Chapter 8 - Ripples on the Rooftop
Upstairs on the rooftop terrace, the Hollis Group partner dinner was reaching its golden hour. The city lights of Savannah twinkled like spilled diamonds across the horizon, and glasses of champagne were being raised in toast after toast.
Derek Lawson stood near the railing, nursing his third scotch, feeling a nervous sweat bead along his hairline. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, expecting a text from his father saying everything was sorted out, that Maya had agreed to terms, that the $60k bridge loan for the Ardsley Park house was secured.
Instead, his phone screen lit up with a furious text from Cassandra: GET DOWNSTAIRS NOW. YOUR SISTER THREW US OUT.
Derek’s stomach dropped into his shoes. Before he could process the panic, the stairwell door behind the rooftop bar flew open with a violent bang.
Richard Lawson marched onto the terrace, his face purple with uncontainable rage, his overcoat half-buttoned, trailed by Helen—who was dabbing at dry eyes with her handkerchief—and Cassandra, who looked like she wanted to evaporate into the Savannah night air.
Several senior partners turned around, startled by the sudden intrusion.
“Richard?” Hollis Group’s managing director, a silver-haired executive named Thomas Vance, stepped forward with a polite, puzzled smile. “I didn’t realize you were joining us up here after all. Welcome!”
Richard opened his mouth, trembling with fury, ready to denounce the hotel, the city, and everyone in it. But before he could speak, Derek intercepted him, grabbing his father’s arm with desperate urgency.
“Dad, stop! What are you doing?” Derek hissed under his breath, his face pale as milk. “These are my partners! What happened downstairs?”
“Your sister is a monster!” Richard hissed back, loud enough for several nearby executives to overhear. “She threw us out! She humiliated us! After everything we sacrificed for her!”
Thomas Vance raised an eyebrow, stepping closer with polite corporate curiosity. “Is there a problem, Richard? I thought you said your daughter managed a property here in the district.”
Derek wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. He realized in that agonizing microsecond that the illusion he had built around his family name—the wealthy Atlanta pedigree, the deep real estate connections, the untouchable social standing—had just been obliterated in a single evening by the sister he hadn’t spoken to in seven years.
“It’s nothing, Thomas,” Derek stammered, forcing a sickly, high-pitched laugh while his fingers dug into his father’s coat sleeve. “Just... a family misunderstanding. My father is tired from the drive.”
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Richard tried to wrench his arm away, but the cold reality of the room began to sink in. He looked around at the expensive suits, the corporate executives, and finally at his son—the golden boy who didn't own a single brick in this city, standing in a hotel that belonged entirely to the daughter they had discarded.
For the first time in his life, Richard Lawson looked old, small, and utterly defeated.
