Brendan looked at me with a mixture of pity and disgust. “Chloe, stop it. This is pathetic. You’re making a fool of yourself. Get upstairs right now before you ruin dinner any further.”
I didn’t say a word.

I walked over to the armchair where my coat was draped, picked it up, and pulled my car keys out. I stood by the door, watching the digital clock on the microwave in the open kitchen.
One minute passed. Diane took a bite of her beef.
Two minutes passed. Jessica checked her makeup in her compact mirror.
Three minutes passed. Brendan started talking about a shipping contract they were hoping to land on Monday.
Exactly four minutes and fifty seconds later, a sharp, synchronized chorus of electronic chimes shattered the room.
Brendan’s personal phone buzzed violently on the table. At the exact same second, Diane’s phone inside her designer purse began to ring loudly with the corporate alert tone. In the hallway, Jessica’s work phone chimed with a high-priority notification.
Brendan frowned, picking up his phone. “It’s an automated alert from global security,” he muttered, his brows furrowing. “It says my corporate credentials have been deactivated due to immediate termination.”
“What?” Diane pulled her phone out, her face instantly turning pale. “I just got a direct email from Arthur Pendelton’s office. It says… it says my contract has been severed for gross misconduct and breach of corporate ethics.”
“Mom, my laptop just logged me out,” Jessica cried from the other room, running back in with her work device. “It says ‘Access Denied: Account Deleted.’ What is happening? Is the company being hacked?”

Brendan’s eyes darted from his phone screen up to me, standing soaking wet by the door. The color was completely gone from his face.

He looked at his phone, then at me, then back at his phone. The realization hit him like a physical blow. He had seen the name of the private holding company on his executive hiring contracts before. He knew who owned Vanguard. He just never put the pieces together.
“Chloe…” Brendan stammered, his voice dropping an octave, shaking. “Chloe, what did you do? Who was that on the phone?”
“I told you,” I said, opening the front door, letting the cool night air rush into the sweltering, tense room. “I called the boss. It turns out, she doesn’t like it when people pour ice water on her granddaughter.”
Diane was staring at me, her mouth open in a horrifying mix of shock and terror, the wine glass trembling in her hand. Jessica looked like she was about to throw up.
“Wait! Chloe, please!” Brendan yelled, slamming his chair back as he stood up, finally moving toward me—not to protect his shirt this time, but to beg. “We can talk about this! It was a joke! Mom didn’t mean it, we were just stressed!”
“Have your lawyer call my holding firm on Monday, Brendan,” I said quietly, looking down at my wet belly, then back up at his desperate face. “You wanted a divorce because I didn’t bring anything to the table. Well, you’re right. I’m taking the table with me.”