Chapter 8 - Tyler’s Reckoning
The conference room on the forty-second floor of Marcus Vance's firm was lined with floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the Chicago River.
When I walked in, the room fell dead silent.
Grant sat on the far side of the long mahogany table, wearing a dark suit that hung slightly looser on him than it had a week ago. Dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes. Beside him sat his lawyer, Arthur Pendelton—an older man with thick wire-rimmed glasses who looked like he deeply regretted taking this case.
On the leather sofa against the wall sat Tyler and Melissa. Tyler looked disheveled in a wrinkled collegiate hoodie, staring at his sneakers. Melissa sat with her arms crossed defensively, her chin tilted up, but her foot was tapping against the carpet in an anxious, frantic rhythm.
"Rachel," Grant stood up immediately, taking a step toward me.
"Sit down, Mr. Mercer," Marcus commanded from behind me, his voice sharp and unyielding. "My client will take her seat, and we will conduct this according to procedure."
Grant swallowed hard and sat back down.
I took my seat across from them, setting my purse on the table. I didn't say a word. I simply looked at each of them in turn until Melissa couldn't take the silence anymore.
"Are you happy now?" Melissa spat, her voice shrill. "You dragged us up here like criminals! My phone is still shut off, Tyler had to borrow gas money from our cousin just to drive up here, and you sent a formal process server to my job with that absurd lawsuit threat! You are truly a despicable human being."
"Melissa, shut up," Pendelton muttered under his breath, rubbing his temples.
"No, Arthur, let her speak," I said calmly, leaning forward. "Melissa, do you know how much money I paid for your Lexus insurance over the past two years?"
Melissa glared at me, refusing to answer.
"Four thousand eight hundred dollars," I answered for her. "Do you know how much I paid for Tyler’s tuition, housing stipends, and meal plans since 2021?"
Tyler shifted uncomfortably, sinking deeper into his hoodie.
"Seventy-four thousand two hundred dollars," I continued, sliding three thick manila envelopes across the table toward Pendelton. "In those folders are every bank transfer, every canceled check, and every automated deduction originating from my personal accounts. Accompanied by my prenuptial agreement, which clearly stipulates that any financial support provided to extended family members from non-marital assets constitutes a conditional educational loan unless memorialized as a gift in writing."
Pendelton’s eyes widened behind his glasses. He quickly opened the first folder, scanning the pages. His face drained of color.
"Conditional loans?" Grant gasped, looking at his lawyer. "Arthur, what is she talking about? She never said it was a loan! She paid it willingly!"
"Under the assumption that I was supporting a family that respected my marriage," I said coldly. "Instead, your sister used my generosity to finance her lifestyle while publicly attacking my professional integrity, and your brother treats my bank account like an entitlement."
I turned my gaze directly onto Tyler. "Tyler, the university gives you until Friday at five o'clock to clear your registration hold. If you want that hold lifted, you will sign a formal promissory note to reimburse my estate upon graduation, with a four percent interest rate. If you don't sign it by four o'clock today, you can pack your bags and move into your mother's cottage."
May you like
Tyler’s voice cracked. "Rachel... please. I can't drop out now. I'm three semesters away."
"Then you should have thought about that before you sat at my dinner table, cheered your brother on while he humiliated me, and demanded I fix your tuition like I was your unpaid assistant."
