38

Richard sat in a wingback chair, the pages of the Financial Times resting on his knee as he read through. The morning sun streamed through the high windows of the lobby, illuminating the dust motes in the air. He lifted a porcelain cup of coffee, the steam curling around his face.

The peace lasted exactly six seconds.

The front doors were kicked open with enough force to rattle the glass. Chase marched across the floor, his face a shade of red. He didn't say a word until he reached Richard. He snatched his smartphone from his pocket and slammed it down onto the middle of the newspaper.

"Look at it!" Chase screamed. "Look at what that bitch is doing!"

Richard didn't flinch. He didn't even put his coffee down. He slowly lowered his gaze to the screen, which was still vibrating with a fresh notification.

"The newspaper is for reading, Chase," Richard said, his voice a low rumble. "The floor is for your tantrums. Choose one."

"Read the alerts, Dad! Read them!" Chase paced a tight circle around the chair, his hands flying through the air. "She’s at Opulencia. She’s been there for two hours. The current tally is thirty-two million dollars! Thirty-two million! She’s hemorrhaging my accounts! She’s trying to liquidate me in a single morning!"

Richard looked at the screen. Even for him, the number was a jolt. Thirty-two million dollars.  He felt an unexpected spark of shock in his gut, but he didn’t express it. He wouldn't give Chase the satisfaction of seeing him surprised.

Richard picked up the phone, scrolling through the itemized list of debits. Haute couture line. Jewelry vault access. Private showroom f*e. Personal styling staff.

A dry, appreciative chuckle escaped Richard’s throat..

"What is so funny?" Chase shrieked. "She’s stealing from me! Reign in your dog, Dad! You’re the one who brought her back! You’re the one who stopped the divorce! Fix this!"

Richard finally set his cup down on the side table with a slow, deliberateness. He leaned back, the phone still in his hand, and looked up at his son.

"My dog?" Richard asked, his eyes narrowing. "That’s an interesting choice of words for the woman who carries our name because you married them."

"She’s a thief!"

"No," Richard countered, his voice smooth and cold. "She’s a Hemingway. Or at least, she’s finally started acting like one. You spent three years complaining to me that she was a plain mouse, Chase. You told me she was boring. You told me she had no taste, no fire, and no appreciation for the lifestyle I provided for you both."

"I didn't mean I wanted her to spend thirty million dollars in an hour!"

"It seems she’s finally developed a taste for the cheese," Richard said, a dark smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He tossed the phone back onto the newspaper. "Why are you so upset? I’ve seen your personal ledgers, Chase. You’ve spent more than this on your whores over the last two months. You bought Monica a villa in Spain and a luxury boat, you think I don’t know about that? You’ve subsidized the lifestyles of half the cocktail waitresses in the city in your bid to get into their pants, some which you successfully have."

"That’s different!" Chase barked.

"How?" Richard stood up, his towering height forcing Chase to take a step back. "Because they were grateful? Because they did what they were told? Giselle is your wife. If she wants to buy the store, let her buy the store. It’s a drop in the ocean compared to the merger value which you bailed out on today, the fuck is wrong with you"

"She’s doing it to spite me!"

"She’s doing it because she can," Richard corrected. "And frankly, I find it refreshing. She was always too quiet. Maybe giving you a taste of your own medicine will make you sit up, you literally just threw a contract worth five hundred billion to come rant over some meagre sum."

"You're taking her side?" Chase asked, his voice cracking with disbelief. "You're actually sitting there enjoying this?"

"I’m enjoying the fact that you are finally going to have reasons to make money for the company because if you do not secure that deal, you will have to find ways to sustain your luxury life," Richard said. He stepped closer to Chase, his presence suffocating. "Because it looks like your wife is out to take what’s her. You pushed her, Chase. Now she’s showing you exactly how expensive she can be."

"I’m placing a hold on the account," Chase muttered, reaching for his phone. "I'm calling the bank right now."

Richard’s hand shot out, pinning Chase’s wrist to the table. "You will do no such thing."

"Dad, let go!"

"If you humiliate her by declining that card in public, you humiliate the Hemingway name," Richard hissed. "The staff at Opulencia know exactly who she is. If that transaction fails, the news will be everywhere. You will let her finish. You will let her buy whatever she damn well pleases."

"Thirty million, Dad!!"

"Don’t worry you will make the money back," Richard said.

"This isn't over," Chase growled, snatching his phone. "If she thinks she can just walk back in here and act like she’s the boss, she’s got another thing coming."

Just then a roar of engines outside the main entrance was so violent it vibrated the coffee cup on Richard’s side table. Chase, still fuming from his father's dismissal, spun around toward the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"What now?" Chase barked, his voice cracking with agitation. "What was that noise about?"

He stormed toward the front doors, Richard following at a more measured pace. As Chase shoved the doors open, his jaw dropped.