Chapter 5 - The Confrontation at the Office
At eleven o'clock that morning, the double glass doors of Clara Carpenter Design Studios in downtown Phoenix flew open with a violent crash.
Beverly and Joanna marched through the lobby, looking like two tornadoes of fury. Beverly was holding the yellow envelope like a weapon, while Joanna was red-faced, carrying Harper in her arms after having to take an expensive rideshare across town.
My office staff—three young designers and my project manager, Mark—stood up from their desks in alarm.
“Where is she?!” Beverly roared, her voice echoing off the high industrial ceilings. “Clara! Get out here right now!”
I walked out of my glass-walled conference room holding a leather-bound notebook. I didn't look surprised. I didn't look flustered. I looked at them the same way I looked at an old, worn-out rug that needed to be thrown in the trash.
“Mark,” I said calmly to my project manager. “Please take Hannah and the staff to the coffee shop downstairs for twenty minutes.”
“Clara, do you want me to call security?” Mark asked, looking skeptically at my mother.
“No need,” I replied smoothly. “This won't take long.”
Once the office doors closed behind my employees, leaving only the three of us in the lobby, Beverly slammed the eviction papers onto my reception desk.
“Have you lost your mind?!” Beverly shrieked, her voice cracking with hysterical rage. “Evicting your own mother?! Repossessing your sister’s car?! You are a cold, heartless monster!”
“I am a mother protecting her child,” I corrected quietly, leaning my hip against the reception counter.
“You owe me this house!” Beverly screamed, her hands waving wildly. “I gave birth to you! I raised you! You wouldn't even have this company if I hadn't sacrificed my life for you!”
“You didn't sacrifice anything for me, Beverly,” I said, my tone as sharp as shattered glass. “When Dad died, you took his entire six-hundred-thousand-dollar pension and spent it in eighteen months on designer clothes, trips to Europe, and funding Joanna’s failed business ventures. When I was in college, working two jobs to pay my own tuition, you refused to lend me fifty dollars for textbooks.”
“That was business!” Joanna interjected, holding Harper tightly. “You think you’re better than us just because your company succeeded?! You’re throwing your own family into the street over a stupid incident with two little girls!”
“It was never about the doll, Joanna,” I said, turning my eyes onto my sister. “It was about the fact that for five years, you and Mom have treated me like an ATM while treating my daughter like dirt.”
I pulled a printed spreadsheet from my notebook and slid it across the desk toward them.
“Let’s look at the numbers,” I said calmly.
Beverly’s Paradise Valley Estate: $4,200/month (Taxes, insurance, HOA, upkeep).
Beverly’s Health & Dental Coverage: $1,800/month.
Joanna’s Luxury SUV Lease: $1,400/month.
Harper’s Private Daycare Allowance: $1,200/month.
Miscellaneous 'Family Emergencies': Average $9,400/month.
TOTAL MONTHLY CONTRIBUTION: $18,000.
“For sixty months,” I continued, looking Beverly dead in the eye, “I paid eighteen thousand dollars every single month to keep you two living like royalty. And how did you repay me?”
I took a step closer to my mother.
“You called the police on my five-year-old daughter. You told her that her mother was ashamed of her. You tried to ruin her school reputation, and then you called Child Protective Services to try and have her taken away from me.”
Beverly swallowed hard, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “We… we were just trying to discipline her!”
“You were trying to assert control,” I growled. “You thought that because I paid your bills, I would always endure your abuse. You thought I was too weak to stand up to you.”
I picked up the eviction papers from the desk and stuffed them back into Beverly’s hands.
“You have thirteen days left to clear your things out of my trust’s property. If you leave quietly, I will waive the $184,000 in back-rent. If you don't, my attorneys will seize every asset you have left.”
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“You can’t do this!” Joanna wept, stepping forward. “I don't have a car! How am I supposed to take Harper to school? How am I supposed to go to work?!”
“You can take the bus, Joanna,” I replied coldly. “Just like I did when I was paying my way through college.”
