My mother turned away, not saying a word in my defense. Bradley smirked.
I stood there, looking at these people of my own blood. The pain had long since vanished, replaced by absolute silence.
“Alright, Father,” I replied softly.
I went up to my dilapidated attic room, gathered a few childhood mementos into a cheap cardboard box, and left the house into the night.
Today is Sunday.
The Vance family was hosting a garden party on their perfectly manicured lawn. They’d invited the most influential people in Greenwich to show off Bradley’s rise to prominence. My father’s biggest goal today was to try and win over the VIP guest who had just confirmed his visit: Sir Jonathan Sterling – the billionaire founder and CEO of Sterling Capital, essentially my father’s and my brother’s boss.
Around two o’clock in the afternoon, the boisterous atmosphere of the party was suddenly shattered by a terrifying roar.
It wasn’t the sound of an ordinary engine. It was the roar of a twin-turbocharged W16 beast. From the iron gate, a matte black Bugatti Chiron Pur Sport – a car worth nearly $4 million and of which only 60 exist worldwide – slowly rolled onto the Vance lawn.
The crowd of guests gasped, parting to the sides. The music stopped abruptly.
My father, Richard, his eyes lit up. He hastily buttoned his suit jacket and adjusted his silk tie. “It can only be Mr. Sterling! He’s here!” Richard whispered to Bradley, then hurried forward to greet him, a fawning smile on his face.
