Chapter 2 - The Ledger of Fools
The silence in the room became so heavy you could hear the distant crash of the waves against the San Diego shore.
Walter slammed his palm onto the table, rattling the silverware. “Have you lost your absolute mind, Brandon? You’re making a scene over a seating chart? Kids get fidgety during speeches! It’s common sense!”
“Common sense,” Brandon repeated, a cold, humorless smile touching the corners of his mouth. He reached into the inner pocket of his tailored navy blazer and pulled out a thick, leather-bound folder. He didn’t open it yet; he just held it like a judge holding a death warrant. “Let’s talk about common sense, Walter. For the last seven years, whenever your company faced bankruptcy, whenever Lance needed another bail-out for his sham import-export business, whenever Mindy wanted a luxury European vacation because she ‘felt stressed,’ who did you call?”
Lance swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing violently. “That... that was family helping family, man. Loans are loans. We were going to pay you back.”
“Loans?” Brandon stepped forward, the sound of his leather shoes striking the floor sounding like approaching thunder. “Let’s look at the ledger, Lance. Three hundred and forty thousand dollars over eight years. Not a single cent returned. In fact, just last month, when I told Courtney we needed to set aside college funds for Lucas and Paige, Mindy told my face that my children didn’t deserve elite education funds because they were ‘just step-children.’”
The room erupted.
“You had no right bringing up private matters at a dinner!” Shirley shrieked, pointing a trembling, diamond-encrusted finger at him. “We welcomed you into this family! We accepted you, even though Courtney could have married an attorney, or a doctor, or—”
“Or someone who would let you bleed them dry without a word of complaint?” Brandon finished for her. He turned his eyes to his wife. Courtney was weeping openly now, her mascara running down her cheeks, looking pathetic and small.
“Courtney,” Brandon said softly. “Tell them.”
Courtney shrank back into her chair. “Tell them what, Brandon? That my family is difficult? I know that! But you’re humiliating my father on his birthday! How can you be so cruel?”
“Cruel?” Brandon let out a short, sharp laugh. “Cruel is telling my nine-year-old son that he doesn't belong at the main table because he isn't ‘real blood.’ Cruel is letting your mother and siblings treat my children like second-class citizens while I paid for the flights, the hotel suites, the acoustic trio, and the very meal sitting in front of you.”
Walter sneered, regaining a fraction of his arrogant posture. “You’re paying because you’re the husband! That’s your duty! My daughter married down, Brandon, and we’ve all been gracious enough to pretend you fit in!”
May you like
Brandon slowly opened the leather folder. He pulled out a single sheet of heavy cardstock, covered in official letterhead.
“You’re right, Walter,” Brandon said, his voice dropping to a whisper that commanded total obedience. “I did fit in. For a long time. But tonight, the contract expires.”
