again. “Thirty-two thousand dollars. Nora, we don't have this. My business account is overdrawn from payroll. If you charge this to Chloe, she’ll be ruined. Her credit will be destroyed. They’ll repossess her car.”
“Her credit is already destroyed, Dad,” I said flatly. “And as for your payroll, you shouldn't have leased a brand-new Mercedes for Mom last month if you couldn't cover your workers’ wages.”
Dad’s jaw dropped. “How do you know about the Mercedes?”
“Because the dealership called me when your financing flagged,” I replied. “They saw my name on your guarantor files from four years ago and wanted to know if I would co-sign. I declined. You’ve been floating on borrowed time, Dad, using my credit score and my quiet bailouts to keep your hollow image alive.”
“You’re our daughter!” Mom hissed, though her voice lacked its earlier venom, reduced now to desperate malice. “A daughter is supposed to honor her parents!”
May you like
“A mother is supposed to protect her child,” I said, pointing to the swollen welt on my cheek. “When Chloe hit me, you laughed. When she dumped scalding sauce on my head, you told me to leave. You chose your favorite a long time ago, Mom. Now you can pay for her.”
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