Chapter 5 - The Drop
"Clara."
My father pushed the door open. He was still wearing his tailored charcoal slacks and an unbuttoned dress shirt from the country club dinner he’d attended earlier. His silver hair was neatly combed, his expression as cold and measured as if he were delivering an opening statement to a sequestered jury.
He saw me standing near the French doors that opened onto the second-floor stone balcony. He saw the backpack.
"Where do you think you're going?" he asked quietly.
"Out."
"You're not going anywhere. Look at you. You can barely stand upright from the shock. You belong in bed."
"I saw the email you sent to Sterling & Vance, Dad."
His expression didn't change. Not a flicker of guilt, not a twitch of hesitation. "I did what was necessary to protect this family's standing. You think you're ready for that firm? You think you could survive eighty-hour weeks when a minor family squabble leaves you sobbing on the garage floor?"
"Vanessa attacked me with a steel pipe!" I spat, my voice vibrating with sheer rage. "She broke four bones in my hand! She committed aggravated assault, and you helped her cover it up!"
"Nothing was broken maliciously," he said smoothly, stepping deeper into the room. "You tripped over the tool rack. It was an unfortunate accident. That is what Marcus recorded in the chart, that is what your mother and sister witnessed, and that is what the police will hear if you are foolish enough to make a scene."
"You don't care about the firm's standing," I realized, the horrifying puzzle pieces finally locking together. "Sterling & Vance only had one spot open in the litigation pool this fall. Vanessa didn't fail the LSAT because she was sick, did she? She failed because she cheated, got caught, and had her score canceled. You needed my spot for her. You promised Arthur Sterling a Vance, and when I earned it instead of her, you had to clear me out of the way."
My father's eyes narrowed. For the first time, the veneer of aristocratic dignity slipped, revealing the ruthless, predatory litigator beneath.
"Vanessa understands loyalty," he said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "She understands that blood protects blood. You have always been selfish, Clara. You thought your grades and your little law review articles made you better than us. You thought you could walk into my world without paying your dues to this family."
He reached out to grab my left arm. "Give me the backpack. You are staying here until the testing window closes. By Wednesday morning, this will all be over."
"No," I said. "It won't."
I turned, kicked the French doors open with my heavy work boot, and bolted onto the stone terrace. The humid July night air hit my face like a wet blanket.
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"Clara! Stop!" my father bellowed behind me.
I didn't stop. I ran to the far corner where the ancient, thick wisteria vines clung to the decorative iron trellis. Gripping the wrought iron with my left hand and clamping my cast against my ribs, I swung my legs over the edge.
