New York, Upper East Side, A 21st Birthday Party
The champagne tower refracted a million shards of light under the crystal chandelier. The air floated with the scent of Jo Malone's Red Roses, the briny freshness of caviar, and the cloying sweetness of something about to end.
Lily Thorne stood in the center of the curved staircase. The bespoke champagne-colored gown she wore had been chosen by her mother when she was still alive—"Darling, twenty-one is when a woman's life truly begins." Her mother's voice was still clear in her memory, as if from yesterday.
"Lily!" Her father Richard Thorne's voice came from the main hall downstairs, carrying a tightness she had never heard before. "To the study."
The guests' laughter receded like a tide. They hadn't sensed it yet, but Lily saw the ocean's retreat before a tsunami in her father's grey-blue eyes. She lifted her skirt and descended the stairs, passing familiar faces: childhood friends, sons of her father's business partners, distant relatives from her mother's side—all exquisitely dressed, with perfect smiles, like porcelain dolls displayed in the Palace of Versailles.
The heavy mahogany door of the study closed behind her, sealing off the outside noise.
"Sit down, darling." Her father wasn't seated behind his massive walnut desk but stood by the window, his back to her. Outside was the nighttime view of Fifth Avenue, traffic flowing like a river of gold.
"Dad?"
"The Thorne Group..." He paused for a long time, so long Lily could hear the sound of her own heartbeat. "Filed for bankruptcy protection. This afternoon."
Only the ticking of the antique clock remained in the room.
"We've lost everything." Her father turned. His face seemed to have aged ten years in one night. "The house, the shares, the investment funds... and your mother's trust."
Lily felt the Persian rug beneath her feet collapsing. She gripped the back of a chair, her fingers sinking into the velvet.
"How long?" She heard herself ask calmly. Strangely, she wasn't shocked, only a sense of release, a feeling of 'it's finally here'. Over the past six months—her father's late-night calls, the frequent visits from lawyers, the quiet disappearance of her mother's jewelry—all these fragments now pieced together into a complete picture.
"Two years." Richard's voice was dry as sand. "Too much leverage, bad investments... I didn't want to pollute your birthday with the details. Not tonight, at least."
Lily walked to her father and took his hand. Those hands that once manipulated billions were trembling slightly. "What happens to us?"
"I've made arrangements. Your studies at NYU can continue, there's a small grant and loans..." He spoke with difficulty. "But we must move out of the apartment. Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" This time she couldn't hide her shock.
"Creditors are sharper than hyenas." Her father gave a bitter smile. "I've already asked Anna to pack your essentials. The rest... will find new owners at the auction."
A knock sounded. The butler Lucas stood at the door, looking awkward. "Sir, Mrs. Thorne's sister and her family... are taking the Monet from the drawing room."
Lily closed her eyes. The scent of roses suddenly became suffocating.