Chapter 9 - The Ultimatum
The digital clock on my microwave glowed 8:05 PM.
The deadline I had given Richard and Daniel had passed five minutes ago.
“If you mean that, Mia,” I said, keeping my eyes fixed on the apartment wall, “you need to put it in writing.”
“What do you mean?”
“An affidavit, just like my father’s,” I said, my voice hardening into absolute resolve. “A signed, timestamped statement detailing how Richard and Diane engineered your dependence and used you as a psychological wedge in our relationship to maintain control over Daniel.”
There was a long, agonizing pause on the line. I could hear the faint sound of traffic in the background—the muffled roar of Seattle evening traffic, perhaps the very street where Daniel’s car was idling.
“If I do that,” Mia whispered, her voice trembling violently, “they will destroy me. They’ll pull my job references, they’ll sue me for every cent of my tuition support, I’ll have nothing.”
“You already have nothing, Mia,” I said quietly. “You’re just renting it from them on their terms. The only difference is whether you want to stay in their cage or walk out of it.”
Another silence stretched between us—thicker, heavier than before.
“Send me the template,” Mia said.
Before I could answer, my front door buzzer rang.
It wasn't a casual tap. It was a sharp, heavy double-buzz that vibrated through the small hallway of my building.
I walked to the intercom, my heart beating in a steady, controlled rhythm. I pressed the audio button.
“Emma,” Daniel’s voice came through the speaker, breathless and strained. “Open the door. We need to talk. Just you and me.”
I looked at my phone, still connected to Mia’s line. “He’s here,” I told her.
“Don’t let him in, Emma,” Mia said quickly. “He’s desperate. Richard isn't even with him—he drove off twenty minutes ago when he realized Daniel was cracking.”
I didn't answer Mia immediately. I pressed the intercom button again.
“You have five minutes, Daniel,” I said into the speaker. “And you come up alone.”
Two minutes later, there was a tentative knock on my apartment door.
When I opened it, Daniel looked ten years older than he had at the family dinner three days ago. His tie was gone, his hair was rumpled, and his eyes—usually so steady, so annoyingly reasonable—were wide with genuine panic. He looked like a man who had just watched the foundation of his entire life dissolve into sand.
“Emma,” he said, stepping across the threshold before I could block him. “My father is insane. I didn't know about the lien on your parents' house. I swear to God, I didn't know he filed that three days ago.”
I didn't step back. I crossed my arms, looking at the man I had planned to marry three weeks from now.
“You didn't know he filed it, Daniel?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. “Or you didn't care, as long as it kept me in line?”
He stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth opening slightly as the words hit him like a physical blow.
“Is Mia still on the phone?” he asked suddenly, his eyes dropping to the phone in my hand.
I looked down at the screen, where the call was still active, and then back up at Daniel’s pale, shattered face.
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“She’s listening to every word,” I said.
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