Chapter 7 - The Desperate Move
Three weeks passed.
The news cycle moved on, as it always does in New York. Apex Dynamics flourished under my direct leadership. I appointed a brilliant young female engineer, Dr. Aris Thorne (no relation to Vanessa), as interim CEO, and Project Sentinel launched to overwhelming global acclaim.
Meanwhile, in South Brooklyn, winter had arrived in earnest.
Snow covered the creaking porch of the row house. Inside, the radiator clanked loudly, tossing uneven heat into the small rooms.
Vanessa sat on the worn sofa, wearing three layers of sweaters, her hair unwashed, her face pale and drawn. The baby, little Noah, was sleeping soundly in a simple wooden crib in the corner—the only clean, warm spot in the house.
Daniel walked into the room, wearing his old college winter coat, carrying a small bag of groceries from the local discount market. He looked ten years older. His hands were red and chapped from carrying groceries in the cold.
He dropped the bag on the counter. "I got milk, bread, and some soup."
Vanessa didn't look up from her phone. "My father called today. The bank took his house in Greenwich. He's moving into a rental apartment in New Jersey."
"At least he has an apartment," Daniel said, sitting down at the table and opening his laptop.
"What are you doing?" Vanessa asked, her voice flat, lifeless.
"Applying for junior engineering jobs," Daniel said, his voice quiet. "I had three interviews this week. Nobody wants to hire me. They all know what happened at Apex. They think I'm damaged goods."
Vanessa stood up, her eyes flashing with a sudden, manic energy. "This is ridiculous, Daniel! We can't live like this! Look at me! I haven't been to a salon in a month! My hands are ruined! We are eating canned soup in Brooklyn while your mother is living in a hotel suite!"
"What do you want me to do, Vanessa?!" Daniel snapped, slamming his laptop shut. "I begged her! I called Miriam fifty times! My mother won't even take my calls!"
"Then we force her!" Vanessa hissed, stepping closer to him.
Daniel frowned. "What do you mean?"
Vanessa pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket. "My cousin knows a reporter at the Daily Mail. We give them an exclusive interview. We tell them that Eleanor Vance—the great female philanthropist—left her newborn grandson and her only son to freeze in a poverty-stricken slum while she hoards hundreds of millions! We destroy her reputation! She'll be forced to settle with us just to keep us quiet!"
Daniel stared at his wife, his mouth slightly open.
For three weeks, he had lived in the house where his mother had stayed up until 3:00 AM every night sewing clothes to sell at flea markets so he could have sneakers for school. He had seen the small marks on the kitchen doorframe where she had measured his height every birthday. He had found an old tin box under his old bed containing every single report card, drawing, and paper crane he had ever made as a child.
He looked at Vanessa—the woman who had convinced him to move his mother into a smaller house three years ago, who had banned Eleanor from their engagement party because she didn't fit the "aesthetic," and who had shoved an old woman to the floor of a hospital room.
And now, she wanted to sell his mother to the tabloid press for a payout.
"No," Daniel said softly.
Vanessa blinked, confused. "What?"
"No," Daniel repeated, standing up slowly. His voice was steady, clearer than it had been in months. "We are not doing that."
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"Daniel, are you crazy?!" Vanessa yelled. "It's our only way out!"
"No, Vanessa," Daniel said, looking her directly in the eye. "It was YOUR way out. My mother didn't ruin us. YOU ruined us. And I let you do it because I was a weak, arrogant idiot."
