Chapter 5
I almost admired the structure.
Almost.
Lucille had built a test where both responses supported her argument.
Accept the cruelty—tradition wins.
Reject it—Rafael is emotionally compromised.
The problem was simple.
She assumed everyone agreed with the argument before watching the test.
They didn’t.
Raymond found me near the garden wall after sunset.
“You should know something.”
“I’m developing a strong dislike for that sentence.”
He almost smiled.
Then stopped.
“Lucille has been holding private dinners.”
“How many?”
“Seven since spring.”
I stared.
“Who attends?”
“Older capos. Donors. A few relatives.”
“Celina?”
“Every one.”
Of course.
“What do they discuss?”
Raymond hesitated.
“Your changes.”
There it was.
I had spent three years cutting old patronage arrangements.
No private favors traded at family tables.
No donor getting crew access because he funded a garden wing.
No relatives ordering guards around because their surname matched mine.
Lucille called it dismantling the family.
I called it stopping freeloading with nicer furniture.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Raymond looked ashamed.
“I thought they were venting.”
“Seven dinners?”
“Yes.”
“Still venting?”
He exhaled.
“No.”
Good.
Truth.
Then he gave me the worst part.
“Tonight was supposed to be the demonstration.”
I looked back toward the ruined banquet.
“First Plate.”
“Yes.”
“The capos were invited to watch me react.”
“Yes.”
“Then what?”
“Lucille planned a second dinner tomorrow.”
My jaw tightened.
“For what?”
“To discuss temporary family oversight.”
I almost laughed.
“Over me?”
“Over domestic decisions.”
There it was.
Language designed to sound narrow.
Domestic decisions include children.
Household access.
Events.
Who enters the estate.
Who influences the heir.
Control my home and you do not need my chair immediately.
I looked at Raymond.
“Who was supposed to run it?”
He hesitated.
Then:
“Celina.”
I smiled without humor.
May you like
Of course.
The woman laughing at my son had already been promised authority over the house where he lived.
