Chapter 4 - The Denial Phase
Back in Hartwell, the Brennan household was in a state of chaotic siege.
The kitchen table, normally spotless, was buried under piles of unopened mail, past-due utility notices, and loan documentation. Kenneth was pacing the floor in his sock feet, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, clutching a tumbler of cheap bourbon.
"It’s an accounting maneuver," Kenneth insisted, his voice raspy from hours of shouting into the phone. "She’s running a scheme. She used my company’s tax identification number to launder software money, and now she’s trying to squeeze us!"
"Dad, shut up!" Tyler yelled, slamming his hand onto the quartz island counter. "Will you stop talking about tax schemes? The repo company just called my cell! They’re sending a flatbed from Indianapolis for the King Ranch if I don’t wire forty-four hundred dollars by noon tomorrow!"
"Don't you take that tone with me in this house!" Kenneth roared.
"This house isn't even yours!" Tyler screamed back, his veins bulging against his neck. "Did you look at the title deed Arthur sent over? The mortgage wasn't in your name! It was held by a trust holding company! We haven't owned this property outright since the second refinancing in 2023!"
Joanne was sitting on the sofa, sobbing into an embroidered tea towel. "Where did she get that kind of money? She was eating ramen noodles five years ago. She had a baby out of wedlock! How does a person get two million dollars from writing computer codes?"
"She didn't get two million," Brooke said from the hallway corner. She was wearing her designer coat, her Louis Vuitton duffel bag sitting by the front door.
Tyler spun around. "Brooke, baby, sit down. We’re handling this. It’s just an administrative freeze."
"No, it isn't, Tyler," Brooke said coldly, looking at him with utter disgust. "I just looked her up on LinkedIn and *TechCrunch*. Lucia Brennan didn't make two million dollars. She’s the CEO of Meridian AI. They were featured in *Forbes* three months ago. Her equity stake alone is worth over sixty million."
The room went completely, terrifyingly silent.
Kenneth stopped pacing. The glass in his hand tilted slightly, bourbon sloshing over his knuckles. "What did you say?"
"She’s rich, you idiots," Brooke spat. "She owns one of the fastest-growing supply-chain AI platforms in the country. And you treated her like an unemployed delinquent while living off her company’s corporate expense accounts."
Brooke picked up her duffel bag.
"Where are you going?" Tyler lunged toward her, his eyes wild. "Brooke! We have the boat trip planned for February!"
"The boat that’s getting impounded tomorrow?" Brooke sneered, pulling her keys from her pocket. "Call me when you actually have a job that doesn't rely on your sister’s charity, Tyler."
The front door slammed.
The sound echoed through the high ceilings of the renovated hallway. The Christmas tree in the corner blinked cheerfully—red, green, gold—illuminating the wreckage of their manufactured status.
Tyler fell back against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the hardwood floor with his head in his hands. "We’re ruined. We’re totally ruined."
"We are not ruined," Kenneth hissed through clenched teeth. He walked over to Tyler, grabbed him by the shoulder, and pulled him up. "Get your coat."
"Why?" Tyler muttered.
"Because she’s my daughter," Kenneth said, his eyes narrowing with a bitter, desperate rage. "Everything she has, she learned from this family. The discipline. The work ethic. She doesn't get to run off to Texas and cut off her own blood because her feelings got hurt over a spilled glass of water. We’re getting in the car."
"Kenneth, no," Joanne cried, standing up from the sofa. "Call her! Just apologize! Tell her we’re sorry about Ellie!"
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"Apologize for what?" Kenneth barked, turning on his wife. "For expecting manners at my dinner table? For demanding respect in my own home? I built the foundation she stands on! She owes this family every dime she’s sitting on. Pack your bags, Joanne. We’re driving to Austin."
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