Chapter 3 - Upstairs and Downstairs
Upstairs on the rooftop terrace, the Hollis Group dinner was in full swing. String lights crisscrossed overhead against the velvet Savannah sky, and the scent of grilled ribeye and white truffle oil drifted over the parapet.
Derek Lawson stood near the bar holding a glass of Woodford Reserve, listening to a senior partner drone on about regional expansion. Derek nodded at all the right moments, offering the tight, rehearsed smile that had gotten him this far in a corporate ladder built on nepotism rather than talent.
He was being made partner next month. It was the crowning achievement of his fragile existence—a title he hadn’t earned through grit, but through a merger his firm handled where his father-in-law had quietly pulled strings behind the scenes.
Yet, beneath his polished exterior, Derek was sweating.
Downstairs, sitting at that window table, was the sister he hadn’t spoken to since she walked out of their house with a duffel bag. He knew why his father had dragged them here. It wasn’t a coincidence. Richard had found out through a mutual acquaintance in real estate that the owner of The Aldren was a young woman named Maya Lawson. At first, Richard had refused to believe it; he assumed it must be a different Maya Lawson. But when a private investigator confirmed the deed belonged to his estranged daughter, Richard’s ego had fractured.
The man who had spent a lifetime telling Maya she was nothing could not stomach the fact that she was something. Worse—she was more successful than the son he had invested everything in.
Derek took a sip of his bourbon, his eyes darting toward the stairwell doors. His father had told him to stay upstairs while he handled things with Maya. “Let me set the terms,” Richard had said in the car outside. “She’s still our daughter. She owes us a baseline of respect—and resources.”
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Derek swallowed the burning liquor, feeling a sickening knot tighten in his gut. He knew Maya. The soft-spoken girl who used to study at the kitchen table had vanished seven years ago. In her place was a woman who owned a landmark property in one of the most competitive historic districts in the South.
And down below, his father was about to walk into a buzzsaw.
