Chapter 21 #3
“I’ve had the terms altered,” he says, speaking over her as if she’s background noise.
He takes a deliberate, slow bite of his lamb, chewing thoroughly while we all hang on his silence.
He sips his red wine, dabs his mouth with a linen napkin, and finally looks at me again.
“You will no longer be receiving it. I’ve spent the last week with the attorneys.
Legally, the principal will no longer vest to you, Annemarie.
It will be directed to Daniel. A gesture of goodwill and compensation for the public humiliation and breach of contract. ”
Daniel’s head jerks up. He looks genuinely shocked, his gaze darting from my father’s stern face to mine. “Graham, wait. You don’t need to do that. I don’t want—”
My father holds up a single hand, a silencing gesture. “It’s the least we can do. Consider it a…severance package. For the future you were promised.”
I wish I could say I’m shocked. I wish I could say I didn’t see this coming from a mile away, but that would be a lie. My father treats people like assets; once an asset underperforms, you liquidate it.
Still, that trust was ten million dollars.
It was my parachute. I’d spent years quietly dreaming of the house I’d buy with it—somewhere with a garden and a room for an office where I could write, a place that belonged to me and no one else.
I thought about using it for a real wedding one day—one where I actually liked the man and picked my own flowers.
Now, I’m looking at a lifetime of scraping by on a nanny’s salary, wondering if I’ll ever be able to afford more than a one-bedroom in a walk-up.
My father leans in, his eyes searching for the breaking point.
“Unless,” he says softly, “you agree to come home. If you get on that plane, I will call the lawyers. I will reverse the transfer. You will see that ten million in your account in just a few short months. All you have to do is stop this nonsense and come back to the life you were meant for.”
My mother’s head snaps toward him, her poise finally cracking. “Graham? You never mentioned amending the trust. We set that up together.”
He doesn’t even look up from his wine, swirling the dark liquid with a casual, practiced grace. “It was a late-night call to the firm, Elaine. You were already asleep, and frankly, I didn’t see the point in troubling you with the paperwork until the ink was dry. You know how these things are.”
“I contributed to that trust,” she bites back. “Nearly half of that is my family’s money.”
“And would your family want it sitting in the pocket of someone who’s turned her back on everything we represent?
” Dad asks, finally leveling a gaze at her that could freeze mercury.
“If she isn’t going to contribute to this family, if she isn’t going to uphold the Collier name, why should she benefit from the weight of it?
It’s basic economics, Elaine. You don’t fund a failing venture. ”
My mother’s shoulders drop. It’s a tiny movement, but it’s the sound of a white flag hitting the floor.
The posture of surrender. No one wins an argument with Graham Collier once his mind is set.
That immovable will is what built his empire.
It’s also what’s dismantled his relationship with his only daughter.
She reaches over, her fingers cool as she lays a gentle hand on my arm. “Annie,” she whispers, her eyes pleading. “Just come home. Don’t be difficult. Just…come back with us.”
I look at her, and for a second, the temptation is a physical pull in my gut.
It would be so easy to say yes. I could walk out of here, check into a suite upstairs, and wake up tomorrow to a life where the hardest decision I have to make is which designer shoes won’t hurt my feet.
I’d never have to worry about rent or groceries or a retirement fund again.
I’d have a stylist on call, a chef to prepare meals that never involved a microwave, a team of people to make the dust and the clutter simply disappear.
I would want for nothing. Nothing at all.
But then, a movie reel starts playing behind my eyelids, and the faces start to appear. Faces of people I’ve grown to love more than anything.
Leo is the first person I see. His perfect, unruly curls. The way he smirks when he’s trying not to laugh. The solid warmth of him beside me on the couch, his steady calm an anchor in any storm.
Then I hear Cori’s laugh, and see Marcus’s easy grins, and Eileen. God, Eileen. The woman who fought for me when no one else would. She didn’t risk everything for me to trade my hard-won freedom for a gilded cage. She wanted me to have the whole sky.
And then, there’s Emma.
I think of us sprawled out in Central Park, watercolor paint drying on our fingers.
I think of the way she looks when she’s “teaching” me how to play Barbies, her serious little face as she explains the complex social hierarchy of her dolls.
I think of the way she tucks her head into my neck when she’s tired.
I think of rainy afternoons baking cookies that end up with more dough on the counters than in the oven, her hands sticky with chocolate.
These weeks with her have woven themselves right into me, tangled up in good ways, like roots I didn’t know I needed.
I’ve come to love her in a way that’s wound itself around my own ribs. She is part of my sky now.
She’s already been left by one mother and if I walked away now, I’d be doing the same thing.
I’d be breaking that fierce, tender little heart all over again.
I would become another person who decided she wasn’t worth staying for.
I can’t do that to her. I won’t. If the cost of staying in her world is a lifetime of mystery-meat tacos and wondering if I can afford the good laundry detergent, then so be it.
This patchwork life in New York, with its real faces and messy joys—it’s more home to me than those polished mansions ever were, Eileen aside.
I’m trading ten million dollars for real, messy, beautiful love. It’s the worst financial trade in the history of the Collier family.
And it’s the first one I’ve ever been proud of.
My mother’s hand is still on my arm, waiting. I look at my father, his expression one of supreme confidence. He’s already counted my money and my future as his to give or take away.
“Keep your money,” I say again, louder this time. “I’m not coming home.”
My father’s face darkens. “Annemarie—”
My voice doesn’t shake. “I said no.”
“You’re throwing away ten million dollars—”
“I’m choosing my life over your money.”
“You’ll regret this.”
“Maybe.” I stand up, my chair scraping against the floor. “But at least it’ll be my choice. My life.”
I look at Daniel. “I really am sorry, for everything. You deserve someone who actually loves you. I hope you find that.”
He nods slowly, his eyes softening. “Thank you, Annie. I’m sorry we couldn’t make it work.”
I smile sadly. “Me too.”
My father is shaking, a fine, rhythmic tremor of pure, unadulterated rage that makes the silverware on the table shake.
“If you walk out that door,” he says, his voice a low, jagged rasp, “you are no longer a Collier. Do you understand? You’re out. Permanently.”
My mother cuts him a sharp look. “Graham, you don’t mean that.”
“I mean every goddamn word!” He slams his palm down again, and this time a bread plate clatters to the floor.
He points a trembling finger at my chest. “If you’d rather stay here in this fucking shithole than fix the mess you’ve made when it comes to this family, then as far as I’m concerned, you are no longer in this family.
I’ll have you removed from every will, every trust, every legal document with the Collier name on it. ”
Daniel shifts, looking genuinely unsettled. “Graham, let’s just take a breather. We can work something out that doesn’t involve—”
“No!” my father barks. “It’s California or it’s nothing. Make your choice, Annemarie.”
I stand there, feeling the air in the room grow thin. I turn to my mother. She’s staring down at her plate, her face a mask of practiced neutrality, her hands folded in her lap. “Mom?”
“Elaine,” my father warns, his eyes boring into the side of her head. “If you disagree, you’re more than welcome to go with her.”
My mother’s eyes widen. She looks up at me, and for a split second, I see the girl she used to be—the one who might have run, too. But then the light goes out. She looks at my father, then back to me, her voice a fragile whisper. “He’s my husband, Annie…I…”
She sounds helpless. She looks it.
“And I’m your daughter,” I say, but I can tell she’s made her choice. Again. It isn’t me. It was never going to be me. A hot, stinging prickle of tears hits my eyes, and I hate myself for it. I hate that it still hurts.
“Annie?”
I’d know that voice anywhere—the low, gravelly timbre, the way it says my name like it’s something precious. I turn, and my breath just…stops.
Leo is standing there, looking like he walked straight out of a dream I didn’t know I was having.
He’s wearing a charcoal suit that fits him like it was molded to his skin, his dark hair slicked back with the exception of the stubborn, beautiful curls at the nape of his neck that refuse to be tamed.
He looks polished, powerful, and devastatingly handsome.
His eyes do a quick, assessing sweep of the room, trailing over my lavender dress, but when they finally meet mine—glistening with unshed tears—his face goes hard.
All the softness I know evaporates, replaced by a simmering, protective anger. He looks dangerous.
“What’s going on here?” he asks, his voice low. He doesn’t wait for an answer. He’s at my side in two strides, his hand finding mine. His grip is warm and sure and he smells like his woodsy soap. “Who did this to you, Annie?” His eyes sweep the table again, his jaw set.