Chapter 9 - A Taste of Poverty
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Inside room 214 of the Starlight Inn, the reality of poverty was setting in with brutal speed.
Diane was sitting on the edge of the bed, aggressively dialing numbers on her phone.
"Declined again!" she shrieked, throwing the phone onto the cheap carpet. "That little bitch canceled the emergency credit cards too!"
Brooke was pacing the small room, biting her nails. "Mom, I have a gala on Saturday. I need my hair done. I need my dress from the tailor! How are we going to pay for anything?"
The door opened, and Grant walked in. He looked completely dead inside.
He tossed the silver folder onto the small table.
"What is that?" Diane asked, eyeing the embossed logo of Natalie Pierce’s law firm.
"Divorce papers," Grant said hollowly. "She took the company, Mom. I was fired this morning. She converted her debt into equity because of the money you stole."
Brooke gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "She can't do that!"
"She already did," Grant snapped, turning a furious glare on his sister. "And she gave me an ultimatum. I sign the divorce papers by Friday, or she hands the embezzlement files to the FBI. You’re both going to federal prison."
The room fell dead silent.
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Diane’s aristocratic mask finally slipped, replaced by sheer, unadulterated terror. "Prison? Grant, you have to talk to her. We are family!"
"I did talk to her," Grant yelled, his composure completely shattering. "She doesn't care! You threw boiling soup on her, Brooke! You treated her like absolute trash, and you dragged me down with you!"
