Chapter 8 - The Serpent at the Table
I left my office deliberately unlocked, leaving the heavy door resting half an inch from the jamb.
A predator never springs a trap while the prey is looking; they wait until the prey feels safe, confident, and entirely in control. If Jason thought he had an easy path to my desk, he would walk straight into the digital spotlight I had just activated.
I smoothed down the fabric of my dark cashmere sweater, took a deep breath of the mountain air, and walked down the main staircase into the warmth of the roaring great room.
The laughter died down in pockets as I entered. Several of Olivia's high-society friends looked over with polite, curious smiles. To them, I was just the quiet, bookish sister who had arrived late to Olivia’s lavish holiday celebration. They had no idea whose floorboards they were standing on, whose firewood was burning in the hearth, or whose vintage cellar was being emptied into their crystal stems.
"Oh! Becca, darling!" Evelyn called out. Her voice was bright, musical, and utterly synthetic. She hurried across the Persian rug toward me, carrying a small porcelain plate with two prosciutto-wrapped figs. "There you are, sweetheart. We were worried you had retreated to bed early. You looked so pale after your drive."
"I was just taking a call, Mom," I said, my voice steady, my expression blank. "Work never really stops, does it?"
"Well, you must let it go for tonight," Evelyn murmured, leaning in close so her socialite acquaintances wouldn't hear. Her fingers curled around my forearm, gripping with a gentle pressure that carried an unspoken demand. "This is Olivia’s night. You know how hard this year has been on her and Jason. He had some... complications with his firm’s expansion, but things are turning around. We need to present a united front."
"A united front," I repeated, tasting the words like copper on my tongue. "What kind of complications, Mom?"
Evelyn’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, her manicured nails digging just a little deeper into my sweater. "Nothing for you to worry your head about. Jason is handling it with his private investors. That’s why tonight is so critical. Perception is everything in Denver real estate, Becca. When people see Olivia hosting here, at this level of elegance, it assures everyone that their family is rock-solid."
"And what happens if people realize the perception is a lie?" I asked quietly, looking directly into my mother's eyes.
Evelyn’s gaze hardened. The mask slipped, showing the cold, ruthless pragmatism she had cultivated over thirty years of social climbing. "It’s not a lie if we support each other. You have more money than you know what to do with, Becca. You design algorithms for supply chains; you sit in front of monitors. Jason creates jobs. He builds communities. If he stumbles, we prop him up. That’s what family does."
Across the room, Olivia noticed us talking. She handed her champagne flute to a friend, her diamond rings flashing in the firelight, and strutted over with that haughty, effortless confidence she had worn like armor since high school.
"Becca!" Olivia chirped, wrapping an arm around my shoulder in a theatrical display of sisterly affection. "You finally joined the living! I was just telling Amanda and Brett that we’re planning to remodel the master bath upstairs in the spring. That clawfoot tub is quaint, but an infinity spa basin with heated Italian marble would really elevate the resale value."
I looked at Olivia. Really looked at her. Her blow-dried hair, her designer blazer, the hollow vanity behind her wide smile. She was standing in a living room she hadn't paid a penny for, telling strangers she was going to tear down my custom slate masonry, while behind the scenes, she was plotting to forge my signature and let a predatory lender seize the roof over my head.
"The clawfoot tub stays, Olivia," I said softly.
Olivia let out a sharp, patronizing laugh, waving her hand dismissively. "Oh, listen to you! Still pretending you have an eye for design. Sweetie, leave the aesthetic choices to me. You’re good at numbers, but when it comes to luxury lifestyle, you wouldn't know architectural pedigree if it slapped you in the face."
"Speaking of numbers," I said, taking a slow sip of the sparkling water I had grabbed from the bar, "how is the Denver portfolio performing, Jason?"
Jason, who had just stepped up beside Olivia, choked on his bourbon. A coughing fit took him, his face flushing crimson as he fumbled for a cocktail napkin.
"Jason’s portfolio is stellar," Olivia answered instantly, her voice sharpening with defensive venom. "Why would you even ask that out of the blue? How rude."
"Just curious," I said mildly. "Commercial interest rates have spiked. Bridge loans are defaulting everywhere. I was just reading an article before I came down about how developers in Denver are resorting to desperate measures—pledging unencumbered assets, pulling out fraudulent second liens just to stay ahead of the receivership deadlines."
The temperature between the four of us dropped faster than the blizzard outside.
Jason’s hands began to shake so violently that ice cubes clinked loudly against the sides of his glass. He stared at me with wide, panicked eyes, looking as if a ghost had just whispered his deepest sins directly into his ear.
Olivia’s smile froze into a snarl. "You have no idea what you’re talking about, Becca. You read some trash online and think you’re an expert on commercial finance. Go get some rest. You’re ruining the vibe of my party."
"Your party," I echoed, tilting my head.
"Yes. *My* party," Olivia hissed, leaning in so only our mother and Jason could hear. "And if you say another embarrassing word in front of my guests, I will have Jason escort you to the guest wing."
I looked at Jason. The man was drowning in his own terror, sweat visibly rolling down his collar.
"I’d love to see him try," I murmured.
May you like
I set my glass down on the cedar mantle, gave Evelyn a calm, knowing smile, and turned on my heel. As I walked away toward the library, I felt all three pairs of eyes burning into my back.
The trap was baited. Now, I just had to wait for the mouse to take the cheese.
