Chapter 6 - The White Tablecloth
The private dining room glittered with crystal and polished silver.
Diane sat at the head of the table as though it were a throne. Relatives praised the company acquisition. An older uncle proposed a toast to “family loyalty.” No one mentioned Annabelle’s dismissal.
Annabelle sat near the corner, exactly where the place card assigned her.
Diane waited until the main course arrived.
“Some of you may have heard troubling rumors,” she began. “A former employee accessed confidential accounts and attempted to blame management for her own misconduct.”
Every face turned toward Annabelle.
Diane smiled. “Unfortunately, mental instability can run in families.”
Eleanor put down her fork.
Annabelle placed her phone beneath the edge of her napkin. Samuel had instructed her to record anything Diane said.
A cousin asked whether charges would be filed.
“I’m considering mercy,” Diane replied. “Though mercy is often wasted on the ungrateful.”
Annabelle finally spoke.
“Why didn’t the trust transfer when I turned twenty-five?”
The room became still.
Diane’s smile tightened.
“What trust?”
“The one my parents created.”
“You found an old draft. It was never funded.”
“I have the bank statements.”
A wineglass tipped near Diane’s hand. Red wine spilled across the cloth.
Diane rose, came around the table, and leaned close enough for Annabelle to smell her perfume.
“You have nothing,” she whispered.
Then, louder, she accused Annabelle of stealing company documents. When Annabelle stood, Diane grabbed her hand beneath the table and twisted until pain flashed through her wrist.
Annabelle pulled free. Another glass fell.
Diane pointed at the mess.
“Clean it up, pay the bill, and get out.”
The relatives watched.
No one moved.
May you like
Annabelle reached for her debit card.
The clock above the doorway read 7:57.
