Chapter 2A Feast for the Desperate

I opened my mouth to speak, but the relatives were already piling in, their hands clamoring over the polished leather. I held back, pulled my phone from my pocket, and tapped out a priority message to Marcus.

Because of the New Year holiday, I had given Marcus a mandatory week of paid leave. Knowing he might be caught up with family gatherings, I couldn't expect an instantaneous reply, so I helped my parents into the passenger cabin.

The heavy, soft-close door sealed out the winter chill. I glanced up at the interior rear-view mirror; dangling from the stem was a small, hand-woven silver talisman Hannah had brought back from Kyoto.

There was no mistake. This was my car.

Travis adjusted the rear-view mirror, catching my eye with a condescending grin. "So, Felix. Uncle Arthur mentioned you folks are putting the old family house on the market. Coincidentally, I’m looking to expand my real estate portfolio. What do you say you sell it to me?"

Seeing my car beneath him, I already knew his 'real estate portfolio' was nothing more than hot air.

I managed a tight, polite smile. "And what kind of offer were you thinking, Travis?"

To my family, the proceeds from that old suburban property were negligible pocket change. If Travis genuinely wanted a home, out of respect for family ties, I wouldn't have minded knocking twenty percent off market value to help him out.

Yet while I was quietly calculating a family discount, Travis opened his mouth and went straight for the jugular.

"Three hundred thousand," he said, tapping the steering wheel casually. "How’s that sound?"

He chuckled, sounding magnanimous. "I heard from the broker that Uncle Arthur is desperate to offload it quickly. Look, we’re family, so I won't haggle you down. I’ll take the hit and buy it above distress value."

The sheer audacity nearly knocked the wind out of me.

My parents’ house was a historic four-bedroom brick craftsman in the prime downtown school district. Under current market conditions, even in a cooling climate, it was easily appraised at over three million dollars.

He had the gall to offer three hundred thousand?

I had considered offering him an eighty-percent discount; he was trying to rob my parents for ten cents on the dollar.

"That number seems a bit divorced from reality, don't you think?" I leaned forward, pulling up the local MLS listings on my phone, where the median comps in our old neighborhood clearly started at two and a half million. "We’re family, Travis. Offering ten percent of fair market value is a bit predatory."

Travis’s smile evaporated, his brows knitting into a dark scowl. He took a long drag from his cigarette and flicked the burning ember straight toward the center console, letting it tumble across the front armrest.

"The housing market is in the gutter," Travis snapped, his voice hard. "The only reason I’m even offering cash to take that old dump off your hands is out of charity toward our shared bloodline. Don't be ungrateful, Felix."

I stared down at the leather armrest. The stray ash had already scorched a dark, pitted hole into the bespoke Hermès-grade hides. A cold pressure coiled in my chest, but I kept my voice steady.

Seeing that I didn't immediately back down, Travis pivoted, directing his venom toward my parents in the back row.

"Uncle Arthur, Aunt Eleanor—I see how bad things have gotten for your household. You’re practically forced to liquidate your roof just to stay afloat, and here I am reaching out to lend a hand. Look at Felix’s attitude! Is that how you teach him to treat family?"

My father had spent his entire career as a quiet, mild-mannered high school principal. He despised holiday confrontations and squirming drama. He managed a strained, diplomatic cough. "Travis, son... our household isn't struggling for cash. We’ll revisit the house sale another time."

Uncle Greg leaned over from the front passenger seat, clearly displeased. "What, Arthur? You think you’re getting shortchanged? I heard from Travis that the tech sector took a bloodbath this year. Felix is completely unemployed, isn't he?"

He clicked his tongue with performative pity. "You sell the property to Travis, and once the paperwork clears, I’ll have Travis arrange a decent corporate job for Felix. Consider it our family compensation package. That’s more than fair, isn't it?"

Every word dripped with unearned superiority.

My mother, who had the patience of a saint, finally snapped. Her voice dropped to an icy chill. "We appreciate your deep concern, Greg, but Felix is doing exceptionally well. His company has never been healthier."

Uncle Greg merely scoffed, assuming she was clinging to her pride in the face of ruin, and continued his lecture on why we should sign the deed over.

Before I could speak, my phone vibrated in my palm.

It was Marcus.

A text banner slid down: Mr. Bennett, I apologize for the delay—we have house guests and I couldn't take a voice call. Here is what has transpired over the past forty-eight hours.

What followed was a detailed breakdown.

Years ago, when I had instructed Marcus to quietly hire Travis without revealing my ownership, Marcus had naturally assumed Travis was a favored cousin. Not wanting to offend the boss’s family, Marcus had not only assigned him to a cushy supervisory security position, but the regional branch management had rolled out the red carpet, granting him absurd leeway.

The local staff, seeing the special treatment from corporate headquarters, assumed Travis’s personal patron was Marcus himself. They deferred to him at every turn.

Then came the holidays. The permanent security staff and housekeepers at my private residence had been granted holiday leave, and Travis’s security detail had been rotated in to monitor the perimeter.

Taking advantage of his master key clearance and the empty grounds, Travis had brazenly unlocked my private garage, commandeered my Rolls-Royce Cullinan to show off to his hometown circle, and looted the walk-in pantry of its cases of imported French water.

The final message from Marcus read:

Mr. Bennett, the country club estate at Beryl Manor is also held under your private asset management trust. I have already contacted the general manager on-site, Mr. Albright. He is waiting to receive you and will execute your instructions down to the letter.

I stared at the screen, an incredulous smirk playing at the corners of my mouth.

Even the very estate Travis claimed to have purchased was under my portfolio. I held so many residential and commercial holdings across the state that I had completely forgotten about the secluded winery retreat in Beryl Valley.

I looked through the tinted windshield. Up ahead, towering wrought-iron gates swung open beneath grand stone pillars. An estate manager in a crisp charcoal suit was already standing by the grand portico, waiting.

Travis slammed his palms onto the steering wheel, beaming with triumph.

"Here we are, folks! Welcome to my estate. Let's head inside!"