Chapter 6 - The Aftermath of the Storm
By the second week of January, the reality of my decisions had settled over the Sterling family like an arctic freeze.
I sat in my high-rise office in downtown Seattle, looking over the real estate listings for the Las Lomas property. The mansion had been listed for four.point-five million dollars, and within seventy-two hours, we had received three competitive offers from cash buyers looking to gut the interior and modernize the space.
My phone rang. The caller ID read Jenny.
I let it ring three times before I picked it up, setting it on speakerphone as I continued reviewing my client portfolios. "Jenny."
"Sarah, please, you have to talk to Mom," Jenny's voice came through the line, tight and ragged, devoid of the smug, aristocratic cadence she had used at the Christmas tree. "She’s... she’s a mess. She had to list her designer bags on resale sites just to pay the first month's rent on a two-bedroom apartment in Bellevue. And the IRS... they sent her an official audit notice yesterday. They are demanding thirty thousand dollars in back taxes and penalties for the charity account."
"Then she should pay it," I said, my voice level.
"With what money, Sarah?" Jenny cried, her voice rising an octave. "Dad's brokerage account is completely frozen because of his gambling debts! They are going to take everything! And Emma... Emma was kicked out of her school dance because our tuition payment bounced. Everyone in our social circle is talking about us. They think we’re bankrupt!"
"You are bankrupt, Jenny," I said, leaning back in my leather chair, looking out at the gray, rain-swept harbor of Seattle. "You’ve been financially bankrupt for a decade. The only difference is that I’ve stopped pretending you weren't. You lived on borrowed time and stolen money, and now the bill has arrived."
"We're your family!" she screamed, the old, ugly entitlement flashing through her panic. "How can you be so cold? You have millions! You have a beautiful home! You have everything! And you’re letting your own mother live in a rented apartment in Bellevue like a... like a common person!"
"A common person," I repeated, a small, cold smile touching my lips. "You mean someone who works for a living? Someone who doesn't steal from charity accounts or forge school invoices to buy luxury trips? Yes, Jenny. I suppose she is a common person now. And honestly, it’s the most honest thing she’s ever been."
"You're a monster, Sarah," Jenny whispered, her voice shaking with a deep, impotent rage. "You're doing this because of that... that broken baby. You're punishing us because we didn't want to look at her."
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"I'm doing this because I finally learned how to value a life," I said. "And yours are no longer worth my investment. Goodbye, Jenny."
I hung up the phone and blocked her number, the quiet hum of my office returning like a soothing balm.
