That little tech company he bet against. At that moment, I still had no idea what it was, but I was about to find out.
The summons came two days later. A call from my mother, her voice artificially bright.
“Charles, darling, we’re having a family meeting on Sunday. Brunch. It’s very important that you and Eleanor are both here.”
It wasn’t a request. It was a royal decree.
We knew what it was about. We spent the next few days in a state of quiet dread.
“We don’t have to go,” Eleanor said one evening, looking at my tense face.
“Yes, we do,” I replied, shaking my head. “If I don’t face them now, they’ll just show up here. I need to do this on their territory. Then make it clear that it’s the last time.”
Sunday arrived gray and overcast, matching my mood.
My parents’ house, the house I grew up in, felt alien and hostile. The air inside was thick with tension so profound it was almost a physical presence. Marcus and Sophia were already there, looking like they had aged ten years in a few weeks. My father was pacing in front of the fireplace. My mother wringing her hands on the sofa.
There was no brunch.
As soon as we sat down, my father launched his attack. He didn’t build up to it. He just dropped the bomb.
“Marcus is facing financial ruin,” he announced, as if this was news to me. “Through a series of unfortunate, unforeseen market events, he has found himself in a precarious position.”
“Unforeseen?” I couldn’t help but scoff. “Or just incredibly stupid.”
My father’s eyes flashed with anger.
“This is not the time for your childish resentment, Charles. This is a family crisis. A number of Marcus’ clients, good friends of mine, I might add, have lost their entire retirement savings. There is the very real threat of lawsuits. A lawyer is already involved. Marcus could lose his license. He could even face prison.”
My mother started to cry softly into a tissue.
“My son, a criminal,” she sobbed. “How could this happen?”
Sophia, for her part, was a statue of silent fury, glaring at Marcus as if she wished he would spontaneously combust. The potential for a very public, very messy divorce was practically radiating off of her.
Then my father turned to me, his gaze pinning me to my chair.
“There is, however, a solution,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. “An elegant one. The land your grandmother left you has been appraised. In this market, it’s worth a small fortune. Enough to cover Marcus’ losses and make his clients whole again.”
I stared at him, my blood running cold. He said it so easily, so casually, as if he were asking me to pass the salt, as if my home, my business, my entire life was just a line item on his personal balance sheet, ready to be liquidated.
“No,” I said.
The word was quiet, but it echoed in the silent room.
“What did you say?” my father asked, disbelief coloring his features.
“I said no,” I repeated, louder this time. I stood up. “Absolutely not. You can’t be serious. You spent my entire life making me feel worthless because I chose this path. And now you want to burn it all down to fix his mess, the empire builder.”
I gestured towards Marcus, who flinched.
“This is not about your feelings,” my father roared, his face turning a blotchy red. “This is about the family name. This is about your brother’s future. Think of his children, their college fund.”
“He should have thought of that before he gambled with other people’s money,” I shot back, my own anger finally boiling over. “This is his mess. He can clean it up.”
My mother stood up then, her eyes pleading.
“Charles, please. He’s your brother. We’re your family. We’re begging you. It’s just a piece of dirt with a shed on it. What you do is a hobby. This is his life. His actual salary. His career.”
A hobby.
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