Chapter 7 - The Last Dinner
Sunday evening was warm and quiet at the Elm Street mansion.
Margaret had ordered a catering service to deliver a lavish three-course meal—lobster tails, prime rib, and vintage champagne—to celebrate what she believed was the final night before becoming immensely wealthy.
I sat at the long mahogany dining table, wearing a clean suit jacket.
Across from me sat Margaret, wearing a brand-new emerald silk dress, her neck draped in gold chains. Beside her sat Paige, sipping champagne, browsing an online real estate portal on her iPad, looking at million-dollar beach houses in Miami.
"To family," Margaret toasted, raising her crystal glass high. "To my wonderful son, Gavin, who worked so hard in the freezing cold to bring us all this prosperity!"
"To Gavin!" Paige chimed in, clinking her glass against her mother's. "And to Monday morning!"
I raised my water glass slowly, taking a small sip. "To Monday morning," I repeated quietly.
"How is that pathetic creature doing at the rest cabin?" Paige asked casually, slicing into her prime rib. "She didn't cause any trouble on the drive up, did she?"
"No," I said, looking Paige straight in the eyes. "She was very quiet. The doctors... I mean, the caregivers, said she’s responding remarkably well to treatment. They said the toxins are finally leaving her system."
Margaret paused, her fork hovering near her mouth. Her eyes flicked toward Paige for a fraction of a second before a smooth, fake smile returned to her face. "Toxins? What toxins, sweetie? I told you, she was just sick from her own bad habits."
"Of course," I said, wiping my mouth with a cloth napkin. "It doesn't matter anymore. By tomorrow afternoon, everything will be settled."
"Did you talk to your corporate legal team?" Margaret asked eagerly, leaning across the table. "The buyout documents are ready?"
"They're completely finalized," I lied, pulling a thick leather folder from my briefcase and setting it on the center of the table. "Mr. Vance, the corporate notary, will be here tomorrow at 9:00 AM. He brought the master consolidation deeds. Once you and Paige sign the transfer papers to consolidate the property into the family holding structure, the four hundred thousand dollars will be wired directly into the primary account."
Margaret reached out, her heavy, gold-ringed fingers gently touching the leather folder as if it were a holy relic. Her eyes were wide with pure, unadulterated avarice.
"All of it..." she whispered to herself. "All in one account."
"All of it," I agreed softly.
"You know, Gavin," Paige said, setting her glass down with a satisfied sigh, "after the money clears, we really should sell that old Silverado in the back. It’s an eyesore on the driveway. We don't need any cheap, old things dragging down the value of this estate."
"I agree," I said, leaning back in my chair, looking around the grand dining room—the crystal chandelier, the marble floors, the imported artwork. "We don't need any trash dragging down the value of my life."
They both laughed, thinking I was agreeing with them.
May you like
They drank another bottle of champagne, talking late into the night about the luxury cars they would buy, the vacations they would take, and the social clubs they would join.
I sat silently in the shadow at the end of the table, watching them drink, counting down the hours until sunrise.
