Chapter 6 - The Unwelcome Visitor
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Celeste Ashford arrived at my modest house the following morning in a gleaming, black Mercedes.
She stepped out of the luxury vehicle wearing a pristine camel-colored coat, oversized designer sunglasses, and the distinct expression of someone visiting a condemned building scheduled for demolition.
She did not wait after ringing the doorbell. When I opened the door, she walked right past me without an invitation and placed my forgotten reading glasses down on the kitchen counter.
“You left these in my foyer yesterday,” Celeste announced, her tone dripping with condescension. “One would think a woman who works with complex machinery all day could manage to keep track of a simple pair of glasses.”
“I appreciate you taking the time to return them,” I replied evenly, ignoring the insult.
Her gaze swept critically around my kitchen, pausing with obvious distaste on the worn wooden cabinets and the chipped blue ceramic bowl resting beside the sink. This was the very first house Daniel and I had ever purchased, and although I now owned several multi-million-dollar properties, I had never sold it. Every single imperfection in this room carried a beautiful memory.
Celeste saw absolutely none of that. She saw only stark proof of my supposed inferiority.
Then, her eyes landed on the pen resting beside my notepad. It was a rare, limited-edition gold fountain pen, given to me as a personal gift by the head of a massive German engineering firm after we successfully navigated a difficult international merger.
Celeste picked it up, examining the intricate gold nib with a skeptical frown.
“A counterfeit,” she declared confidently, tossing it back onto the counter. “Vivian, pretending to own expensive things you clearly cannot afford only draws more attention to your lack of means.”
The heavy gold nib struck the stone counter with a sharp clink, and something deep inside me almost smiled. Celeste had spent her entire adult life evaluating price tags, yet she completely lacked the ability to recognize true value when it rested right in her own hand.
“Grant is currently facing a minor, temporary cash flow problem,” she continued, pivoting to the real reason for her visit. “Some mid-level supplier has behaved completely irrationally, and the market is unfortunately overreacting. He needs liquid collateral immediately, which is exactly why this tedious business with your workshop must be settled today.”
“The workshop is not for sale,” I stated flatly.
May you like
Her face tightened, the polite veneer slipping. “Fifty thousand dollars is incredibly generous, Vivian. Frankly, the land is an absolute eyesore. Do not become overly sentimental and ruin this.”
“I said, it is not for sale.”
