Chapter 4 - The Registrar's Lock
By noon the following day, the true magnitude of Shay's predicament began to dawn on her in waves.
I had spent my morning at my consulting firm, meeting with high-profile corporate clients and finalizing two major contracts. When my phone buzzed on my desk during a brief lunch break, I saw a forwarded email from the administrative registrar at Pacific Crest University.
It was addressed to Shay, with my billing address cc'd on the automated ledger:
*Notice of Account Hold: Outstanding Balance for Spring Semester.*
*Dear Ms. Mercer, your scheduled tuition installment of $14,850 has failed to process. An administrative lock has been placed on your student account. You are currently restricted from registering for graduation commencement, submitting final capstone files, or requesting official transcripts until this balance is cleared in full.*
I took a sip of water, deleted the notification from my inbox, and closed my email.
Ten minutes later, my office landline rang. My executive assistant, Marcus, knocked on my glass door with a troubled expression.
"Elena, there's a young woman named Shay screaming at the receptionist in the main lobby downstairs. Security has been notified, but she's causing a massive scene. She says she's your daughter."
"She isn't my daughter," I replied smoothly, adjusting the cuffs of my tailored blazer. "She's my husband's adult daughter. Have building security escort her off the premises. If she refuses to leave the sidewalk outside, tell them to contact the metropolitan police for trespassing."
Marcus blinked, clearly surprised by my lack of hesitation. "Understood."
I knew Shay's play. She was accustomed to public tantrums working in her favor. Whenever Darcy dared to set a curfew or suggest she limit her spending during her teenage years, Shay would scream in restaurants, throw designer bags against walls, or post cryptic videos on social media implying neglect until Darcy caved and handed over his wallet.
She had tried that same emotional blackmail with me at Sunday dinner, assuming my polite nature and professional reputation meant I would swallow my pride to keep the peace. She thought my wealth was a permanent faucet that belonged to her by right of association.
At two in the afternoon, my personal cell phone began vibrating non-stop.
*Shay: You locked me out of school?! I’m supposed to graduate in six weeks! My capstone project is due on Friday!*
*Shay: Answer me! You are literally ruining my entire life!*
*Shay: Dad said you promised him you’d take care of my degree! You signed the papers!*
I typed a single reply:
*I signed an automatic payment authorization, not a blood oath. You stated publicly that I have no authority over you and no familial relationship with you. A stranger has no business paying fifteen thousand dollars for your communications degree. Speak to your father.*
I blocked her number immediately afterward.
For the next four hours, I worked uninterrupted. I reviewed financial forecasts, approved quarterly bonuses for my staff, and signed off on a charitable donation to a local women's shelter. It felt liberating. For four years, I had quietly funneled roughly eighty thousand dollars annually into Shay's bottomless appetite for luxury—her luxury high-rise apartment near campus, her weekend trips to Cabo, her boutique wardrobe, her car, her tuition.
All while Darcy contributed three hundred dollars a month toward our shared groceries and spent the rest of his income paying off personal debts he had accumulated before he ever met me.
May you like
I checked my watch. Five-fifteen. Darcy would be arriving at the house soon, armed with indignation, excuses, and a desperate desire to protect his fragile ego.
I closed my laptop, packed my briefcase, and drove home to face the storm.
