Chapter 3 - The Broken FoundationThe phone in my hotel room rang at 8:15 a.m.
I was sitting at the small mahogany desk, reviewing the preliminary asset disclosures Raymond had sent over encrypted mail. I looked at the caller ID flashing Dominic and let it ring out.
It rang a second time. Then a third.
On the fourth attempt, I swiped to answer, keeping my voice utterly devoid of emotion.
“If this is about my car still being in the garage, have Daniel bring it to the hotel,” I said calmly.
“What did you tell them?” Dominic’s voice roared through the receiver, breathless, ragged, and trembling with a rage he couldn't control.
I paused, turning a page of the financial disclosure. “What are you talking about, Dominic?”
“Don't play games with me, Carrie!” he shouted. “Walter just walked out! Then Daniel, Maria, Thomas, and half the maintenance crew! Even my mother packed her bags and left for the Plaza! What poison did you feed them before you threw your little tantrum and walked out last night?”
I leaned back in the ergonomic chair, letting out a quiet, steady breath.
“I didn't say a single word to Walter or Maria, Dominic. I packed my medical bag, said goodbye to Walter at the front door, and left. If everyone is walking out on you, perhaps the problem isn't my exit. Perhaps it’s the environment you’ve created.”
“You don't understand!” he hissed, his voice dropping into a desperate, frantic register. “The quarterly investor gala is in four days! The estate needs to look functional! The board expects perfection! How am I supposed to run a multi-million-dollar holding corporation when my entire household staff abandons me over a seating arrangement?”
“You called it a seating arrangement,” I replied quietly. “I called it my home. You made your choice, Dominic. Now live with the acoustics of an empty house.”
I hung up before he could answer.
Downstairs in the grand estate, Dominic stood in the cavernous, silent foyer holding a dead phone. The sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows felt mocking. The house was too big, too cold, and suddenly terrifyingly quiet.
He marched up the curved staircase, his boots heavy on the wood, and pushed open the master bedroom door.
Vanessa was sitting at my dressing table, wearing silk pajamas, lazily brushing mascara onto her eyelashes. She didn't even turn around as he entered.
“Dom, darling, tell the new cook to make eggs Benedict,” she called out casually. “The kitchen staff this morning looked like they were attending a funeral.”
“They walked out, Vanessa,” Dominic said, his voice dead.
Vanessa paused, the mascara wand hovering inches from her eye. She spun around on the velvet stool. “What do you mean, they walked out? Call agency replacements! We have people coming this weekend!”
May you like
Dominic looked at her—really looked at her. He saw the designer clothes that didn't belong to her, the casual entitlement with which she occupied a space she hadn't earned, and the fragile, hollow illusion of power she represented.
For the first time in his life, the impenetrable armor of his ego cracked.
Related Stories
