Chapter 2 - The Feast of the Parasites
The main dining hall of the Beverly Hills estate was a masterpiece of opulence. Soaring twenty-foot ceilings were adorned with imported Italian chandeliers, casting a golden light over a thirty-foot mahogany dining table. The table was practically groaning under the weight of an extravagant feast: roasted prime rib, massive tiers of Alaskan king crab legs, roasted truffles, and rows of crystal flutes constantly refilled with top-shelf liquor by uniformed servers.
At the head of the table sat Linda, Ryan’s mother. She wore a emerald-green velvet gown, her graying hair styled in an intricate updo, and around her neck hung a platinum necklace encrusted with sapphire stones—a gift Ryan had sent home three years ago, intended for Emily’s thirtieth birthday. To Linda’s right sat Ethan, Ryan’s twenty-four-year-old brother, who had never held a real job in his life, wearing a custom tuxedo and showing off a gold Rolex to his influencer friends.
"To family legacy!" Ethan yelled, holding his glass high as the twenty guests laughed and clinked their flutes together. "And to my brilliant brother Ryan, who keeps the cash flowing from across the Atlantic!"
"Hear, hear!" Linda smiled gracefully, taking a delicate sip of her wine. "Ryan always was a good boy. He knows his duty to his mother and his family. A true provider."
Suddenly, the heavy oak doors of the dining hall burst open with a resounding bang that echoed like a cannon shot through the room.
The laughter died instantly. The room fell into an awkward, stunned silence as the guests turned toward the entrance.
Ryan walked into the dining hall. He was dressed in a simple dark shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the veins popping on his forearms. He wasn't smiling. He moved with a heavy, purposeful stride, his presence filling the massive room like a storm cloud. Right beside him, holding his arm tightly, was Emily. She was still wearing the faded sweatshirt and the yellow rubber apron, her hands raw and uncovered, her hair unstyled.
Linda’s glass froze halfway to her lips. Ethan’s grin vanished instantly, his eyes darting toward the hallway behind Ryan, where Rachel was frantically gesturing and mouthing words from the shadows.
"Ryan?" Linda stammered, quickly setting her glass down and forcing a warm, maternal smile onto her face as she pushed herself up from her chair. "My goodness! Ryan! Why didn't you call us? We would have had the private jet detail pick you up! Look at you, home early!" She opened her arms, stepping toward him. "Come, join us! We were just celebrating Ethan’s new venture!"
Ryan didn't move an inch. He didn't embrace his mother. He stood right in the center of the dining hall, his eyes sweeping across the lavish spread of food, the expensive wines, and the polished faces of the parasitic socialites who were eating his food.
"What venture, Ethan?" Ryan asked, his voice disturbingly calm, ringing out across the quiet room. "What venture are you celebrating with my money?"
Ethan swallowed hard, adjusting his tuxedo collar nervously. "Well, you know... the real estate investment firm I told Mom about. We were just having a small dinner with potential investors..."
"A small dinner?" Ryan echoed. He walked over to the edge of the long mahogany table, reached out, and casually picked up an unopened bottle of a five-thousand-dollar vintage wine. He held it up to the light, inspecting the label before looking directly at Ethan. "This wine came from my private cellar in the basement—the cellar that requires a biometric keycard. The keycard I gave to Mom for emergencies."
"Ryan, darling, please," Linda interrupted, her tone turning smooth and defensive as she stepped between Ryan and the guests. "Don't make a scene in front of our friends. You know how hard Ethan has been working. We just wanted to show our support. We are family, after all!"
"Family?" Ryan turned his head slowly toward his mother. He reached out and caught the velvet lapel of her green dress, pointing directly at the sapphire necklace glowing against her chest. "Where did you get that necklace, Mom?"
Linda’s hand instinctively covered the sapphires, a flush of red creeping up her neck. "This? It... it was in the master vault. You left it there! I thought you bought it for the family display!"
"I bought that for my wife," Ryan said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. He grabbed the delicate platinum chain and snapped it with a sudden, forceful jerk. The clasp broke instantly. Linda gasped in horror as Ryan pulled the necklace from her neck and gently slipped it into the pocket of his trousers. "I bought it for Emily three years ago. The same wife you forced into the outdoor kitchen to scrub greasy pans for your caterers!"
The dining hall erupted into quiet, shocked gasps. The invited guests began whispering among themselves, casting uncomfortable glances at Linda and Ethan.
"Ryan! How dare you speak to your mother like that!" Ethan shouted, trying to regain his posture in front of his friends. He stepped forward, putting his hands on his hips. "Mom has managed this entire estate while you were away! Emily couldn't handle the responsibilities! She’s an introvert, Ryan! She doesn't like parties! She asked to stay in the back!"
"Is that true, Emily?" Ryan asked softly, turning to his wife.
Emily stood tall beside Ryan, her body no longer shaking. With Ryan’s arm anchored firmly around her waist, she looked directly at Linda and Ethan. "They took my car keys three months after Ryan left," Emily said, her voice clear and ringing with pent-up truth. "They fired my personal assistant. They told the house security that I was not allowed to leave the gates without Rachel’s permission. And for the past two years, if I didn't supervise the staff and clean up after their weekly parties, Rachel threatened to cut off my father's medical trust fund—the trust fund Ryan created for him."
A suffocating silence descended over the room.
Ryan looked at his mother. Linda couldn't meet his eyes. She looked down at the Persian rug, her hands trembling.
"Get out," Ryan said quietly.
"Ryan, please—" Linda began, her voice cracking into fake desperation.
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"I said, GET OUT!" Ryan roared, his voice exploding through the dining hall like thunder, shattering the quiet composure of the room. He slammed his fist down onto the mahogany table so hard that crystal glasses tipped over, spilling red wine across the white linen tablecloth. "EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU! OUT OF MY HOUSE NOW!"
Panicked, the guests scrambled to grab their coats and purses, knocking over chairs as they rushed toward the front doors. Within two minutes, the grand dining hall was empty of outsiders, leaving only Ryan, Emily, and the three trembling traitors: Linda, Rachel, and Ethan.
