The maid looked at me, her eyes wide, before slipping through the swinging door.

“Gloria, put the plates back,” I said.

Gloria leaned forward, resting her knuckles on the white tablecloth.

“Only women who bear sons deserve to sit at a Ralston table and eat a Ralston meal,” she said.

She looked at my daughters as if they were dust on her expensive shoes.

“You have given my son nothing but girls, Jocelyn. You waste our resources.”

I looked at Graham.

“Graham,” I said. “Speak to your mother.”

Graham did not look up from his phone.

He cleared his throat and shifted in his chair.

“Mother has a point about the legacy, Jocelyn,” he muttered.

He picked up his wine glass and took a slow, deliberate sip.

“We need to think about the future. Don’t make a scene in front of the help.”

I looked at my husband.

His personal debts were currently three hundred thousand dollars, all of which I had quietly transferred to a shell company I controlled.

He thought he was a partner in a rising investment firm.

He did not know I owned the firm’s office building, and his lease was up for renewal.

Hazel began to cry softly, her head bowing.

Ruby reached out and took her sister’s hand under the table.

“It’s okay, Hazel,” Ruby whispered.

My heart beat in a slow, steady rhythm.

The anger did not explode; it turned cold and clear, like ice.

I stood up from the table.

“Jocelyn, sit down,” Graham hissed, his face flushing red. “You are embarrassing me.”

“We are leaving,” I said.

I reached down and took Hazel’s hand.

With my other hand, I lifted Ruby out of her chair.

“You walk out that door, and you won’t see a dime of the Ralston estate,” Gloria said, her voice rising.

She smiled, believing she held all the cards.