Chapter 4 - The Price of Arrogance
At exactly noon, a silver Mercedes pulled into our drive.
I stood by the window of the drawing room, watching them get out.
Sloane looked small.
Her father, a tall man with white hair and a visible tremor in his hands, led her.
They were escorted into the house by two of Roman’s men.
The air in the drawing room changed the moment they entered.
Roman was sitting in a high-backed leather chair, looking like a king on a throne.
I was standing by the fireplace, my back to the door.
“Mr. Raines,” the father began, his voice cracking.
“Thank you for seeing us. I am Arthur Harrington.”
Roman didn't rise. He didn't even nod.
“You’re here because my wife allowed it,” Roman said.
I turned around slowly.
Sloane flinched when our eyes met.
She was wearing a conservative navy suit, her hair pulled back tightly.
There was no glitter, no champagne, and no arrogance left in her.
“I… I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
She couldn't even look at me. She was staring at the rug.
“Look at her when you speak,” Roman commanded.
The snap in his voice made both Harringtons jump.
Sloane forced her head up. Her eyes were red and swollen.
“I am deeply sorry for my behavior at the gala, Mrs. Raines.”
“I was out of line. I was cruel.”
“I didn't know who you were, and that’s no excuse.”
I walked toward her, stopping just a few feet away.
“You’re right, Sloane. It’s not an excuse.”
“But you’re wrong about one thing.”
“You didn't need to know who I was to treat me with basic decency.”
“You saw someone you thought was 'less than' you, and you chose to hurt them.”
“That says everything about your character, and nothing about mine.”
Sloane started to sob, her shoulders shaking.
“Please,” her father pleaded, looking at Roman.
“My family has been in Chicago for four generations.”
“If this blacklist remains, we lose everything. Our board seats, our club memberships…”
“Our dignity.”
Roman leaned forward, his eyes like flint.
“You lost your dignity when you raised a daughter who thinks she can assault people.”
“My wife was there to raise money for orphans.”
“Your daughter was there to feed her ego.”
I looked at the broken girl in front of me.
I felt a flicker of pity, but it was quickly quenched by the memory of the laughter.
The memory of three hundred people watching me be exposed.
“I’ll lift the ban,” I said suddenly.
Roman stood up instantly. “Clara?”
I kept my eyes on Sloane.
“I’ll lift the ban under one condition.”
Sloane looked up, a glimmer of hope in her eyes.
“Anything. Please.”
“You will spend the next year volunteering at the Harbor Light kitchen.”
“Every weekend. Eight hours a day.”
“You will wear the same uniform I wore.”
“You will wash the dishes, you will mop the floors, and you will serve the people.”
“If you miss one day, the ban becomes permanent.”
Sloane looked horrified. The idea of manual labor was clearly alien to her.
“And,” I added, “you will do it without your phone, your car, or your name.”
“You will be just another waitress.”
Her father grabbed her arm, his grip urgent.
“She’ll do it! She’ll be there tomorrow morning!”
Roman looked at me, a look of pure admiration in his eyes.
“You heard my wife,” Roman said to the Harringtons.
“Now get out of my house.”
As they hurried out, Roman walked over to me and wrapped his arms around my waist.
“That was brilliant,” he whispered into my hair.
“It’s a better punishment than anything I could have designed.”
“Humility is a powerful teacher,” I said.
May you like
“I hope she learns it.”
***
