Chapter 8 - The Return to San Antonio
Three weeks later.
The crisp Texas autumn had turned into a mild, golden November afternoon in San Antonio.
We sat at a small, sunlit outdoor table at a quiet Mexican cafe near the River Walk—the exact same cafe where, nine years ago, I had taken a young elementary school math teacher on her very first date.
Mariana wore a simple yellow sundress, her dark hair hanging loose over her shoulders, her skin glowing with fresh health and peace. Across the small wooden table sat an old leather sketchbook—the book she used to map out the new garden designs for our Austin estate.
My phone rang on the table.
I glanced at the screen. It was an unknown number from a prepaid mobile phone in Austin.
I picked it up and set it on speaker, holding Mariana's hand across the table.
"Julian?" came my mother's voice over the line. She sounded tired, raspy, and stripped of every ounce of her former aristocratic arrogance.
"Speaking," I said flatly.
"Julian... please," Evelyn begged, her voice trembling. "Chloe and I are staying in a small one-bedroom apartment near the airport. The legal fees for Hayes are overwhelming us... the banks won't issue us new credit lines... Chloe had to take a job as a clerk at a retail store..."
I listened to her voice without a single flicker of pity in my chest.
"You have your pension from Dad's union policy, Evelyn," I said neutrally. "It pays two thousand four hundred dollars a month. That is more than enough to cover rent and groceries for two people."
"Two thousand dollars?!" Evelyn gasped. "Julian, we can barely afford generic food! We're buying basic canned goods and generic milk!"
Mariana looked at the phone, a small, subtle smile touching her hazel eyes.
"Generic milk and basic eggs cost eighteen dollars and fifteen cents a week, Evelyn," Mariana said softly into the speaker, her voice calm as a quiet lake. "I know. I managed it for five months in a utility closet."
The line went dead silent.
On the other end, my mother let out a sharp, choked gasp of absolute, total defeat as the weight of her own cruelty came full circle to crush her.
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"Do not call this number again, Evelyn," I said cold-eyely. "Any further communications regarding family matters will be handled through Arthur Sterling's office."
I hung up the phone, turned it completely off, and set it facedown on the wooden table.
