Chapter 6 - The Confrontation at the Tower
“Chloe,” I said, my voice completely steady, calm, and detached. “You shouldn't be calling this number.”
“Elara, I’m sorry!” Chloe wailed, her voice cracking over the speaker. “I’m so sorry! I didn't mean what I said about your shoes! I was drunk! I was just stressed about the gala! I didn't know who your father was! If I had known—”
“If you had known who my father was,” I interrupted smoothly, “you would have treated me with fake politeness while continuing to despise me behind my back.”
Silence hung on the line for three seconds, broken only by Chloe’s desperate gasps for air.
“You didn't throw my shoes in the bushes because you thought I was poor, Chloe,” I continued quietly. “You threw them because you believed that being cruel to someone weaker than you made you powerful. You believed that because you lived in a big house, the rules of basic human decency didn't apply to you.”
“Elara, please!” Julian’s voice suddenly cut into the line, taking the phone from his sister. “Elara, hear me out! I’m standing outside your father’s building right now! The security guards in the lobby won't let us up! Please come down... just give me five minutes! Five minutes, Elara!”
I looked out the dining room window toward the street far below. Even from the top floor of the Bennett Tower, I could see two tiny figures standing near the glass entrance doors on Fifth Avenue, surrounded by news reporters and photographers who had gathered like vultures after the morning headlines broke.
“I’m coming down, Julian,” I said. “Not to talk about us, but to end this properly.”
I hung up the phone, set it on the table, and stood up.
“Elara,” my father said, standing up from his chair. “You don't have to face them. I can have security clear them off the street in two minutes.”
“No, Dad,” I said, looking at him with absolute confidence. “I hid behind my anonymity for two years because I was afraid of people using my surname. It’s time I stop hiding.”
Ten minutes later, the private elevator doors opened into the marble lobby of the Bennett Tower.
Four heavy security guards stood in a line near the glass entrance doors, keeping a small crowd of reporters and photographers behind the brass stanchions. Outside, standing on the sidewalk in the bright morning sunlight, were Julian and Chloe Ashford.
Julian looked wrecked. His tuxedo from the night before was rumpled, wet, and stained. His hair was messy, and deep dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes.
Chloe stood beside him, clutching a small designer handbag—the only piece of her former life she had managed to save—looking terrified as news cameras flashed continuously in her face.
When the security guards pushed the heavy glass doors open to let me step onto the private granite plaza, the reporters erupted into a frenzy of questions.
“Ms. Bennett! Is it true Bennett Global seized Ashford Hall overnight?!” “Ms. Bennett! How long has your family held the primary debt on the Ashford estate?!” “Julian! Do you have a statement regarding the bankruptcy filings?!”
I raised my hand slightly, and the reporters fell silent, sensing the intense tension in the air.
Julian took three fast steps toward me, stopping only when Arthur Vance stepped into his path with an outstretched arm.
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“Elara...” Julian whispered, his hands trembling as he looked at my crisp navy suit, my diamond earrings, and the effortless authority I carried. “Look at you... I... I don't even recognize you.”
“That’s because you never bothered to look at me, Julian,” I said, standing ten feet away from him, my voice carrying clearly over the soft hum of city traffic. “You looked at my clothes. You looked at my car. You looked at my job. But you never once looked at me.”
