Chapter 11 - Chase's Tantrum
Chase erupted from his leather chair with such violent force that it tipped backward, crashing onto the carpeted floor of the boardroom. He didn't care that he was in a professional corporate skyscraper; he was a spoiled, entitled child who had just been told for the very first time in his thirty-two years of life that his golden status had zero currency.
"I am not signing a damn thing!" Chase roared, pointing a trembling finger across the table at my face. "This is extortion! You’re taking advantage of Mom and Dad when they’re down! I’ll hire a real estate lawyer! I’ll take you to court and prove that you promised to support this family! I’ll tell everyone on social media how you're trying to steal our parents' house while my wife is seven months pregnant!"
"Chase, sit down and shut up!" my mother screamed at him, her voice cracking in genuine panic as she realized that his temper tantrum was about to destroy their only lifeline. She looked across the table at me, her hands clasped together in a desperate prayer. "Victoria, please listen to reason! Three thousand dollars a month in rent? Your father’s social security check barely covers groceries! Chase doesn't have a steady client right now! How are we supposed to pay you that kind of money?!"
"That sounds like an operational budget problem for the residents of 402 Elm Street," I said calmly, closing my laptop and gathering my printed financial audits into my leather folder. I stood up from the head of the walnut table, my posture straight and my face entirely devoid of emotion.
"You told me six months ago that Chase was a capable man who needed space to build his family," I reminded her, walking slowly around the perimeter of the table toward the double doors. "He is thirty-two years old, able-bodied, and holding a college degree I helped pay for. He can secure standard commercial employment, or Tiffany can return to workforce after her maternity leave. How you generate your monthly housing budget is no longer my fiduciary concern."
I paused at the door, placing my hand on the brass handle as I looked back at the two of them standing amidst the wreckage of their illusions.
"This corporate buyout offer remains valid for exactly forty-eight hours," I stated clearly. "If the notarized Quitclaim Deed and signed tenancy contracts are not delivered to my security desk by Thursday at 5:00 PM, the offer is permanently rescinded. I will instruct my real estate trust to stand down, and I will allow Continental Mortgage Corporation to proceed with the public foreclosure auction on Friday morning."
"Victoria! Don't walk out of here! Come back!" my mother wailed, stumbling toward the door.
I didn't turn around. I opened the oak doors and stepped out into the hallway, where Officer Marcus and two additional security personnel were waiting.
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"Escort the visitors out of the building, Marcus," I instructed quietly. "And deactivate their visitor passes. They are not to be permitted upstairs again under any circumstances."
As the elevator doors slid shut behind me, sealing away Chase’s shouted curses and my mother’s sobbing pleas, I felt a profound, weightless relief settle over my chest. For five years, I had carried the crushing weight of their financial survival on my back while they treated me like dirt. Now, the ledger was balanced. I had handed them the exact bill for their cruelty, and whether they chose to sign it or let the bank take their home was entirely up to them.
