Chapter 9: Storm at the Dinner Party
760words
Mom said nothing, just clutched me tightly. Her body trembled as a tsunami of emotions crashed through her mind, washing away all coherent thought.
Soon, the "Penguin Grandpa" butler returned to "invite" us. Mr. Alex, he said, requested our presence in the main house's living room.
Mom's face remained paper-white, but she stood anyway. Taking my hand, she walked step by deliberate step, like a soldier marching to battle.
The main house's living room dwarfed any room I'd ever seen—large enough to fit my entire kindergarten. It was packed with strangers, older men and women in black and navy blue "armor." The air hung heavy with choking cigar smoke that made my nose wrinkle.
The moment we entered, every eye in the room swiveled toward us, pinning us like butterflies to a board.
I caught fragments of thoughts from all directions.
[So this is the woman and her brat? Rather ordinary-looking, aren't they?]
[This should be entertaining—the Sterling family's annual drama is about to begin.]
[I never imagined Alex would be foolish enough to get tangled up with such a questionable woman.]
Their thoughts pricked like tiny needles, making me shrink against Mom's leg, too intimidated to meet their stares.
Uncle Alex stood at the front, his face icier than I'd ever seen. Beside him stood a grinning man with a fox-like face—this must be Vincent.
Fox-face's smile widened when he spotted us. He stepped forward and announced in theatrical tones: "Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Ms. Campbell, who has somehow clouded our normally astute Alex's judgment, along with her… son of questionable origin."
As he finished, I felt Mom's body stiffen beside me.
Fox-face began his "performance." I didn't understand many words he used—"gold-digger," "opportunist," "social climber"—but the venom in his voice was unmistakable. He wove a nasty tale about Mom using the most hurtful words imaginable.
He painted Mom as a scheming woman who'd do anything to get close to Uncle Alex's money. He described me as a "tool" she was using for blackmail and manipulation.
In his thoughts, he was practically giving himself a standing ovation.
[Brilliant, Vincent! Play it up! Let these old fossils see what trash Alex has dragged in! Once he's finished, the Sterling Group is mine!]
When he finished, the room fell silent. Everyone stared at Mom with cold, judgmental eyes.
Mom's face had gone deathly pale, her lips trembling. She clutched me protectively behind her as waves of desperation and humiliation threatened to drown her.
I couldn't stand it anymore.
I hated that fox-faced man! I hated those people stabbing us with their eyes! Most of all, I hated seeing Mom so hurt!
Heat surged from my stomach to my head. Fear vanished, replaced by pure, righteous anger.
I broke free from behind Mom like a small, provoked lion and charged into the center of the room.
I pointed at the smug fox-face and, with every ounce of strength in my little body, shouted:
"You're a bad man! You're LYING!"
The room froze, all eyes turning to me in shock.
"Your heart is lying!" I continued, tears streaming down my face. "In your heart, you're saying you want to steal Uncle Alex's company! You said Mom is bad, but she's the best person in the whole world! YOU'RE the bad one! You big meanie!"
My voice echoed through the cavernous room.
Fox-face's smile froze. He stared at me like I was a ghost, his eyes wide with shock and panic.
Just as he opened his mouth to snap back, a dark figure rushed forward like a gust of wind.
Uncle Alex.
Without a word, he knelt and swept me into his arms with a fierce protectiveness I'd never felt before.
His embrace felt warm and safe—a fortress against all those hostile stares. He patted my back gently as his thoughts flowed: [Don't be afraid, Leo. Dad's here. Dad will never let anyone hurt you again.]
Still holding me, he turned to face the stunned crowd.
With his free hand, he pulled a document from his inner jacket pocket—the same "magic book of secrets" I'd seen in his office.
He held it up, his icy gaze sweeping the room before settling on fox-face, who had gone deathly pale.
Cradled in Uncle Alex's arms, tears still clinging to my lashes, I glanced between the paper in his hand and the faces around the room.
I had no idea what that paper said.
But I knew the game was about to end.
