Chapter 8 - The Cold Concrete
I stepped off the private elevator into the lobby, flanked by General Thorne and two Vanguard operatives. I wore a tailored black suit, holding Michael Jr. in a high-tech, tactical baby carrier strapped to my chest.
When my parents saw me, they froze. I was no longer the broken girl in the oversized sweatshirt. I was a titan.
"Elena!" my mother gasped, reaching out a trembling hand. "Oh, thank God. Look at the baby. Look at our beautiful boy."
"Take one more step toward my son, and you will be restrained," I said. My voice echoed in the cavernous glass lobby, devoid of any warmth.
My father gritted his teeth. "Stop this nonsense, Elena! You’ve made your point. We’re broke. Olivia is facing bankruptcy. You need to call off your lawyers and give us access to the trust. We're your family!"
"My family," I said, touching the silver tags around my neck, "died in a helicopter crash in the Korangal Valley. My family is strapped to my chest. You are just genetics."
"We gave you life!" my mother wailed.
"And Michael paid for yours," I shot back. "He paid your debts. He bought your cars. And when he died, you forced his pregnant wife into a freezing garage with a rusted cot. You thought I was weak. You thought my grief made me a victim."
I stepped closer, staring directly into my father's eyes.
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"I am the Director of a billion-dollar defense grid. I hold the power of life and death for thousands of soldiers. And you thought you could break me with a cold room. You are pathetic." I turned to the guards. "Throw them out. If they return, press federal trespassing charges."
They were dragged out, screaming and crying, the heavy glass doors sealing them out in the cold forever.
