Arthur chuckled. “Financial infrastructure. Right. My niece has one of those too. She sells knitted cat sweaters online. Is that what you do? Cat sweaters?”
Liam tried to speak. “Dad, Sophia built the backend for—”
“Quiet,” Arthur snapped. “I’m trying to understand what kind of prospects your girlfriend brings to the Sterling name.”
He finally looked at me—cold eyes, pawnshop evaluation.
“This family builds real things,” he said. “Steel. Manufacturing. Bridges. We don’t play with imaginary internet money.”
I could have corrected him. I could have explained how digital payments keep factories alive, payroll moving, suppliers paid.
But I didn’t. I’d learned a long time ago: people like Arthur don’t listen to explanations. They listen to leverage.
Then he signaled the waiter out and the door clicked shut.
That small sound said everything: this wasn’t a celebration. It was a negotiation.
And Arthur had decided I was the product.
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