Chapter 4 - Beverly’s Counteroffensive
By Tuesday morning, the storm had moved from Warren to the matriarch of the Pike family. Beverly Pike was a woman who had built her entire social identity in her small Ohio town on the myth of her son’s soaring wealth in Washington, D.C. To her, Warren was the golden child who had escaped their modest background to become a corporate titan. I was merely the heavy luggage he had picked up along the way.
I was sitting in my private office at Reed Urban Partners’ headquarters in Alexandria when my administrative assistant, Chloe, buzzed my desk.
"Allison, there’s a woman named Beverly Pike in the lobby. She doesn't have an appointment, and she’s being... exceptionally aggressive with the front desk staff. She’s demanding to see the manager."
"Let her in, Chloe," I said, adjusting the cuffs of my tailored silk blazer. "And turn on the security recording in the conference room."
When Beverly marched into my office, she didn't look like the elegant woman in the cream designer suit from Saturday night. Her hair was slightly disheveled from the humid Virginia summer air, and her eyes were bright with a venomous fury. She slammed her designer handbag down on my glass conference table.
"What is the meaning of this, Allison?" she demanded, her voice echoing off the concrete walls. "Warren is in tears. His company is reviewing his security clearance because of some ridiculous lawsuit your friends filed against him! And you change the locks on his own home? Who do you think you are?"
I didn't stand up. I remained seated behind my desk, my hands clasped loosely in front of me. "It’s not his home, Beverly. It’s a temporary lease. And he hasn't paid the rent for next month."
"He bought that house! He told the whole family—"
"He lied to you," I said simply. "Just like he lied to himself. He wanted to look like a millionaire for one afternoon because your approval is the only currency he values, even if it ruins him financially."
Beverly let out a sharp, ugly laugh. "And look at you, sitting in this rented office pretending to be some kind of executive. I knew from the day he married you that you were a leach. You’re trying to destroy my son because you couldn't give him a boy to carry on his name, so you’re taking his money instead!"
I stood up slowly. The sheer absurdity of her worldview no longer made me angry; it made me pity her.
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"Beverly," I said, walking over to the glass table and picking up her handbag, sliding it back toward her. "Look at the sign on the door when you walk out. Reed Urban Partners isn't renting this office. We own the building. We own the block. And your son doesn't have any money for me to take. In exactly forty-eight hours, I am going to foreclose on his assets, including the imported SUV he bought to drive you around town."
She stared at me, her mouth opening slightly, her eyes finally dropping to the gold-embossed corporate portfolios stacked neatly on my shelf. For the first time in eleven years, Beverly Pike looked entirely small.
