Chapter 4 - THE SHIFT IN THE TIDE
The atmosphere in the room changed,
the air itself seemed to thicken with a new kind of tension,
one born of greed and sudden realization.
My aunt,
who had just minutes ago patted my hand in sympathy,
now leaned forward with an eager,
bright-eyed look.
“Audrey,
darling,”
she said,
her voice dripping with a sweetness that felt like syrup,
“we always knew you had such a brilliant mind.”
I watched the transformation,
the way her spine straightened,
the way she adjusted her pearls,
as if preparing to present a proposal.
“Imagine the things we could do,”
she continued,
“the family could really benefit from a connection like yours.”
The "we" was a heavy word,
a collective noun that tried to claim a stake,
in a territory they had never explored.
My uncle nodded,
his mind already calculating the dividends,
the social standing that would come,
from having a billionaire in the lineage.
“We could set up a foundation,”
he suggested,
his voice projecting authority he no longer held,
“Thomas and I could manage the logistics.”
I looked at my father,
who remained silent,
his eyes tracking the predators at his own table.
He saw what I saw:
the masks falling away,
to reveal the hunger beneath.
Blake was the most pathetic of all,
his eyes darting between me and the Ferrari keys,
still sitting on the table like a discarded toy.
“Audrey,”
he said,
his voice now a groveling whine,
“I didn't realize… I mean, the startup world is so volatile.”
“I was only trying to give you advice,
as a cousin.”
I let out a short,
sharp laugh,
the sound echoing against the high ceilings.
“Advice?”
I asked.
“You were mocking me for taking the bus,
Blake.”
“You were trying to make me feel small,
so you could feel large.”
The cousin who had shown photos of her brownstone,
suddenly put her phone away,
the renovation appearing insignificant,
next to the valuation of a tech giant.
“The thing about wealth,”
I said,
my voice calm and cold,
“is that it reveals who people really are.”
“It doesn't change them,”
“it just amplifies the static.”
I stood up,
the chair scraping against the marble floor,
a sound that signaled the end of the dinner.
“I think I’ve stayed long enough,”
I said.
My mother stood up too,
her face a mask of conflict,
torn between the daughter she had dismissed,
and the success she craved.
“Audrey,
don't go,”
she pleaded,
“we haven't even had dessert.”
“I’m full,”
I replied,
“of the conversation.”
I looked at my father,
and for the first time that night,
I saw a look of genuine regret in his eyes.
He wasn't regretting the money,
May you like
he was regretting the time he had wasted,
measuring his daughter by the wrong yardstick.
