Chapter 7 - The Father's Bargain
"Sit down, Dad," I said, pointing to the plush leather armchair across from my desk.
Mark didn't sit. He stood beside the chair, resting his heavy hands on the carved mahogany backrest.
"Your mother hasn't slept in two days, Emily," he began, his voice strained. "She’s sick with worry. Chloe’s parents are threatening to break off the engagement entirely if the wedding is canceled. They think Ryan is an abusive brute because of that video you sent around."
"Ryan is a brute, Dad," I said calmly, leaning back in my executive chair and lacing my fingers together. "He humiliated a five-year-old child for fun. He ruined her birthday because he knew he could get away with it."
"He was wrong!" Mark snapped, throwing his hands up. "Okay?! I admit it! He was an idiot! He acted like a spoiled child! But sending that video to your aunt? To your cousins? You publicly humiliated your own brother!"
"He humiliated himself," I corrected him cleanly. "I simply provided the evidence. If his behavior looks terrifying when exposed to the light, perhaps he shouldn't behave that way."
Mark took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He smoothed down his necktie, forced a tight, unnatural smile, and leaned across my desk.
"Look, Em," he said, adopting his old, manipulative negotiation tone—the tone he used whenever he wanted me to do free labor for his friends. "We can fix this. You’ve made your point. Everyone knows you're strong now. Everyone knows you won't be pushed around."
"Is that what you think this is?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "A power play?"
"Isn't it?" Mark countered. "You proved your point. Now, call Marcus Vance. Tell him it was a family misunderstanding. Get the date back. I will personally force Ryan to buy Sophie a five-hundred-dollar birthday present. I’ll make him apologize to her in front of the whole family."
I looked at my father—the man who had watched my mother favor Ryan for decades, the man who had stayed silent while my brother threw my daughter's cake into the garbage.
"A five-hundred-dollar present?" I asked softly.
"Or a thousand," Mark added hurriedly, thinking he was reaching me. "Whatever you want. Name the price, Emily. Let’s just end this nightmare before Ryan’s life is completely ruined."
I stood up slowly, leaning forward over my desk until I was eye-to-eye with him.
"My daughter's dignity is not for sale, Dad," I said, my voice dropping to a icy register. "And neither is mine. Ryan's life isn't being ruined by me. It’s being ruined by twenty-seven years of your terrible parenting. You built a monster, and now you're upset that he’s tearing down your own house."
Mark’s face hardened, his eyes narrowing with bitter realization. "You're really not going to help him, are you?"
"I will never lift a single finger for Ryan, for you, or for Mom ever again," I stated clearly. "Now, please leave my office before I have security escort you to the street."
Mark stared at me for three long seconds, realizing for the first time in his life that his youngest child was completely, permanently out of his reach.
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"You're heartless, Emily," he whispered.
"No, Dad," I said, opening my office door for him. "I'm just a mother."
