Chapter 5 - The Confrontation on the Boardwalk
Riley looked like she was ready to physically attack me.
She broke away from Brandon and charged down the red carpet, stopping two feet in front of me, her voice screeching high enough to shatter glass.
"You psychopathic bitch!" Riley roared, her fingernails digging into her palms. "You ruined my life! You ruined my engagement party! How could you do this to me?! I'm your sister!"
I didn't step back. I didn't flinch. I looked down at her smeared mascara with a expression of calm, detached pity.
"Sister?" I asked softly, my voice carrying effortlessly to every listening ear on the dock. "That's strange, Riley. Because less than twelve hours ago, you sent me a text message informing me that I wasn't your family."
Riley’s mouth snapped shut. She swallowed hard, her face suddenly draining of all color. "I... I was just joking! It was a joke because Brandon's parents wanted a small venue!"
"A joke?" I pulled my sleek black phone from my purse, tapped the screen twice, and held it up facing the crowd.
I turned the high-brightness screen slowly toward Arthur and Victoria Sterling, then toward the camera crew, and finally toward the crowd of sixty-eight guests.
The text thread was displayed in giant, zoomed-in text:
Riley: Only real family belongs here. [Attached: Guest Removal Notification for Avery Hayes] Mom: [Laughing Emojis] Oh honey, don't be dramatic... We didn't want you feeling out of place around high society anyway!
A wave of audible disgust swept through the assembled crowd of guests.
"Oh my God," one of Brandon's aunts whispered loudly. "Look at what the mother sent!" "That is utterly vile," another guest remarked. "She took $85,000 from her daughter and then laughed at her being excluded?"
Evelyn rushed forward, her face burning with pure panic as she saw her social standing being incinerated in real time. "Avery! Put that away! You are taking things completely out of context! Mothers and daughters banter all the time! We love you!"
"You love my bank account, Evelyn," I corrected her, using her first name for the first time in my life.
Evelyn flinched as if I had slapped her across the mouth. "How dare you call me by my first name! I am your mother!"
"A mother doesn't pocket eighty-five thousand dollars of her daughter's hard-earned money and then mock her when she’s pushed out the door," I said, my voice deadpan and razor-sharp.
Richard stepped between me and Evelyn, trying to use his height to intimidate me like he used to when I was twenty years old. "That is enough, Avery! You will fix this right now! You will walk up to that Captain, tell him it was a financial mistake, and re-authorize the ship to launch! Do you have any idea how much damage you are doing to my reputation?!"
I looked my father up and down. I looked at his vintage Rolex—a watch I bought him for his 60th birthday. I looked at his custom Italian leather shoes—shoes purchased with the supplementary credit card linked to my master account.
"Your reputation, Dad?" I asked quietly. "Which reputation is that? The reputation of a successful private equity manager? Or the reality of a man who hasn't paid his own office rent in fourteen months?"
Richard froze. A look of sheer, unadulterated terror crossed his face.
"Avery... don't," Richard whispered, his voice cracking, suddenly pleading. "Don't do this here."
"Why not?" I asked, taking a step closer to him. "You wanted high society to know who the Hayes family really is. Let's show them the full financial statement."
I turned toward Arthur Sterling, who was watching the exchange with a hawk-like focus.
"Mr. Sterling," I called out politely. "You're a seasoned financial attorney. Let me ask you a question. When a man owes $450,000 in back taxes to the IRS, and his eldest daughter quietly pays off the tax lien so his home isn't auctioned on the courthouse steps... who owns the house?"
Arthur Sterling’s eyes snapped wide open. He turned his head slowly to glare at Richard. "Richard... you had an IRS tax lien?"
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"No! It's a lie! She's making it up!" Richard stammered, sweat pouring down his forehead, soaking his linen shirt collar.
"I have the property deed records right here on my encrypted cloud server, Arthur," I said smoothly, tapping my phone. "In fact, I hold the primary promissory note on the Hayes family estate in Emerald Bay. Dad hasn't owned that house since 2024. I do."
