Chapter 7 - The Confrontation
By late afternoon, desperation drove Lorelai and Thatcher to take matters into their own hands. Using the last remaining change in the glove compartment and their dwindling fuel reserves, they drove downtown, scouring the parking structures near Eloin’s former tech firm until they spotted her sleek, newly rented executive vehicle parked outside Apex Global Technologies.
They waited by the revolving glass doors like two vultures, watching the lobby until they saw her step out. Eloin wasn't wearing her usual drab, oversized sweaters that Lorelai had always mocked. Instead, she wore a tailored charcoal-grey designer pantsuit, carrying a sleek leather briefcase, looking every bit the high-powered executive she truly was.
"Eloin!" Thatcher shouted, rushing forward past the security guard.
Lorelai trailed right behind him, her face twisted into a mask of haughty indignation. "Eloin Vance! You stop right this instant! Have you completely lost your mind? Making a childish scene, freezing our accounts, cutting off your own family—"
Eloin stopped in her tracks. She slowly turned around, her cool, composed gaze landing on them like a physical weight. The security guard stepped forward, but Eloin raised a single hand, motioning for him to stay back.
"Family," Eloin repeated quietly, a faint, cold smile touching her lips. "Is that what you call yourselves?"
"Don't play games with us, you ungrateful little brat," Lorelai hissed, stepping right up into Eloin's personal space. "You live under our roof, you use our name, you owe your entire lifestyle to us! Unfreeze those accounts right now, or I swear I will make sure you never work another day in this city!"
Passersby began to slow down, whispering and glancing over at the dramatic scene unfolding outside the corporate skyscraper.
Eloin didn't flinch. She looked Lorelai dead in the eye, her voice steady and crystal clear. "Lorelai, let me make something very clear to you. I don't live under your roof anymore. I don't use your name—in fact, my legal team has already initiated divorce proceedings and filed a petition to restore my maiden name. And as for your accounts?" Eloin chuckled softly. "You don't own a single cent of that money. Every dollar in that trust was generated by my software patents—patents you and your golden-boy sons tried to steal by treating me like an unpaid maid."
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"Eloin, stop being ridiculous," Thatcher pleaded, stepping forward with a pathetic look of false remorse. "Come on home. We can talk about this. Mom was just stressed out about the dog. It was a mistake! We’re husband and wife, we love you."
Eloin looked at Thatcher with absolute, bottomless pity. "You watched your mother smash a multi-thousand-dollar workstation that I used to fund your entire existence, Thatcher. You told me to clean up dog poop while my career hung by a thread. You made your choice. Now, live with it."
