Chapter 5: The Cost of a Handbag
“Come with me. We are talking. Right now,” Callahan growled.
The stench of stale bourbon and raw, panicked adrenaline rolled off him in waves. He dragged me roughly toward a secluded alcove near the emergency fire exits, desperate to escape the dozens of cell phone cameras that were undoubtedly recording his family’s destruction. He shoved me back slightly against a wall of expensive floral arrangements, his eyes completely devoid of the man I once loved.
“Delaney, have you lost your absolute damn mind?” he hissed, running his hands frantically through his perfectly styled hair. “Do you realize what you just did? You publicly humiliated my mother. You humiliated my entire hometown. Do you have zero shame?”
I slowly rubbed my bruised wrist, looking up at him with a smile so cold it could have frozen the lake outside. “The only people who humiliated your family are you and your mother, Callahan. I am simply protecting my assets. Did you honestly expect me to just stand there and smile while your mother picks my pocket and your relatives treat me like an open tab?”
Callahan let out a frustrated, condescending sigh. He slipped effortlessly into the pleading, slightly patronizing tone he used every time he wanted me to buy him something expensive.
“Look. Okay. Mom screwed up. But her heart was in the right place. Now the secret is out, and it’s incredibly awkward for everyone. But listen to me, Delaney…” He leaned in, trying to use his height to intimidate me. “You are a highly successful CEO. What is forty thousand dollars to you, really? That is literally the price of one of those stupid vintage Hermès Birkin bags you obsess over. It’s pocket change for your business. Are you seriously going to blow up our entire relationship and send my family to the poorhouse over the cost of a handbag?”
I stood petrified. His words were like boiling water thrown directly into my face, melting away the absolute last microscopic sliver of hope I harbored for his redemption.
“What did you just say to me?” I whispered, my voice vibrating with a rage so deep it felt entirely calm.
“I’m saying you make money in your sleep!” he shot back, his sociopathic indifference fully exposed. “Your profit margins are crazy. Just pull the cash out of your corporate account and clear the debt. Nobody dies. Look at it as an early wedding gift. Once we’re married, your money is going to be our money anyway. Why are we splitting hairs? Go pay the manager, and everything goes back to normal.”
He genuinely believed it. In his eyes, my relentless work ethic, my late nights, my sacrifices—they meant absolutely nothing. Because I was successful, he felt entitled to treat my bank account as a public utility for his family’s vanity.
“I will tell you the difference, Callahan,” I replied, enunciating every word like a judge delivering a death sentence. “I buy a Birkin bag, I take care of it, and in ten years, it appreciates in value. I throw forty grand into the gaping black hole of your family, and it vanishes forever, leaving me with nothing but leeches permanently attached to my spine. It is a terrible return on investment.”
He opened his mouth to shout, but I held up a single finger, silencing him.
“Forty grand won’t bankrupt me,” I continued softly. “But I would rather withdraw it all in cash and set it on fire in the middle of the Chicago River than hand a single cent to a family of degenerate grifters. You don’t respect me. You possess the psychology of a parasite, and it is baked into your DNA.”
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that!” he flared, his face turning a dangerous shade of crimson. “If you don’t pay that bill, the hotel isn’t letting you leave! You’re the one throwing the party!”
I smiled. The genuinely terrifying smile of a CEO who holds the winning contract.
“You’re wrong. Your mother signed the venue agreement ten days ago. The confirmation for the upgraded menu and the thirteen extra tables this morning? Also signed by Loretta. I simply wired her cash. Legally speaking, the sole liable party for this debt is Loretta, not me. My legal obligation is zero.”
Callahan’s jaw dropped. His face turned the color of wet cement. He had banked entirely on my fear of public embarrassment, completely underestimating my legal and business acumen.
“Go tell your mother to start liquidating her assets,” I whispered, shoving past him.
I left him standing in the shadows, impotent and ruined, as I walked back out to the stage. I had one final piece of evidence to present. The kill shot.
