Chapter 4 - The Bitter Root
Harold didn't back down. The mask was slipping, revealing decades of festering jealousy.
"You think you’re so righteous," Harold sneered, stepping closer and jabbing his cane toward my chest. "You walked away from the family trade. You didn't want to take over my concrete company. You went out, got your fancy business degree, started your own firm, and suddenly you’re too good for the family dinner table!"
"I invited you to every Sunday dinner," I said quietly. "You spent half of them telling Noah that hard work in an office wasn't 'real work' and that Madison was the only grandchild with real Carter grit."
"Because she works with her hands! She has fire! Your boy is soft!" Harold spat. "He cries over a cake! He wears clean shirts and plays with plastic rockets! You’re raising a weakling, Daniel, and somebody had to give him a reality check!"
The front door opened.
Rachel stepped out onto the porch, her eyes blazing with a fury I had never seen before.
"Get off our property, Harold," she said, her voice dropping into a register of sheer ice. "Right now. Before I call the sheriff and file trespassing charges against both of you."
"Rachel, this is between blood—" Jason stammered.
"You stopped being blood the moment you cheered while my little boy choked back tears in his own yard," Rachel countered. "You want to talk about soft? You’re a forty-year-old man who lives off your brother's company while treating him like a bank. You let your daughter become a bully because you’re too pathetic to earn what you give her."
Jason flinched as if struck across the face.
Harold raised his chin, clinging to his stubborn pride. "You think you can starve us out, Daniel? You think cutting Madison off hurts me? It only shows how small you are."
"I don't care how small you think I am," I replied. "Here is what happens next. The cruise is gone. The tennis funding is permanently revoked. My corporate card is locked to any vendor associated with you or your household. And if either of you comes within a hundred feet of Noah, I will file an order of protection."
"You wouldn't dare," Harold hissed.
"Try me," I said. "You know exactly what my legal retainers look like."
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Jason didn't say another word. He turned around, got into his truck, and slammed the door. Harold stood there for ten long seconds, realizing that for the first time in his life, the emotional extortion would not work. With a venomous look, he hobbled back toward his sedan.
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