Gloria carried the two plates over to the sideboard and set them down with a sharp clatter.

“They are soft,” Gloria said, returning to her seat and smoothing her silk skirt.

“Just like their mother’s side of the family.”

She reached for her crystal wine glass.

“A family with no pedigree, and no assets to speak of.”

“We tolerated your background, Jocelyn, but I will not tolerate spoiled children.”

I looked down at my own hands, resting flat on the polished wood.

My nails were neat, and my fingers were bare of any expensive rings.

They had no idea.

They did not know about the holding companies registered in Delaware.

They did not know about the commercial high-rises in downtown Dallas that bore a generic corporate name.

And they certainly did not know who actually owned the deed to this very estate.

“We are leaving,” I said.

I stood up and pulled back Hazel’s chair.

“Jocelyn, sit down,” Graham muttered, his face turning a blotchy, angry red.

“Don’t make a scene in front of my mother.”

“The scene has already been made, Graham,” I said.

I reached out and took Ruby’s hand.

Her fingers were cold and shaking against mine.

“Get your coats, girls,” I told them.

“We are going.”

“This is your home,” Gloria sneered, her eyes narrowing as she took a sip of her Cabernet.

“My son pays the steep lease on this Highland Park mansion.”

“Every single month, his hard work keeps a roof over your head.”

“You should be grateful you aren’t living in a drafty apartment.”

I did not answer her.

I led my daughters out of the dining room and down the wide marble hallway.

Behind us, I heard the heavy scrape of Graham’s chair as he finally stood up.

“Jocelyn!” he called out, his voice cracking slightly with panic.