Chapter 5 - The Gathering Storm
The lobby of the historic hotel in downtown Savannah was cool, quiet, and smelled faintly of aged mahogany and white tea—a stark contrast to the humid, screaming chaos of the marina docks. I sat in a high-backed leather armchair near the fireplace, my laptop open on my knees, watching the glass revolving doors spin every time a guest walked in from the late-afternoon heat.
Thirty-eight minutes had passed since my call with Dad.
The double doors pushed open, and my parents shuffled into the lobby. They looked ten years older than they had twenty-four hours ago. Mom was carrying a single designer tote bag, her designer sunglasses hiding her swollen eyes, while Dad trailed behind her like a beaten dog, carrying his old leather business folder tucked under his arm as if it were the last anchor keeping him attached to reality.
They didn't see me at first. They stood awkwardly near the reception desk, looking entirely out of place among the polished marble and luxury travelers.
I closed my laptop, stood up, and walked across the lobby.
"Mom. Dad."
Mom flinched, turning around with a defensive sneer already forming on her lips, but when she saw me standing there without a trace of mockery or anger in my eyes, the sneer collapsed into a wet, miserable shudder. She didn't say a word; she just reached out and grabbed my sleeve, leaning heavily against my shoulder.
Dad looked down at the floor, his face burning red with humiliation. "We... we checked out of the house, Lexi. Riley is staying at a hotel near the airport with some of her sorority friends. She... she wouldn't answer her phone."
"Of course she wouldn't," I said gently, guiding them toward the elevator bank. "She only knows how to show up when there’s a camera rolling."
I keyed my room card into the private suite on the top floor—a spacious, sunlit room overlooking the historic squares of the city—and held the door open for them. They walked inside in absolute silence, dropping their bags near the entryway.
"Sit down," I instructed, pointing toward the sofa.
I walked over to the minibar, poured two glasses of ice water, and handed them over before sitting down in the armchair opposite them.
"Now," I said, resting my elbows on my knees. "Let's talk about Meridian Trust. And let's talk about what Derek has been having you sign behind my back for the last six months."
Dad opened his mouth to speak, but before a single word could come out, the landline telephone sitting on the hotel desk began to ring.
Its sharp, electronic trill echoed loudly through the quiet suite, startling Mom so badly she dropped her glass of water onto the carpet.
May you like
I didn't move. I kept my eyes locked on Dad’s pale, trembling face as the phone rang a second time. A third time.
"Answer it, Dad," I said quietly. "Because I have a feeling that's not the front desk."
