Chapter 7 - The Collapse
My father stared at the document in his hands. His spectacles trembled as his eyes scanned the official registry stamps, the corporate articles of incorporation, and the notarized closing deed signed weeks before his own purchase.
The color drained from his face until his skin resembled damp parchment.
“You... you bought Number 18?” he whispered, his voice cracking like dry wood. “With cash? That property was appraised at four point two million dollars...”
“Four point eight,” I corrected gently. “And unlike this colonial, Dad, it wasn't purchased using a liquidated pension or a high-risk second mortgage on Mom’s house.”
A collective gasp rippled through the guests. One of the investment bank’s managing partners, an older man with silver hair and an iron gaze, took a slow step back, looking from Mason to my father with profound disgust.
“Mason,” the partner said in a freezing tone. “Is this true? Did you borrow funds from family pensions to finance this lifestyle?”
“No! Sir, please, it’s a family misunderstanding—” Mason stammered, sweat breaking out across his forehead, his slick, confident demeanor disintegrating into pure panic.
Lauren was hyperventilating, her manicured fingers clawing at Mason’s sleeve. “You’re lying! She’s lying! Claire, you worked at a tiny software desk! You can’t afford this! You’re doing this just to destroy my party! You’ve always hated me! You’ve always been jealous because Mom and Dad loved me more!”
“Lauren,” I said, stepping toward her until we were barely two feet apart. The entire crowd was watching her melt down, every ounce of her social prestige evaporating in real time. “I didn't destroy your party. Your arrogance did.”
The forestry inspector stepped forward, holding a yellow citation clipboard. “Mason Sterling? Lauren Sterling? Pursuant to State Code 48-B, Timber Trespass of Registered Historic Flora carries a mandatory statutory fine of three times the appraised restoration value. The root extraction, structural soil remediation, and sourcing of comparable mature specimen trees has been assessed at one hundred and ninety-five thousand dollars per tree.”
The inspector tore off the pink carbon slip and pressed it into Mason’s limp hand.
“Treble damages,” Arthur added smoothly. “That comes to five hundred and eighty-five thousand dollars. Due payable to Miss Sterling within thirty days, or an immediate lien will be placed on this property.”
Lauren shrieked, dropping her champagne flute onto the flagstones. The glass shattered into a hundred glittering shards, spraying champagne across the hem of her expensive dress.
“Five hundred thousand?!” she screamed, looking wildly at my father. “Dad! Do something! Tell her! Make her stop this!”
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Dad stood frozen, his eyes wide and vacant. He looked down at the paper, then over at me. For the first time in my entire life, I saw fear in my father’s eyes. He wasn't the untouchable patriarch anymore. He was an aging, broken man who had bet everything on the wrong child, and the bill had just come due.
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