Chapter 8 - The Final Reckoning
Security guards were holding Ryan by his arms, guiding him toward the door, but he thrashing, trying to see into the main hall.
"Ryan?" I said, walking forward.
Security stopped, looking at me. "Chef Vance, do you know this man? He pushed past the check-in desk."
"It's fine, Greg," I told the guard softly. "Give us a moment."
Ryan broke free from the guards' grip and stumbled toward me. He looked pathetic. The cocky, arrogant man who had floated in the pool with a cold drink while I stood on a fractured bone was completely gone. In his place was a defeated, desperate boy who had finally run out of people to use.
He looked at my chef's coat, at the sparkling venue around us, and at the team of ten uniformed staff members waiting for my instructions.
"Catherine..." Ryan gasped, his voice raspy. "Please. You have to help me."
"Help you with what, Ryan?" I asked, keeping my arms crossed, my posture straight and firm.
"Dad kicked me out," Ryan sobbed, tears spilling down his hollow cheeks. "He changed the locks yesterday. Mom tried to stop him, but he told her he was selling the house and moving into an apartment alone unless she let him kick me out. I have nowhere to go, Catherine. I have no money. No job. My record is ruined because of that arrest!"
I looked at him calmly. "And why did you come here?"
"Because you're making thousands!" Ryan yelled, his old desperation flaring up into momentary anger. "Look at this place! You're rich now! You owe me! If you hadn't brought that catering company to my birthday party, Marcus Thorne never would have demoted me! None of this would have happened!"
I took a slow, deep breath, looking my brother directly in the eyes.
"Ryan," I said, my voice cold and smooth as polished ice. "I spent four years watching you take everything from our parents. I watched you take my money, my time, my labor, and my self-respect. And on the day my leg was broken in two places, you sat in a pool and demanded I serve you."
"I was stupid!" Ryan begged. "I made a mistake!"
"No," I replied. "A mistake is dropping a plate. What you did was treat me like a slave because you believed you were superior to me. You destroyed your own life, Ryan. You destroyed it with your arrogance, your laziness, and your refusal to take responsibility."
"Catherine, please!" he fell to his knees on the marble floor, reaching out to grab the hem of my chef's jacket. "I'm your brother!"
I stepped back, out of his reach.
"I am not your servant anymore, Ryan," I said clearly. "I will not give you money. I will not give you a job. And I will never let you near my life again."
I turned to the security guards standing nearby.
"Greg," I said calmly. "Please escort this man off the premises. If he returns, press charges for trespassing."
"No! Catherine! No!" Ryan screamed as the two large guards hoisted him up by his shoulders and dragged him back out into the freezing snow. His frantic cries echoed down the glass hallway until the heavy mahogany doors clicked shut, cutting off his voice forever.
May you like
I stood in the quiet hallway for a moment. I closed my eyes, took a long, deep breath, and felt the last lingering remnant of familial guilt evaporate into nothingness.
Then I adjusted my chef's jacket, turned around, and walked back into the kitchen to feed fifty people.
