Chapter 8 - The Mask Drops
For five seconds, Brooke sat entirely motionless, staring at the photograph of her parents sunbathing in Florida.
Then, the miraculous transformation occurred.
The trembling lip vanished. The slumped, defenseless posture evaporated. The pathetic, tear-streaked little sister disappeared, and in her place sat the vicious, arrogant sociopath who had terrorized my childhood.
Brooke threw her head back and let out a harsh, barking laugh that echoed off the high limestone walls.
“Well, aren't you a clever little bitch?” she sneered, leaning forward, resting her elbows boldly on my quartz table. Her southern accent was completely gone, replaced by pure venom. “You always were a snooping, arrogant little nerd. You think you’re a god because you wrote some glorified calculator code?”
“I know what you are, Brooke,” I replied, unbothered. “And I know why you’re here.”
“You don’t know shit,” she hissed, her eyes narrowing into cold slits. “Dad lost two million dollars on a crypto venture in March. The Florida house is mortgaged to the hilt. If we don’t deliver thirty million dollars in liquidity by the end of this quarter, the federal authorities are going to freeze the Florida accounts for tax evasion.”
She leaned across the table, pointing a manicured, sharp finger at my chest.
“That company belongs to this family, Maya! Dad funded your high school education! Mom fed you! You wouldn't even exist without them! You fled to Boston and hoarded hundreds of millions of dollars while your own blood was struggling!”
“You threw my books in a fire, Brooke. You watched Dad beat me with a brass buckle.”
“Because you deserved it!” she screamed, her voice turning shrill, spitting across the glass. “You always acted like you were superior to me! Just because you could solve math problems! You were an ugly, awkward little rat, and you needed to be put in your place! And now look at you—living in a fortress like a paranoid queen, eating breakfast alone! You have no husband. You have no friends. You have nothing but this cold, empty box!”
She slammed her palm down on the table.
“You’re going to sign those documents, Maya. Or else.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Or else what, Brooke?”
Brooke pulled an audio recorder from her pocket and slammed it down beside her coffee cup. A wicked, triumphant grin stretched across her lips.
“Or else the media gets the story they’ve been waiting for,” she whispered viciously. “*‘Billionaire CEO Maya Vance physically assaulted her destitute, battered sister in her private penthouse after refusing to pay for their mother’s cancer treatment.’*”
She touched the contusion on her cheekbone.
“I didn't get this from Dad, you stupid cow,” Brooke whispered with dark delight. “I paid a junkie outside Grand Central twenty bucks to punch me as hard as he could right before I came up here. I took pictures in your lobby bathroom. I have medical swabs showing skin cells under my fingernails. If I walk out of that elevator without your signature, the *New York Post* runs the headline by noon. NexusLogix stock will plunge thirty percent before the market closes. Harrison Vance will force you out of the CEO chair to save the brand.”
She crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair with complete, absolute smugness.
May you like
“You’re trapped, Maya. Sign the papers, give us the voting shares, and I keep my mouth shut. Fight me, and I burn your entire empire down to ashes. Just like I burned your books.”
***
