Chapter 4 - The Predator Unleashed
“It’s my money, Bianca,” Alexander said, his voice hardening for the first time all afternoon, though his hands still shook around the edges of the white envelope. “I earned it. I saved it from my personal consulting bonus.”
“It is our future!” Bianca screamed, abandoning all pretense of polite society. Her face was flushed bright red, her manicured fingers curling into claws. “We are trying to secure a commercial property investment in Kronberg, and you’re handing twenty-five thousand euros to a cleaning woman who spent her entire life smelling of bleach and cheap detergent?”
The words struck the room like a physical blow.
Alexander flinched as if he had been slapped across the face. He stared at his wife, his mouth slightly open, the last illusion of his marriage evaporating into the sterile air of the dining room.
“A cleaning woman,” Alexander repeated, his voice dangerously low. “Is that what you call her when I’m not in the room, Bianca?”
“Oh, don’t be dramatic, Alex!” Ewald chimed in, standing up and puffing out his chest with an air of absolute entitlement. The older man walked around the table, his eyes locked greedily on the thick stacks of cash peeking out of the white envelope. “Your wife is entirely right. You have a family now. You have obligations. Giving a massive sum of cash to an aging woman who lacks financial literacy is borderline negligent.”
“She’s my mother!” Alexander shouted, finally finding a spark of his old fire, standing up and stepping between Ewald and the envelope.
“She’s a liability,” Lydia added smoothly, leaning back in her chair with a predatory smile. “And frankly, Ewald’s logistics firm has a temporary cash flow gap for our new warehouse expansion. That money would be infinitely better utilized within our family business. Ewald, take it.”
“With pleasure,” Ewald said.
Before Alexander could react, Bianca moved with terrifying speed. She didn't just ask—she lunged.
With a feral shriek, Bianca threw herself forward, her long, sharp acrylic nails scraping viciously across the back of Helga’s hands as she tore the heavy white envelope right out of the old woman’s grip.
“Get off her!” Alexander roared, grabbing his wife’s arm.
“Don’t touch me!” Bianca screamed, wrenching her arm free. The sudden violence of the struggle sent the envelope flying. The flap tore open completely, and twenty-five thousand euros in crisp hundred-euro bills spilled out like a waterfall across the expensive Persian rug.
Bills fluttered through the air, landing against the table legs, scattering across the floor.
Ewald didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, his heavy leather shoes trampling over the scattered money, his face split into a wide, triumphant grin like a hungry dog closing in on a wounded rabbit. He bent down, scooped up the thickest stack of bills, and clutched them to his chest.
Bianca shoved another handful of notes into her father’s jacket pocket, her eyes wide with manic triumph. “Take it, Dad! You earned dignity. She earned pity.”
For a long, agonizing moment, the room went dead silent.
Alexander stood frozen in the center of the scattered cash, staring at his wife as if she were a total stranger who had stolen his skin. Lydia laughed softly under her breath, a low, triumphant sound. Ewald clutched the envelope and the remaining bills against his stomach, breathing heavily like a thief who had just cracked a safe.
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And Helga Morgen—the poor, broken old mother they thought they had crushed into dust—did something that made all of them freeze in their tracks.
She began to laugh.
