Chapter 6 - Unmasking the Mogul
The tension on the porch was palpable enough to freeze the breath in our throats. Trevor’s eyes were bloodshot, his jaw twitching with a mixture of humiliation and trapped fury.
"You think you’re so superior," Trevor sneered, leaning against the porch railing. "Just because you run around in tights for rich crowds while I’m trying to build something real. You’ve always looked down on me."
"I don't look down on your work, Trevor," I said calmly. "I look down on your theft. And I'm curious—what exactly is this 'enterprise' that requires an $800 drone, three designer handbags, two PlayStation 5s, and a pair of Italian leather boots? Are you outfitting a startup, or did you just decide that my sweat and torn rotator cuffs should subsidize your lifestyle?"
Trevor scoffed, looking away. "It’s optics, Jewel. In venture capital, you have to project success to attract capital. If I show up looking like a failure, nobody writes the check. Mom understands that. Dad understands that. You’re the only one who clings to this blue-collar scarcity mindset."
"Optics?" I let out a sharp, genuine laugh. "You bought your nine-year-old son an electric miniature rover with my money because of *venture capital optics*?"
"He’s a child!" Mom intervened, her hands shaking as she pulled a leather-bound checkbook from her purse. "Jewel, stop attacking him! Look, I will write you a check right now from our savings account. We will pay you back three thousand dollars today, and Trevor will pay the rest when his liquidity clears next month."
I looked at the checkbook in her hands. My parents' savings account was a fragile thing, cobbled together from Dad's modest retirement and whatever scraps remained after years of bailing Trevor out of failed drop-shipping schemes, failed gym franchises, and failed crypto portfolios.
"Put the checkbook away, Mom," I said.
"See?" Beatrice smiled, assuming my tone meant I was softening. "I knew you’d understand—"
"Put it away," I repeated, firmer this time. "Because that three thousand dollars belongs to Dad’s medical fund, and you aren't bankrupting him to cover Trevor's crimes. Trevor is thirty-four years old. He has two hands, a college degree, and a luxury SUV sitting in my driveway. He will pay the entire sum himself, or the police will handle it."
Trevor’s face drained of color. "You’re bluffing."
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"Try me, Trevor. The fraud report is already drafted on the portal. All I have to do is check the box indicating that the secondary cardholder permitted an unauthorized third party to execute transactions without my consent."
Trevor took a step back, suddenly realizing that the safety net his parents had spun for him his entire life had just vanished.
