Chapter 3 - The Last Supper of the Arrogant
Sunday morning arrived with a deceptive peace.
The Kincaid mansion was a monument to old money and stolen labor,
its white columns gleaming in the North Carolina sun.
I arrived with Camille,
who was dressed in a simple white dress,
her face pale but her eyes steady.
Darlene met us at the door,
her smile as sharp and artificial as a plastic blade.
"Daphne,
how lovely,"
she said,
her gaze sweeping over my modest dress with visible disdain.
"I suppose the auto-parts business is...
stable?"
"We manage,
Darlene,"
I said,
stepping into the grand foyer.
The dining table was set for five.
Brennan was already there,
holding a glass of scotch and looking like a man who hadn't slept in three days.
He tried to hide his desperation behind a mask of smugness.
"Let's skip the small talk,"
Brennan said as the soup was served.
"Daphne,
Camille tells me you have the drive for Blue Lantern Logistics."
"It’s a company Camille started,
you see."
"She’s been a bit irresponsible with the paperwork,"
"and we’re trying to help her fix a rather large debt she accrued."
I looked at my daughter,
who was staring at her soup spoon.
"Is that true,
Camille?"
I asked.
"Did you accrue a twelve million dollar debt?"
Darlene chimed in,
her voice high and condescending.
"She’s young,
Daphne."
"Girls from your background don't really understand high-level finance."
"They see a shiny object and they sign whatever is put in front of them."
"It’s quite a burden for Brennan to have to clean up after her."
Brennan leaned forward,
his eyes fixed on my handbag where he assumed the drive was hidden.
"We just need the digital signature,
Daphne."
"We can move some assets around,"
"save the Kincaid name from the embarrassment Camille has caused."
"In exchange,"
"we might even be able to throw some business toward your little workshop."
"Help you upgrade some of that ancient machinery you use."
I set my spoon down,
the sound clicking against the porcelain in the silent room.
"It’s interesting that you call it a 'burden,'
Brennan."
"Because according to the bank records,"
"every cent of that twelve million went into your personal offshore accounts."
"You used your wife’s name to commit bank fraud,"
"intending to let her take the fall when the Kincaid factories failed."
The room went deathly silent.
Brennan’s face turned a violent shade of red.
"How dare you?"
he hissed.
"You're a grease monkey from Gastonia."
"You don't know anything about our records."
Darlene stood up,
her chair screeching against the marble floor.
"I will not have this woman insulting my son in my house!"
"Camille,
take your mother and her glasses and get out!"
I didn't move.
"I'm not going anywhere,
Darlene."
"Because at 1:30 p.m.,"
"someone very important is arriving to discuss the future of this house."
Brennan laughed,
a harsh,
ugly sound.
"Who?
Your landlord?"
"Your mechanic?"
May you like
Just then,
the doorbell rang.
