Chapter 5 - The Aftermath in Denver
The morning sun filtered brightly through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Lisa’s sunlit downtown Denver apartment.
I sat on her plush velvet sofa, my left leg elevated on three soft pillows, a hot mug of coffee resting in my hands. For the first time in four days, the deep, throbbing ache in my tibia had subsided into a manageable dull hum.
Lisa walked out of her kitchen carrying a plate of freshly toasted sourdough bread and scrambled eggs. She set it down on the coffee table in front of me.
"Eat," she ordered gently. "You haven't had a real meal since yesterday morning."
"Thank you, Lisa," I said, picking up a fork. "For everything. Yesterday... it was crazy."
"Crazy?" Lisa let out a dark laugh, sitting down in the armchair across from me. "Cat, yesterday was a masterpiece of poetic justice. I’ve been waiting seven years to watch someone put your family in their place."
My phone, resting on the side table, began to vibrate continuously. The screen illuminated with a string of text messages and missed calls.
Mom (12 missed calls) Dad (6 missed calls) Ryan (19 missed calls)
I picked up the phone, swiping through the flurry of text messages that had been sent throughout the night:
Mom: Catherine, you need to call your father right now. Ryan is in a dark place. He hasn't left his room. How could you do this to your own blood?
Dad: Catherine, please call us. We need to talk about how to fix this with Mr. Sterling. You need to send a letter explaining it was all a misunderstanding.
Ryan: You ruined my life you bitch! Mr. Sterling blocked my number! I’m going to lose my car! You owe me!
I set the phone back down on the table face down.
"Not answering?" Lisa asked softly.
"No," I said, taking a sip of coffee. "There's nothing left to fix. They don't care that I was hurt. They don't care that I was in pain. They're only upset because the mask slipped in front of people who actually mattered to them."
A soft knock sounded at Lisa’s apartment door.
Lisa frowned, glancing at her watch. "Are you expecting anyone?"
"No," I said, my body instantly going tense.
Lisa walked over to the door, looked through the peep-hole, and let out a long, irritated sigh. She turned back to me. "It's your dad."
I swallowed hard, my grip tightening around my coffee mug. "Let him in."
Lisa unlocked the door and pulled it open.
Daniel Vance stood in the hallway. He looked terrible. His hair was uncombed, his polo shirt was rumpled, and deep black bags hung beneath his bloodshot eyes. He looked like a man who hadn't slept a single minute.
"Catherine," he said softly, stepping into the apartment, his voice trembling. "Thank God you're here."
He walked over to the sofa, looking down at my braced leg with an expression that looked shockingly like genuine remorse.
"Can I sit down?" he asked timidly.
"Go ahead, Dad," I replied, keeping my voice cool and measured.
He sat down on the edge of the wooden coffee table, wringing his hands together. "Your mother is hyperventilating at home. Ryan... Ryan threw his laptop against the wall this morning. He’s officially fired from Sterling, Croft & Associates."
"I know," I said flatly. "I read the texts."
"Catherine," Dad pleaded, leaning forward, his eyes wet with tears. "I know we made mistakes yesterday. I know I shouldn't have told you to stop complaining. But Ryan is your brother. He’s young, he’s ambitious, and he made a foolish mistake. If you write a formal letter to Mr. Sterling explaining that you were on heavy pain medication and that the emergency email was a prank sent by Lisa... Mr. Sterling might reconsider."
I stared at my father, feeling a cold, profound sadness wash over me.
Even now, sitting in front of his injured daughter, his entire purpose was still to shield Ryan from the consequences of his own actions.
"Dad," I said quietly. "Do you know what the orthopedic surgeon told me before I left the hospital?"
My father blinked, confused. "What?"
"He told me that if I placed heavy weight on my left leg during the first seventy-two hours, the titanium pins could shift, causing permanent nerve damage and requiring a second open surgery," I explained, looking him directly in the eye. "I told you that yesterday. I told Mom that. And do you remember what you said to me?"
Dad shuffled uncomfortably, looking down at the rug. "Catherine, I didn't know—"
"You said: 'You didn't break the whole thing. Just do what you can. Stop complaining and help your brother,'" I repeated, every word heavy as lead. "You didn't care if I got nerve damage, Dad. You just wanted Ryan to have his roasted chicken."
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Dad lowered his head, tears dripping onto his pants. "Cat... please..."
"No, Dad," I said, my voice hardening into iron. "I am not writing a letter. I am not lying for Ryan. He treated me like a servant, and he lost his job because his boss saw his true character. For the first time in his thirty-three years, Ryan is going to have to face the real world alone."
