Chapter 5 - The Glass Door Confrontation
"Cassidy, put the phone on speaker!" DeAndre’s voice blared through the line, vibrating with ugly, uncontrolled fury. I could see him through the café window, pacing back and forth in front of the revolving doors, his face bright red against the white snow.
"No, DeAndre, I don't think I will," I replied, my voice cool and detached. "In fact, you might want to tell your brothers to move the U-Haul before the city parking enforcement tickets you. That loading zone is strictly restricted between 9:00 AM and 4:00 PM."
"You little bitch!" DeAndre roared, loud enough that even through the double-paned glass of the coffee shop, I saw a few patrons nearby turn their heads in alarm. "You think you're smart, don't you? You think you can humiliate my wife and walk away? We are standing right here in the lobby, and we are moving into that unit today, whether you like it or not!"
"You're not standing in the lobby, DeAndre," I corrected him calmly. "You're standing outside the lobby, because Julian is doing his job. And if you try to force your way past security, he’s under strict instruction to call the Seattle Police Department for property trespassing."
"Cassidy! Listen to your mother!" Brenda wailed in the background, her voice cracking with actual terror now as the realization of what she had lost finally began to sink in. "We family! How could you do this to your own flesh and blood? What are we going to tell everyone? What are we going to tell Brittany?"
"You can tell her," I said softly, looking out the window at my sister, who was now weeping hysterically into her hands while DeAndre fruitlessly yelled at the concierge through the glass, "that entitlement is not an inheritance. And hard work actually means something."
With that, I pressed the red end-call button, cutting the cord completely.
I didn't block their numbers—not yet. I wanted them to stew in the chaotic fallout of their own unchecked greed.
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I watched through the window as a white Seattle parking enforcement cruiser pulled up directly behind the massive U-Haul truck, its yellow lights flashing rhythmically against the snow. A stern-looking officer stepped out, clipboard in hand, walking straight toward DeAndre and his brothers.
I smiled, took one last sip of my coffee, picked up my coat, and walked out the back exit of the café toward my car.
