Fifth Avenue Devil

Chapter 18

Eighteen

Annalise

M y workday goes long. At half past seven, I look at my watch with a blustery sigh. My head pounds faintly and there is a crick on my neck from sitting at my desk for so long. I get up and call for a car to take me home.

The Manhattan street glows like a string of diamonds as I head to my small, but luxurious, apartment overlooking a small park on the west side. My body aches for the comfort of home. I need a glass of wine and the sweet relief of kicking off these damn high heels. They make my ass look great, but they are torturous after a long day.

As I unlock the door, it swings open with unexpected ease. I’m alarmed to see a woman in my house.

And not just any woman. My mother.

She stands in the middle of my living room, her hands on her hips, surveying the chaos around her feet. The furniture is in disarray, with couches and chairs rammed into an odd configuration. The wall art lies in a messy stack leaning against a window, broken and ruined. One corner of a painting sticking through the delicate stretched canvas of another.

My chest tightens. This is what my mother does to her surroundings. She hates anything outside her chosen color palette of bland beige, drab gray, and muted pink. She is also outspoken about finding most places too cluttered and messy. I call her aesthetic ‘bleak brutalism.’ Mom prefers to refer to it as refined minimalism.

"Mom," I say coldly. "What are you doing here? How did you get in? And what the hell did you do to my stuff??"

She turns to me, gesturing to her destruction as if she has done me a favor. As always, she is entirely unbothered by my irritation.

"Darling!" she greets me. "I just thought your apartment could use a little sprucing up. It was so disorganized ."

“You’re not even supposed to be in here. This is my house. I don’t have to abide by your silly rules about housewares here.”

Mom smiles at me, waving away my concerns with a hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. I came to see you, but you weren’t in. Your doorman was kind enough to let me in. I’m just sprucing up a little since I had time to kill.”

I sigh, rubbing my temples. Of course, Mom would find a way to worm herself into my sanctuary, even going so far as to charm the doorman. That doorman is getting fired later.

“I am not relitigating the issue of my chosen color palette, for my living room,” I growl, putting emphasis on the word ‘my’. I could wring Mom’s neck. “Just leave everything as it is right now. I’ll have the maid try to reassemble the living room tomorrow.”

"Oh, Annalise. Don't be so melodramatic," she chastises. "I'm your mother. I know what you like."

If I weren’t so angry, I would burst into laughter. My mom wouldn’t know what I liked if it was smack in front of her face.

I grit my teeth. This woman has controlled every aspect of my life since I was old enough to walk: what I wore, who I socialized with, and even what I studied at Princeton. Moving into this apartment was meant to escape her iron grip. Yet here she is, invading my space and uprooting the sanctuary I've worked so hard to cultivate, nosing in like a pig hunting for truffles.

"Mom," I say, forcing a smile onto my face. “Come on. I'm going to have a glass of wine and unwind. Why don’t you join me in the kitchen?"

"All right," she says airily. She carefully steps around my expensive pink pouf and my white leather armchair and follows me as I lead her to the kitchen.

As I pour each of us a glass of Grun?r Vetliner, I can't shake the nagging feeling that there's more to my mother's visit than rearranging furniture. I wait for my mother to tell me the real reason for her visit. There's a tension in the air.

As a kid, I became an expert at reading the mood in any room. Between my father’s bouts of rage and my mother’s need to control every single element of our lives, it was essential to my survival to know when to fade into the wallpaper.

I take the first sip of my wine and brace myself for the storm I know is coming.

“So.” My mother looks at me, toying with her glass. “What came of the bachelorette auction?”

There it is.

I sigh. “Nothing, Mom. Nothing came of it. I don’t know what you expected.”

Mom takes a small sip of wine. She narrows her eyes at me as she swallows. I’m not sure how she manages to imbue her expression with so much disappointment and anger, but she does.

“Annalise, you need to take this process of finding a husband seriously. I can’t tell you how many pretty girls that are full of potential I’ve seen go down the tubes because they aged out of the marriage market.”

"This is my life, not yours," I spit out, staring her down. "If I want to pursue being a CEO, I will. If I want my art on the walls and my furniture arranged a certain way, that should be my decision."

My mom straightens, visibly irritated by my defiance. "Fine," she snaps. "Have it your way. But don't come crying to me when you realize how lonely and unfulfilling your chosen life is."

"Lonely?" I scoff, rolling my eyes. "I have friends, Mother. I have Dana. I have other casual friends. They aren’t all just socialite puppets."

"Friends won't keep you warm at night. Friends won’t secure your future," she retorts. "You need a partner who can match your status and ambition. Someone who can help solidify the Gellar legacy."

“Legacy? What legacy? We’ll be lucky if I can right the ship.”

“Oh? With Nate Fordham on your side?” She smiles victoriously, as if she’s somehow gotten dirt on my misdeeds.

“What do you know about it?” I ask calmly. It’s important that my mom doesn’t know that her poking and prodding rattles me. "What do you even know about the merger?"

"Enough to know that you decided on it without my consent," she snarls. "How dare you make such a monumental decision for our family without even consulting me?"

Gritting my teeth, I fight the urge to lash out at her. Why does she continually try to butt into company business? She believes she has the right to control every aspect of my life, from my wardrobe to my career.

"Mom, you have no say in the company's operations," I remind her, straining to keep my voice level. “I'm the one running things now, remember?"

"Only because your father is too ill to do so himself," she snaps, her words slicing through the air like a whip. "And don't think I don't know what you're trying to do, Annalise. By proving yourself as CEO, you’re hoping you'll finally earn your father’s love. But you're only setting yourself up for failure."

My anger finally boils over, getting the better of me. "Is that what you think? That everything I do is just some pathetic attempt to win Daddy's approval? News flash, Mom. Not everything revolves around you and your pathetic little mind games. I'll call the board meeting," I tell her sharply, "But understand this, Mother. There's nothing anyone can do about the merger now. It's done."

"Is it?" she asks. "You're certain of that?"

I cross my arms over my chest, refusing to back down. "I’m certain. Dad wagered the merger in a poker game against Nate Fordham and lost. I may have signed the paperwork for the merger to happen. But all that I did was save the company millions in legal fees. Nate won fair and square."

“Annalise.” She looks at me pityingly. “Do you even know the state Gellar Industries is in? Your father's reckless gambling has left us on far less stable financial ground than you might think."

Her words give me pause. “What do you mean?”

“Your father dipped into the company coffers to finance his lavish living expenses.” She smooths back a strand of her hair.

My heart skips a beat at her words. How could she possibly know about Dad's embezzlement? And why is she bringing it up now?

“Don’t you mean our expenses?” I pin her with a stare. “I don’t recall Dad spending hundreds of thousands of dollars at Bergdorf Goodman or redoing our house every couple of years. That can’t have been cheap.”

My mother simply smiles. It’s a cold, calculating expression that sends shivers down my spine. "Annalise, honestly, I don't see why you're getting so worked up," my mom replies. "This is probably why no one at the company felt comfortable coming to you with this information.”

I narrow my eyes, studying her carefully. It's clear she doesn't want to divulge whatever knowledge she has. How much does she really know about my father's actions and Gellar Industries' precarious situation?

“Mom–” I start. But she looks at her watch, tsking.

“Darling, I must jet. I can’t be late for my charity luncheon.”

“Mom, we’re talking here. Either you want to be part of Gellar Industries, or you don’t. Which is it?”

She lifts her chin. "Sweetheart, I don’t think this merger is in the company’s best interests. We need a board meeting to discuss it."

I throw up my hands. This whole conversation has been infuriating. "Fine! But it won't change anything. The merger was Dad’s choice. I’m just cleaning up the mess he left me to contend with."

"Well, I’m glad you agree. I’ll see you tomorrow at the board meeting I have convened," Mom announces.

My jaw drops. I realize that her entire visit led to this statement.

She smiles coldly and adds, "That dress is much too fitted for you. I’ll send some more appropriate dresses over for you to wear.”

She pats my hand, passes me, and walks out into the hall. I am left with my mouth open, unsure which thing I should even respond to. I turn around and shout, “Don’t send me any dresses!”

But I know that Mom isn’t listening to me. She never does.