The Exodus
The dinner party disintegrated within minutes. The wealthy elite, allergic to scandal, offered hurried, awkward excuses before rushing for the door. The grand chandelier, which had earlier cast a warm, inviting glow, now seemed to glare down mercilessly on the fractured family remaining in the room.
Victoria sank into her chair, burying her face in her hands. The elegant black gown suddenly looked like mourning attire. James paced the length of the room, his hands running frantically through his hair.
“Is it true?” James demanded, his voice cracking. “Tell me it’s a mistake, Victoria. Tell me she’s wrong.”
Victoria offered only a broken sob.
Eleanor stood at the head of the table, the tablet resting beneath her fingertips. She didn't feel the triumph of revenge; she only felt the heavy, aching burden of a matriarch watching her family's foundation crumble. She had known about the embezzlement for weeks, hoping Victoria would come clean. But tonight’s cruel dismissal had been the final straw.
“Pack a bag, Victoria,” Eleanor said quietly.
May you like
Victoria looked up, mascara running down her cheeks. “You’re kicking me out?”
“No,” Eleanor replied, her eyes softening just a fraction. “I’m taking you to work.”
