Chapter 2 - The Tyranny of the In-Laws and the First Counter-Strike
When I unlocked the door to our downtown penthouse, the atmosphere was already thick with the suffocating stench of entitlement. Teresa, my mother-in-law, was already rearranging my antique porcelain collection on the mantelpiece, while my father-in-law, Arthur, sat heavily in my favorite leather armchair, barking orders into his phone about having his golf clubs shipped from Florida at our expense.
“Eleanor! Finally,” Teresa snapped, not even bothering to look up as I stepped into the foyer. “The kitchen is an absolute disaster. There is no imported organic green tea in the pantry, only generic garbage. And Arthur needs his bespoke herbal tonic brewed immediately. Honestly, for a woman who spends all day working from a laptop, you keep a terribly disorganized household. While David is away building an empire in Tokyo, you have a lot of transforming to do if you want to be a proper matriarch of this family.”
I stood by the entryway, slowly peeling off my leather gloves. The silence in the room stretched, heavy and unnatural, as I didn't rush to apologize or scurry toward the kitchen as I usually might have done to keep the peace.
“Teresa,” I said, my voice cutting through the ambient hum of the refrigerator like a scalpel.
She froze, her hand hovering over a hand-painted vase. She turned around, her eyes narrowing into venomous slits. “What did you just call me? Where is your respect? You address me as Mother!”
“Mother,” I repeated, letting the word drip with calculated sarcasm as I walked slowly into the living room, “let’s clear something up right this second. This is my apartment. My name is the sole signature on the lease and the mortgage deed. David doesn't own a single brick of this building, nor does he earn enough in three years to pay for the view you're currently enjoying.”
Arthur rose from the armchair, his face flushing a furious, apoplectic purple. “How dare you speak to your elders like that! Our son is working hard overseas for your benefit! You owe this family your absolute obedience!”
“Your son,” I smiled coldly, pulling my phone from my pocket and tapping the screen to project the security footage I had just downloaded onto the massive smart TV mounted on the wall, “is currently sitting in a hotel lobby three blocks away from Fifth Avenue, trying to explain to his twenty-two-year-old mistress why every single one of his credit cards has just been permanently locked for fraud.”
The screen lit up with crystal-clear high-definition footage of David sweating profusely as the boutique clerk handed back his declined blackcard, while the blonde woman crossed her arms in disgust.
The living room went dead silent. Teresa gasped, clutching her chest as if she had been physically struck, while Arthur stared at the screen, his mouth opening and closing like a stranded fish.
“As for the two of you,” I continued, stepping closer until I towered over them both, “you have exactly thirty minutes to pack your designer luggage, call an Uber, and vacate my premises. If you aren't out by the time the clock strikes noon, I won't just throw your bags onto the street—I’ll have the building security toss you out like the common freeloaders you are.”
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Teresa found her voice first, her face twisted in absolute rage and panic. “You ungrateful witch! You can't do this! We are his parents! We will ruin you!”
“Try,” I whispered softly, pulling out my phone to dial building security. “And let’s see who ruins whom first.”
