Chapter 19
I could smell the expensive cologne he wore to mask the scent of his own cowardice. I hope the lobster is good, son, I said. My voice was low, but it carried the weight of a sledgehammer. I hope it tastes better than the moldy bread you left for your daughter. Monica finally found her voice. She scrambled to grab her phone, trying to end the live stream, but her hands were shaking so bad she dropped it.
It landed face up on the table, still broadcasting the ceiling. ‘What are you doing here?’ she shrieked. Her facade of the perfect hostess cracked, revealing the cornered animal underneath. ‘You cannot be here. This is a private vacation. Security. Someone call security.’ I laughed. It was a cold, dark sound.
Go ahead, Monica. Call them. I want you to call them because I have a video on my phone of you chaining a refrigerator shut. And I think the Bahamian police and the thousands of people currently watching your little live stream would be very interested to see it. Austin stood up, knocking his chair over. Dad, please. Let’s not do this here.
People are watching. Sit down. I barked. It was the voice I used to command battalions. Austin sat. He collapsed back into his chair as if his strings had been cut. I beckoned Mia forward. She stepped out from behind me, clutching her teddy bear. She looked small against the backdrop of the ocean, but she stood her ground.
Look at her, Austin. I pointed a finger at Mia. Look at your daughter. You told her you were going to a training camp. You told her she was too expensive to bring along. You left her in the dark to rot while you sat here cracking claws and drinking wine. Austin couldn’t look. He stared at the tablecloth. I did not know, Dad. He mumbled.
Monica said she hired a nanny. She said everything was taken care of. Liar. I slammed my hand on the table making the silverware jump. I saw the text messages, Austin. I saw the bank withdrawal you made by forging my signature. You knew exactly what you were doing. You stole from me and you abandoned her.
I picked up the lobster plate. The butter dripped onto the white tablecloth. I held it up, looking at the grotesque excess of it. Then I looked at the yellow note stuck to the meat. Be good. I read the note aloud. I dropped the plate back onto the table. It shattered. The sound of breaking china echoed through the dining hall.