Chapter 5 - Marcus's Desperate Pivot and the First Taste of Humble Pie
For nearly ten minutes, the dining room descended into a bizarre, fragmented flurry of frantic whispers and nervous glances. Mom got up and mechanically began clearing the plates, her hands shaking so severely that the china clattered with every step. Dad poured himself another glass of wine, but his hand was trembling so much that red wine splashed over the rim, staining the white linen napkin.
Marcus stood by the window, staring out into the dark front yard where my silver Civic sat parked under the streetlamp. His mind was clearly spinning at a million miles an hour, calculating, processing, and trying to salvage his shattered pride.
Suddenly, Marcus turned around. The hostile sneer was gone. In its place was a sickly sweet, desperate expression of artificial warmth.
"Look, Alexandra," Marcus began, taking a step toward the table and rubbing his hands together. "Obviously... things got heated. You know how family dinners are. People say things they don't mean. I was just... I was pushing you because I thought you were settling for less. I didn't know the full scope of what you were doing."
I watched him with a cold, detached amusement. "Is that right?"
"Of course!" Marcus said, his voice taking on the rapid, greasy cadence of a late-night infomercial salesman. "I mean, look at what you’ve accomplished! It’s incredible. It’s historic! You’re a Vance, after all. Success is in our DNA."
Jennifer immediately caught her husband’s drift and chimed in, her voice dripping with syrupy flattery. "We are so proud of you, Alexandra. Truly. I was just saying to Marcus last week that you’ve always had a brilliant mind for media."
"Ten minutes ago you called it an unpaid hobby, Jennifer," I remarked calmly.
Jennifer flinched, but quickly forced a bright, plastic smile. "A figure of speech! We just didn't understand the vision! But now... now that Apex is acquiring Vanguard, you're going to need massive infrastructure expansions, right? New commercial facilities, studio logistics, soundstage development?"
Marcus pulled his chair back out and sat down, leaning across the table with wide, hungry eyes.
"That's where I come in, Alex," Marcus said, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. "I have exclusive listings on two massive commercial parcels right off the Golden State Freeway. Perfect for production support, post-production suites, and VIP talent trailers. If we partner up right now—family to family—I can secure the development rights for you before the open market gets wind of it. We could keep all the real estate equity within the Vance name."
I stared at my brother. The transition was so grotesque, so utterly devoid of shame, that it was almost magnificent to witness.
"You want me to hire your brokerage firm?" I asked quietly.
"Not just hire me—partner with me!" Marcus said eagerly. "I'll manage the physical assets, you handle the creative and the tech. Think about it! With your capital and my local real estate connections, we could dominate the San Fernando Valley commercial market! It’s a win-win!"
"Marcus," I said, my voice dropping an octave, cold enough to freeze water. "Do you have any idea what Vanguard's real estate portfolio currently looks like?"
Marcus blinked, confused. "Well... you said you have soundstages in Burbank..."
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"Vanguard owns eighty-two acres of unencumbered commercial land in Santa Clarita, three production parks in Atlanta, and forty-five percent of the tech corridor in Culver City," I stated flatly. "Our real estate acquisitions are handled by the institutional division of CBRE and Latham & Watkins. We don't buy suburban strip malls, Marcus. And we certainly don't hire part-time residential brokers who need their little sister's billionaire status to pay their mortgage."
Marcus’s face turned from eager excitement back to a humiliated, burning crimson.
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