Chapter 2 - The Fire in the Hearth
The reply didn't come from Grant.
Ten minutes later, my phone buzzed again, vibrating harshly against the granite countertop. I picked it up, expecting another defensive text from my brother, or perhaps a sharp reprimand from my mother instructing me not to ruin Christmas Eve with my "usual dramatics."
Instead, the screen displayed a phone number with a local area code that I hadn't seen pop up in over three years.
My father.
Richard Vance. Patriarch of Vance Enterprises, owner of half the commercial real estate in three counties, and a man who traditionally delegated all family communication to my mother.
I stared at the screen as it buzzed, letting it ring twice before I swiped the green button and pressed it to my ear.
"Natalie," his voice came through the speaker—deep, raspy from decades of imported cigars, and completely devoid of holiday cheer. "Grant showed me your text. He said you were turned away at the door."
A cold spike of adrenaline hit my chest. "Turned away? Dad, your wife slammed the oak door in our faces while Eli was standing right there in the snow. She told us we weren't on the final guest list."
There was a long, heavy pause on the line. The kind of pause that usually preceded a corporate restructuring or a severe reprimand in his study.
"Denise overstepped," Richard said finally, though his tone carried none of the conviction of a man ready to apologize. "The lodge was crowded, Natalie. You know how your mother likes things orderly. She didn't want a scene with... well, under the circumstances."
"Under what circumstances, Dad?" My voice rose, sharp and cracking with the pain of rejection. "Because I'm a single mother working two jobs? Because my divorce wasn't clean enough or wealthy enough to grace your pristine little Christmas party? Eli is her grandson!"
"Watch your tone, Natalie," Richard commanded, the familiar steel returning to his voice. "Raising your voice doesn't change reality. You chose to walk away from the family firm when you married Thomas. You made your bed."
"Thomas left us two years ago with empty bank accounts and a mountain of debt!" I shouted, tears finally breaking free, spilling hot down my cheeks. "I came back here to try to rebuild my life near home, and you all treat me like a stranger trespassing on your property! Well, congratulations. You don't have to worry about our presence disrupting your perfect evening anymore. We are home, and we are staying right here."
I went to pull the phone away from my ear to end the call, but his next sentence froze my hand in mid-air.
"Pack a bag for the boy," Richard said quietly.
I blinked, staring blankly at the kitchen wall. "What?"
"I said, pack a bag for Eli. And get some warm clothes for yourself. I'm sending a car."
"Are you insane?" I hissed. "After what just happened? You think I'm going to turn around and drive back to that lodge so your friends can look down their noses at us?"
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"I am not at the lodge, Natalie," Richard said, and for the first time, a strange, weary tremor slipped into his ironclad voice. "I left an hour ago. I'm at the old estate on North Lake. And if you have an ounce of sense left in that stubborn head of yours, you'll get in the car when it arrives. Because there are things about this family—and about your grandfather’s legacy—that your mother has spent the last twenty-four hours desperately trying to keep hidden from you."
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