Marcus stepped closer, invading my personal space, using his height to loom over me. “That’s why we need an injection of capital. A seed round. From you.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a document. It wasn’t a wedding vow. It was a contract.
“What is this?” I asked.
“A Future Funding Agreement,” Marcus said. “It stipulates that you will transfer fifty million dollars into a blind trust for us by midnight tonight. And you will sign over the deed to this beach estate.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. It was a dry, hollow sound. “You think I’m going to just sign over my fortune? On your wedding day?”
“If you don’t,” Marcus whispered, leaning in so close I could smell the expensive scotch on his breath, “then the wedding is off. We leave. We take the press with us. And we tell everyone that Eleanor Sterling is a bitter, controlling matriarch who cut off her daughter because she was jealous of her youth and happiness.”
I looked at Lydia. “Lydia? You can’t be serious. This is blackmail.”
Lydia took a sip of her champagne, looking bored. “It’s not blackmail, Mom. It’s business. Marcus is a visionary. He needs capital. You have too much of it sitting around in boring bonds. You owe me this.”
“I owe you?” I felt a crack form in my heart. “I have given you everything. I carried you. I raised you alone. I built this company with a baby on my hip so you would never know hunger.”
“You gave me money because you were too busy building your empire to be a mother!” Lydia snapped, her voice raising. “You think buying me things makes up for you always being at the office? You think this beach makes you a good mom?”
“I did my best,” I whispered, the old guilt flaring up—the guilt every working mother knows.
“Your best isn’t enough anymore,” Lydia said coldly. “Marcus is my family now. You’re just… the bank.”
“And banks can be foreclosed on,” Marcus added with a sneer. “Here is the deal, Eleanor. You sign the transfer, and we let you walk Lydia down the aisle. We let you play the doting mother for the cameras. You get to keep your dignity.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then we leave,” Marcus said. “And I promise you, Eleanor, you will never see your future grandchildren. I will make sure Lydia cuts you out completely. You’ll die alone in this big, empty house, just like a sad, old widow.”
Lydia nodded in agreement. “He’s right, Mom. You’re getting old. You’re becoming a burden. Honestly, you should pay us just for the privilege of staying relevant. Maybe you should look into a retirement community. Somewhere quiet where you won’t embarrass us with your outdated morals.”
A burden.
