Chapter 8 - Confrontation at the Gates
An hour later, my chauffeured car approached the security gates of my estate. As the heavy iron grilles swung inward, I saw him.
Steven looked utterly destroyed. His designer tie was undone, hanging loosely around his collar; his hair was matted with sweat; and his eyes were bloodshot and frantic. When he saw my black sedan rolling through the gates, he bolted forward, waving his arms wildly.
"Mother! Mother, stop the car! Please!" he screamed, throwing himself against the tinted window as the vehicle slowed to a halt just inside the perimeter.
I signaled to the driver to lower the glass a mere three inches—just enough for my voice to carry clearly through the crisp morning air without letting him touch the car.
Steven dropped to his knees on the gravel, pressing his palms against the door frame. "Mom, you have to help us! They threw us out of the penthouse! We have nowhere to go! All our accounts are frozen, Amber is having a complete nervous breakdown in a coffee shop down the street, and the bank says our entire line of credit has been revoked! What did we do? What did I do wrong?"
I looked down at my son through the narrow gap in the window. There was no anger left in my chest—only a cold, detached pity.
"You asked what you did wrong, Steven," I said, my voice level and quiet. "You spent thirty-two years believing that my love was an infinite ATM, and you married a woman who taught you that cruelty to the person who feeds you is acceptable as long as you look good doing it."
"Mom, I'm sorry! I'll divorce Amber! I swear to God I'll leave her today!" he blurted out desperately, tears finally spilling over his lower eyelids. "Just turn the accounts back on! Give me back my cards, give me back the car, give me back my job! I'll do whatever you want!"
"My cards belong to my business, Steven. My company belongs to the new buyers. And your job required a level of competence and basic human decency that you simply do not possess," I replied without blinking.
"You can't do this to me! I'm your son!" he shrieked, his voice cracking into a desperate, ugly howl as the mask of privilege finally shattered completely. "You owe me! You created this life for me!"
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"I did," I admitted softly. "And today, I am uncreating it."
I gestured to the driver. The glass rolled smoothly up, sealing out his frantic screams and the sound of his fists hammering impotently against the reinforced steel door. The car accelerated smoothly down the driveway, leaving him kneeling alone in the gravel, watching his entire empire dissolve into dust in the rearview mirror.
