Chapter 7 - The Desperate Petition
The fallout from the gala had turned my father into a ghost in his own social circles. By the seventh day, the "titan" was reduced to a man sitting in a dingy coffee shop near the office, trying to ambush me. As I walked out of the corporate headquarters—my headquarters—I saw him. He looked ragged, his suit hanging off his frame like he’d lost twenty pounds in a week.
He didn’t shout this time. When he caught my eye, he hurried toward me, his movements jittery, his hands trembling. "Claire, wait," he pleaded, his voice cracking. "Let’s talk. This has gone too far. You’re my daughter, for God’s sake. Don’t you think this is a bit much?"
I didn't stop walking. I signaled to my security detail to keep their distance; I wanted him to feel the full weight of my indifference. "You slapped me in front of two hundred people, Father," I said, my voice ice-cold. "You called me 'worthless garbage' in my own mother’s house. You don't get to invoke 'family' now that the bank accounts are empty."
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He grabbed my arm—a reflex from a man who used to own everyone around him. I didn't flinch; I simply looked down at his hand until, in a surge of genuine terror, he released me. "I can change," he begged. "I'll get rid of Celeste. I'll make things right. Just tell the board to reinstate me. I’m drowning, Claire."
"You aren't drowning," I replied, smoothing my coat. "You're finally seeing the bottom. And the best part is, you're the one who dug the hole."
