Chapter 2 - The Truth Behind the "Self-Made" Man
The roar of Scott’s sports car echoed through the driveway an hour later,
the sound of a man who believed he owned the world.
I stood in the center of the ruined living room,
the sledgehammer still leaning against the wall like a silent sentinel.
Scott burst through the door,
his face flushed with the excitement of a new deal,
or perhaps just another expensive lunch.
"Mom?
Caroline?
You wouldn't believe the—"
He stopped mid-sentence,
his eyes darting from the shattered glass to the puddle on the floor.
His gaze finally landed on the broken bottle,
the gold plaque lying face down in the tequila-soaked carpet.
"My bottle,"
he choked out,
his voice high and panicked.
"My eighty-thousand-dollar bottle!"
He didn't look at his mother,
who was still sitting on the floor,
clutching the deed to her chest.
He didn't look at the notary sitting quietly in the armchair.
He ran to the mess,
falling to his knees just as his mother had done.
"Who did this?"
he screamed,
looking up at me with eyes full of murder.
"Did the dog get in?
Did the plumber have an accident?"
"I did it,
Scott,"
I said,
my voice devoid of any emotion.
"I did it with a sledgehammer."
He stared at me as if I had suddenly grown a second head.
"You?
Why?
Have you lost your mind?"
"No,"
I replied,
taking a step toward him.
"I found my mind."
"I found it when your mother threw my father’s chicken to the dog."
"I found it when I realized I’ve been subsidizing your arrogance for three years."
Scott stood up,
trying to tower over me,
trying to use the physical intimidation that had worked so many times before.
"I’ll have you committed,"
he hissed.
"I’ll throw you out on the street with nothing but the rags you came with."
"I don't think you will,"
the notary interrupted,
standing up and handing Scott a set of papers.
"Mr. Vance,
I am here to serve you with a formal notice of termination of occupancy."
Scott grabbed the papers,
his hands shaking as he read the bold letters at the top.
"What is this?
This is my house!"
"Actually,
sir,"
the notary said calmly,
"the property is held in a private trust belonging entirely to your wife."
"Furthermore,
the 'loan' you took from her for your business venture is now being called in full."
Scott looked at me,
the mask of the self-made businessman crumbling in real-time.
"Caroline,
honey,
this is a misunderstanding,"
he started,
his voice shifting into a manipulative whine.
"I was going to pay you back,
I just needed a little more time."
"Time is up,
Scott,"
I said.
"I’ve spent three years waiting for you to defend me against your mother."
"I’ve spent three years watching you take credit for my wealth."
"You told everyone you bought this tequila at an auction."
I pointed to the broken shards.
"But I checked the serial number on the plaque months ago."
"It’s a decorative replica,
Scott."
"It’s worth maybe two hundred dollars at a gift shop in the city."
"You’ve been lying to your mother,
to your friends,
and to yourself."
Bernice let out a strangled gasp,
looking at her son with a new kind of horror.
"Scott?
Is that true?
Was it a fake?"
Scott couldn't meet her eyes,
his silence confirming the ultimate humiliation.
He was a fraud,
built on a foundation of my father’s daughter’s money.
"Pack your bags,"
I said,
turning my back on both of them.
"You have until sunset to leave my house."
"And Scott?"
"Leave the keys to the car."
"The payments are six months overdue,
May you like
and I’m not signing another check."
The silence that followed was heavier than the sledgehammer had ever been.
