Chapter 7 - The Harrison Ledger
Roman set the heavy estate binder onto the antique hall table with a resounding smack that echoed up the three-story stairwell.
"Martin," Roman called out, not looking at his brother. "Come here."
Martin frowned, exchanging an amused, condescending look with Celeste before standing up and strolling into the foyer, his hands shoved into the pockets of his luxurious robe. "What is this, little brother? You having a breakdown because Evelyn spent the night holding Grandma's hand instead of ironing your shirts?"
Roman turned on him so fast that Martin instinctively took a step back, the smug smirk vanishing from his lips. Roman wasn't a violent man, but in that moment, the raw, vibrating fury radiating from him was palpable.
Roman reached into his pocket, pulled out a small velvet box, and tossed it at Martin's chest. Martin caught it clumsily.
"Open it," Roman said.
Martin opened the box. Resting on the dark velvet was an antique platinum ring, its deep blue Ceylon sapphire catching the morning light, surrounded by a halo of brilliant-cut diamonds.
"What is this old junk?" Martin sneered. "Looks like something out of a flea market."
"That is Evelyn's mother's engagement ring," Roman said, every word clipped and lethal. "It was the only physical heirloom she had left of her family. She pawned it six months ago at Harrison Pawn on 4th Street for two thousand one hundred dollars."
Margaret’s breath hitched slightly, but she quickly masked it behind an indignant sniff. "And what does her financial irresponsibility have to do with us? If your wife is pawning her trinkets, Roman, it only proves she has dreadful habits you failed to notice."
"She pawned it to buy Grandma’s hearing aids," Roman snarled, turning on his mother, his finger pointing directly into her face. "Because the family fund had zero dollars. Because when Rose asked for help, you told her the market was down, and then you went into Evelyn’s kitchen and told her that if Rose went deaf, it would be Evelyn's fault for not contributing more to the household!"
Celeste had walked into the foyer, holding her champagne glass, but now she stopped dead, her eyes darting between Margaret and Roman.
"Roman, that's absurd," Margaret said, her voice rising in pitch, the polished facade cracking. "I never said such a thing. Evelyn is an outsider, she misunderstands—"
"—I went to Harrison Pawn this morning at six AM," Roman interrupted, his voice booming through the manor, shaking the very foundations of the house. "The owner, Mr. Harrison, knows Evelyn well. You know why, Mother? Because over the last four years, she has pawned three gold necklaces, her college graduation watch, and her grandmother’s silver tea service to pay the oil heating bill for this very house so you wouldn't freeze in your antique bed!"
Martin looked at the velvet box in his hands, then at his mother. "Mother? What is he talking about? The trust pays the utility bills."
"There is no trust, Martin!" Roman roared. "Dad lost it all seven years ago! The only reason you've been driving that BMW, the only reason you've been strutting around town like a young tycoon, is because Evelyn has been pouring her design consulting fees, her translation checks, and her inheritance into the house account to keep the bank from seizing the front door!"
Celeste gasped, her hand flying to her throat. "What?"
"And that bracelet on your wrist, Celeste?" Roman turned his burning gaze onto his sister-in-law. "Look at it! Look at that twelve-thousand-dollar piece of ice! Martin didn't buy that with his dividends. Martin doesn't have dividends! Martin’s firm hasn't posted a profit in three quarters!"
Martin’s face turned an ugly, mottled red. "Shut up, Roman! You don't know what you're talking about!"
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"Evelyn paid for it!" Roman shouted. "Two days ago! She stayed awake until dawn for three straight weeks drafting commercial blueprints for a firm in Chicago to earn the final installment so my pathetic, parasitic brother could hand it to you over roast beef and pretend he was a king!"
***
