Chapter 10 - The Severing
The conference room became so quiet that the humming of the air conditioner sounded like a jet engine.
Tiffany turned slowly toward Brandon, her eyes wide with sudden horror. "What is she talking about? You said that money was your quarterly bonus! You told me that was your personal investment return!"
Brandon looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. "Tiffany... I was trying to help your dad... he said if we put money into the fund, it would double before the wedding..."
"You idiot!" Tiffany screamed, turning on him with the same vicious fury she had directed at me two nights ago. She slammed her designer purse against his chest, driving him back against the wall. "You stole from your own mother’s trust and you didn't even cover the tracks?! You told me you were wealthy! You told me you were set for life!"
"I did it for you!" Brandon cried, covering his face with his arms as she struck him again. "I did it because you said you wouldn't marry a man who couldn't give you the lifestyle you deserved!"
"You're nothing!" she spat, tears of pure rage running down her makeup-streaked cheeks. "You're a pathetic, penniless little boy who hides behind his mommy’s skirt! I never want to see your face again!"
She spun around, tore the diamond engagement ring off her finger—the ring I had paid twenty-five thousand dollars for—and threw it violently against the wall. It bounced off the plaster and rolled harmlessly across the carpet, coming to rest at my feet.
"Let's go, Dad," Tiffany hissed, grabbing her father’s arm. "They're broke. They're all broke."
Richard Vance didn't say a word. He couldn't. He knew what the federal audit meant. Without looking back, the Vance family scurried out of the office, their footsteps echoing down the hallway until the heavy glass doors clicked shut.
Only Brandon remained.
He stood against the mahogany paneling, his head hung low, his shoulders shaking with silent, ragged sobs. He slowly dropped to his knees, crawling across the carpet toward where I stood.
"Mom," he wept, reaching out to touch the hem of my coat. "Please. I'm sorry. I was blind. I was so stupid. She used me. They used me. Please don't send me to prison, Mom. Please... you're all I have left."
I looked down at the boy I had loved more than life itself.
I picked up the diamond ring from the floor, holding it between my thumb and forefinger.
"You will not go to prison, Brandon," I said softly.
A flash of desperate hope lit up his tear-stained face. "Thank you, Mom. Thank you... I swear I'll make it right. I'll move back home, I'll take care of you—"
"You will not go to prison," I repeated, cutting through his frantic promises, "because I will not file criminal charges against my husband's son. But your debt to the trust will be formalized as a legal judgment. Arthur has already drafted the paperwork."
Brandon’s face froze. "A... a judgment?"
"You will surrender the sports car," I told him, my voice devoid of emotion. "You will surrender your access to the riverfront apartment. You will work, Brandon. You will find a job, you will take the bus, and every month, forty percent of your wages will be garnished until every cent you stole from your father’s memory is paid back."
"Mom... you can't be serious," he whispered in horror. "I can't survive on that! Where am I supposed to live?!"
"Wherever your own two hands can afford to keep you," I replied. "The bank account of Eleanor Bennett is officially closed to you. Today, tomorrow, and for the rest of my days."
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I turned to Arthur. "Give him the papers to sign. If he refuses, call the federal prosecutor."
Without waiting for his answer, I picked up my handbag and walked out of the conference room, leaving my weeping son to face the reality he had spent a lifetime running from.
