Julian: Eleanor! Get back here right now!
Beatrice: Julian, look at my gown! It’s custom French silk! She ruined it!
Julian: Mother, sit down! Take this napkin!
Beatrice: Don’t tell me to sit down! Your pathetic little orphan wife just attacked me in my own penthouse!
Julian ran to the foyer doors, his dress shoes squeaking against the polished stone.
Julian: Eleanor! Stop walking away from me!
The heavy elevator doors were already sliding shut, reflecting Eleanor's cold stare as the car descended.
Julian slammed his fist against the brass elevator call button, teeth grinding together.
Julian: Damn it! She has nowhere else to go!
He turned back into the living room where Beatrice was frantically dabbing at her face with a white linen napkin.
Beatrice: Did you see the look in her eyes, Julian? She threatened you!
Julian: She was in shock, Mother. I hit her too hard.
Beatrice: Too hard?! You didn't hit her hard enough! She needed to be put in her place months ago!
Julian: We need to be careful right now. The company merger closes tomorrow morning.
Beatrice: What does that little nobody have to do with your corporate merger?
Julian: She co-signed the bank collateral forms last week, Mother.
Beatrice stopped wiping her emerald dress, staring at her son with a sharp scowl.
Beatrice: Why would you let an orphan with no family name sign anything for Vance Holdings?!
Julian: The lender demanded a spousal signature to release the forty million dollar credit line!
Beatrice: Well, she’ll come crawling back in two hours. She has no money of her own.
Julian: She didn't take her purse. She didn't even take her phone.
Beatrice: Good! Let her wander the freezing streets in that ridiculous white gown!
Julian walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring down fifty stories into the glittering Dallas streets.
A white luxury sedan pulled away from the building’s private awning, its tail lights cutting through the fog.
Julian: Who owns a white Maybach in our private residential garage?
Beatrice: Probably the oil tycoon on the fifty-fifth floor. Stop obsessing over cars and call our lawyer!
Julian: Why would I call Richard right now?
Beatrice: Because you need to file divorce papers before she tries to take half of your executive bonus!
Julian: We signed a prenuptial agreement, Mother. She walks away with fifty thousand dollars and nothing else.
Beatrice: Make sure she doesn't even get fifty thousand! That girl came into this family with a cheap canvas suitcase!
Julian looked down at his right hand, the skin still stinging from where he had struck Eleanor’s face.
Julian: Her grip on my jaw... It felt like iron, Mother. I’ve never felt her look at me like that.
Beatrice: It was desperate pride, Julian. Nothing more. Now pour me another glass of brandy!
The penthouse phone suddenly began to ring, a loud, piercing chime echoing off the high ceilings.
Julian stepped toward the marble console, frowning as he saw the caller ID.
Julian: It’s the building’s chief financial officer.
Beatrice: At nine o'clock at night? Put it on speaker.
Julian swiped the screen, putting the call on speakerphone with a steady voice.
Julian: Frank, what’s going on? We’re in the middle of a family dinner.
Frank: Julian, I’m at the downtown office right now. We have a massive crisis with the bank.
Julian: What are you talking about? The forty million dollar loan was approved at noon!
Frank: The funds were frozen five minutes ago by order of the lead investor.
Julian gripped the edge of the marble desk, his throat tightening up instantly.
Julian: The lead investor? Who is the lead investor?!
Frank: Scalon Global Capital. They just called the entire credit line due tonight.