Chapter 14 - The Price of Admission
I didn't open the door immediately. I watched through the glass as Michael shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his breath pluming in the frigid morning air. He looked like a man who had finally woken up from a forty-year dream to find that the world he knew had burned to ash.
I slid the deadbolt open and pulled the door wide. I didn't invite him in, but I didn't slam it in his face either.
Michael looked up, his eyes bloodshot and dark with exhaustion. "Dan," he croaked, his voice cracking. "Can I... can I come in for just five minutes? I swear I won't take up much of your time."
I studied him for a long moment before stepping aside. "Five minutes, Michael. Not a second more."
He stepped past me into the foyer, immediately smelling of stale bourbon and cheap cigarettes—a far cry from the pristine, cologne-scented executive he used to be. He looked around the modest, brightly lit living room, taking in the framed finger-paintings Lily had made, the simple wooden furniture, and the cheerful stockings hanging from the mantel.
"It's... it's nice," Michael muttered, his voice thick with emotion. "It feels like... a real home."
"It is," I said, crossing my arms and leaning against the doorframe. "You didn't come all the way out here to comment on my interior design, Michael. Spit it out. The clock is ticking."
Michael swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a thick, legal-sized manila envelope, placing it carefully on the entryway table.
"Mother’s frozen all the remaining family trusts," Michael said quietly, staring down at the wood grain. "She’s blaming everyone—me, Jessica, the board, the auditors. She thinks if she can bully the courts, she can claw her way back into power. But the SEC has all of her personal ledgers. The house is going to be seized by the end of the week. Her assets are being liquidated to pay back the penalties."
"I know," I said flatly. "I saw the news."
Michael looked up, a desperate plea in his eyes. "Dan... you have the offshore codes. You’re the only one outside of Mother who knows how the subsidiary accounts are structured. If you come back to the firm, if you just help us restructure the legal defense—"
"No."
The word dropped between us like a falling anvil.
Michael flinched. "Dan, please! If you don't help, we’re going to lose everything! Jessica is already talking about divorce, the bank is foreclosing on our estate, and Mother... Mother is talking about checking into a private facility because she can't face the social fallout. We’re family!"
"Family," I repeated, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. "Is that what you call it, Michael? Where was your definition of 'family' on Christmas night when Mother slapped my wife across the face? Where was your family loyalty when Jessica stood in our living room and humiliated Emily for not coming from old money?"
Michael opened his mouth, but no words came out. He closed it, his shoulders slumping under the crushing weight of his own cowardice.
"You watched," I continued, my voice cold, steady, and merciless. "You sat there with your glass of scotch and watched them tear my wife apart, and you said nothing because you were afraid of losing your inheritance. You traded your spine for a trust fund, Michael. And now the bill has come due."
"I’m sorry," Michael whispered, a tear finally spilling over his eyelid and tracking down his hollow cheek. "I was a coward. I’ve always been a coward under Victoria’s thumb."
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"I accept your apology, brother," I said softly, stepping toward the door and pulling it open. "And I hope you find a way to rebuild your life from the ground up, just like we did. But our doors are closed to the Carter name. Goodbye, Michael."
***
