Chapter 6 - The Dinner Invitation
The certified dossier from Marcus arrived on Thursday morning. It was two inches thick, filled with bank statements, court summonses, and certified copies of bad checks bearing Derek's bold, looping signature.
That afternoon, my mother called again. Her voice was unusually sweet, almost fragile.
"Justin, darling," she said. "I know things have been tense. But family shouldn't tear itself apart over misunderstandings. I'm hosting dinner tomorrow night at the old house. Just the family. You, Emily, Derek, Claire, and me. Let’s sit down like adults, break bread, and find a solution together. For my sake. Please."
It was a blatant trap, of course. A staged intervention designed to corner me in my childhood home, with my mother crying, Claire playing the victim, and Derek using emotional blackmail to force me into writing a check in front of everyone.
"We'll be there," I said.
"Oh, wonderful!" she breathed, relief flooding her voice. "Seven o'clock sharp."
When I told Emily, she raised an eyebrow. "You know what she's doing. They're going to gang up on you."
"They're going to try," I replied, placing Marcus's thick black binder into my leather briefcase. "And that's why you don't have to come if you don't want to deal with the circus."
Emily smiled, stepping up and adjusting my tie. "Are you kidding? And miss the look on their faces when you finally pull the curtain back? I wouldn't miss this for the world."
The drive to my mother's estate on Friday evening was quiet. The ancestral home was a grand Victorian brick house sitting on two acres of manicured lawn—a house built on the assumption that the Sterlings were royalty in our small corner of the world.
As we pulled into the gravel driveway, I noticed Derek's sleek black sports car parked next to Claire's SUV. Both vehicles were spotless, gleaming under the exterior floodlights. A perfect picture of prosperity.
We walked up the wide porch steps. Before I could ring the bell, the heavy oak door swung open. My mother stood there, wearing pearls and a silk blouse, a strained, expectant smile plastered across her face.
"Justin! Emily! Come in, come in out of the cold," she chirped, ushering us into the foyer.
From the dining room, Derek and Claire emerged. Derek had a tumbler of bourbon in his hand. He had regained some of his color, clearly believing that Mom's intervention had worked and that I was showing up to play the savior.
"Justin," Derek said, nodding with an air of magnanimous forgiveness. "Glad you could make it. Emily, stunning as always."
Emily offered a tight, polite nod. "Derek."
"Dinner is already served," Mother announced, steering us toward the formal dining room where the mahogany table was laid with fine china and silver. "Let's eat first. Business can wait."
May you like
"Actually, Mom," I said, setting my heavy briefcase firmly on the corner of the dining table with a sharp, resounding thud. "Let's not waste your roast beef. We do business first."
***
