Chapter 18 - The Sister's Begging
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The final domino to fall was Paige.
With her father’s company liquidated, her mother’s social standing obliterated, and her own disastrous, meme-filled marketing career completely ruined, Paige was entirely out of options. She had no money, no skills, and the bank had repossessed her beloved $52,000 BMW earlier that week.
Two days after my mother’s hysterical ambush, Paige showed up at the lobby of my luxury Manhattan apartment building. The concierge called up, sounding incredibly skeptical of the crying, disheveled girl asking for me. I told him to send her up.
I opened my door to find Paige standing in the hallway, looking absolutely pathetic. She was wearing cheap sweatpants, her hair was greasy, and she was carrying a single, pathetic cardboard box of her belongings.
"Catherine, please," Paige sobbed the second she saw me. "Mom and Dad are fighting non-stop. The bank locked the doors to the house this morning. I have nowhere to go. I have no money."
I leaned against the doorframe, watching the golden child weep.
"That sounds like a very difficult situation, Paige," I said neutrally.
"You have to help me," she pleaded, tears streaming down her face. "You're rich now! You have this massive apartment and a huge firm. Just give me a job, please! I'll do anything. I can do marketing for your architecture firm!"
I almost laughed. "You want to run marketing for a premier architecture firm after you accidentally launched a national campaign featuring deep-fried raccoons?"
Paige flushed bright red, looking down at the floor. "I messed up! I admit it! Just... please, Catherine. I'm your sister. I'm begging you."
I looked at her, remembering the smug, triumphant smile she had shot me across the country club ballroom while my father ignored my existence. She had reveled in my pain when she was on top. Now, she expected salvation simply because she had hit rock bottom.
"You want a job, Paige?" I asked.
She nodded furiously, her eyes lighting up with desperate hope.
"Okay," I said. I stepped back into my apartment, grabbed a cheap plastic broom from the utility closet, and walked back to the front door. I held the broom out to her.
"The janitorial staff in my office building is hiring," I said coldly. "It pays minimum wage, you work the graveyard shift, and you scrub toilets. You said you would do anything."
Paige stared at the broom in absolute horror, her face twisting with disgust. "You want me to be a janitor? I have a certificate!"
"You have nothing," I corrected her, dropping the broom onto the hallway floor at her feet. "Take the broom, or take the elevator. It's entirely your choice."
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Paige looked at the broom, then looked at my cold, unyielding face. She let out a loud, dramatic sob, turned on her heel, and ran toward the elevator, crying hysterically. She was still too proud to work for her survival.
I closed my heavy apartment door, locking out the noise. The final loose end was tied.
