Chapter 2 - The Morning After the Feast
The morning light that filtered through the high windows of the Holloway family home in the suburbs of Denver was golden and warm, but the atmosphere inside was anything but pleasant.
Robert Holloway sat at the long mahogany dining table, rubbing his temples. The house still smelled of roasted lamb, expensive wine, and the floral arrangements his wife, Eleanor, had spent thousands of dollars on for Whitney's engagement dinner.
Whitney was still asleep upstairs, her massive diamond engagement ring sitting on her nightstand, a trophy of her successful capture of Harrison Vance, the son of a prominent local developer.
"Robert, you look awful," Eleanor said, stepping into the dining room in her silk robe, holding a cup of espresso. "Did you sleep at all?"
"No," Robert grunted, staring at his phone. "Claire called me last night. Right in the middle of the main course. Some nonsense about an accident."
Eleanor sighed, setting her cup down with a sharp click. "Honestly, the timing of that girl. She’s always had a flare for the dramatic. Ever since she chose to keep that child without telling us who the father was, she’s done nothing but try to draw attention away from Whitney. She knew yesterday was the most important night of her sister’s life."
"I told her to figure it out," Robert said, though a tiny, unfamiliar prick of guilt needled his chest. "I told her we were hosting. But she hasn't called back this morning. Usually, she spams my phone when she wants money for rent or formula."
Before Eleanor could reply, Robert’s phone began to ring. The caller ID didn't show Claire's name. It showed a number he hadn't seen in nearly a decade.
Richard Holloway.
Robert’s hand shook slightly as he pressed the speaker button. "Richard? Why the hell are you calling me?"
"Robert," Richard’s voice came through, cold and flat, devoid of any familial warmth. "I am calling to let you know that Claire and Noah are currently safe, warm, and cared for at my estate in Oakwood. They will not be returning to their apartment, and they will certainly never be asking you for a single crumb of your pathetic charity again."
Robert's face flushed with anger. He stood up, knocking his chair back. "What are you doing with my daughter? How dare you interfere in my family? Claire is my child!"
"You surrendered that right last night at 10:47 p.m.," Richard replied, his voice like iron. "When she begged you for help while bleeding in a hospital bed, and you told her she made her own bed. Do you know what the doctors found, Robert? She has three cracked ribs, a severely broken radius that required surgery this morning, and a concussion. She could have died. Her baby could have been left alone in a state nursery."
Eleanor gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, but her eyes quickly darted toward the stairs, worried Whitney might hear.
"She... she said it was just an accident," Robert stammered, his bravado slipping. "She always exaggerates—"
"She didn't exaggerate the semi-truck that ran a red light on Riverside," Richard snarled, the composure in his voice fracturing into pure rage. "You are a monster, Robert. And your wife is no better. You’ve spent your entire lives worshiping one child while treating the other like an unwanted servant. But here is the reality check: your mortgage is held by Oakwood Trust, which, as you know, is a subsidiary of my investment firm. Your business line of credit is due for renewal next month."
Robert felt the blood drain from his face. "Richard, you can't mix business with this. That was grandfather's agreement—"
"Grandfather is dead, and so is my patience," Richard cut him off. "I am going to audit every single asset you have. If I find one single discrepancy, one single late payment, I will personally foreclose on your house. And as for Whitney’s precious fiancé? Harrison Vance’s father works with my development board. I wonder how he will feel when he learns his future in-laws abandon bleeding women and infants in public hospitals."
"Richard, wait!" Robert pleaded, but the line went dead.
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From the top of the stairs, Whitney stood in her pajamas, her eyes wide with shock and anger. "Dad? What did he mean? Is Uncle Richard going to ruin my engagement?"
Robert looked at his youngest daughter, then at his wife, realizing for the first time that the fragile tower of cards they had built on Claire's back was starting to shake.
