Chapter 8 - The Family Reunion in ExileWhile Julian was hitting rock bottom, the rest of the Thorne family was discovering what life looked like without their free ride.
Beatrice had been forced to move out of her sprawling country club estate into a cramped, noisy two-bedroom apartment near the interstate. Without her monthly luxury stipends, her high-society friends had suddenly stopped returning her phone calls. The women she used to look down upon at charity luncheons now walked right past her without a glance.
One rainy Tuesday afternoon, Beatrice decided to swallow her immense pride and show up at the Vance Global corporate lobby, hoping to catch me as I arrived for work.
Security called me down to the grand marble lobby, where Beatrice was pacing nervously near the front desk, clutching a worn leather handbag.
When she saw me step out of the private elevator flanked by two executive assistants, she rushed forward, her hands outstretched in desperation.
"Elena! Oh, thank God!" Beatrice cried out, her voice echoing off the marble walls. "Darling, you have to listen to me! This has all gone too far! They turned off the electricity in my apartment yesterday! My arthritis is acting up, and I can't even afford my medication!"
I stopped walking, looking down at her with a completely neutral expression.
"Where is Camilla?" I asked.
Beatrice choked back a sob. "Camilla is locked in her room all day, crying over her social media accounts being deleted! Leo got a job washing cars, but he quit after two days because his back hurt! Elena, we are your family by marriage! You can't just let us starve on the street!"
"By marriage, Beatrice," I emphasized the word softly. "Not by blood, and certainly not by loyalty. For five years, you treated my presence in your family like a charitable favor. You mocked my background, sneered at my quietness, and encouraged Julian's infidelity behind my back."
Beatrice gripped the sleeve of my coat, tears streaming down her powdered face. "I'll apologize! I'll get on my knees right here on this floor and beg for your forgiveness! Just give us back our trust funds!"
I gently pulled my sleeve from her trembling fingers.
"Save your knees, Beatrice," I said evenly. "You'll need them to walk yourself back to the bus stop. My grandfather taught me that a tree with rotten roots cannot stand when the wind blows. Your family was rotten long before I ever met Julian."
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I turned to the head of security standing nearby. "Make sure Mrs. Thorne is escorted off the property. And if she returns, notify local authorities for trespassing."
Beatrice let out a sharp, devastated wail as the security guards gently but firmly took her by the arms and guided her toward the glass revolving doors.
