Chapter 8 - The Ultimatum on the Table
The raw pain in Chloe’s voice cut through the shouting match like a knife, instantly draining the oxygen from the room.
Richard let out a long, heavy sigh, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses as he looked down at his niece. He softened his tone just a fraction—enough to look reasonable, but retaining the chilling pragmatism of a corporate lawyer fixing a liability issue.
“Look, Sarah,” Richard said, dropping his briefcase onto the rug and unzipping it. “Here is how we handle this. We bypass the state-mandated counselor. I have a private, elite behavioral specialist downtown—Dr. Vance—who handles high-net-worth family disputes discreetly. No state records. No court filings. Julian will attend ten mandatory private sessions, effective tomorrow morning.”
I crossed my arms, staring suspiciously at the legal folder Richard pulled from his case. “And what about Agent Miller and the police report? They’re coming back in four days to check compliance.”
“I’ll handle Miller,” Richard said smoothly, tapping the folder against his palm. “A formal legal retainer filed under my firm’s corporate umbrella will satisfy the department’s preliminary reporting requirements. They’ll close the active welfare ticket, and CPS will step back.”
I looked over at Julian, who was standing awkwardly by the hallway archway, waiting to see if his uncle’s parachute would save him. There was no remorse in Julian’s eyes—only a transactional relief that he had dodged immediate consequences.
“And what about Chloe?” I asked quietly, my eyes locked on Richard. “What protection does she get in this arrangement while she’s trying to heal in her own home?”
Richard hesitated for a fraction of a second—just long enough for me to know that Chloe’s safety was an afterthought to him, secondary to the preservation of Julian’s academic record.
“Julian will move out temporarily,” Richard announced, his words dropping like a stone into the quiet room.
May you like
Julian’s head snapped up in horror. “What?! Move out? Where?!”
“To my guest house across town,” Richard said firmly, leaving no room for argument. “You’ll live under strict lockdown conditions. No car, no electronics beyond your school laptop, and every single weekend you will spend doing community service at the county food bank under my direct supervision. If you step out of line once, I wash my hands of you entirely, and your mother can deal with the state courts however she sees fit.”
