The words hung heavy.
Noah shook his head, unusually sober. "Kid like that doesn’t deserve sympathy. Drugs, stolen cars, almost killing Arabella? If you ask , fate was rciful to him. Too rciful."
"He’s dead now," Victor continued, matter-of-fact. "Passed two days ago in the hospital. His parents are begging for sympathy. But they’ll get none from ."
The temperature in the room seed to drop. Rex felt it... a collective bristling, not grief but anger that hardened everyone’s expressions. Not one face showed pity. Not even Eleanor, who had sighed monts ago about "two families broken." That compassion was fleeting, replaced by sothing more guarded, protective, tribal.
Even Vivienne, usually reserved, let a faint bitterness slip into her voice. "His recklessness nearly destroyed lives that night. If Rex hadn’t been there..." She trailed off, the thought unfinished but clear enough to chill the table.
"They should count themselves lucky," Noah muttered, voice unusually grim. "If he’d lived, he would’ve faced charges that would eat him alive."
The cousin with black clothes frowned, voice breaking through. "But... he’s gone now. Isn’t that punishnt enough?"
Henry finally spoke again, his voice firm. "No. Death is not punishnt. It is release. Punishnt is living long enough to carry the weight of your actions."
The words silenced the younger cousin. Rex studied Henry, the way his asured tone carried authority like a verdict.
Rex listened quietly. In his world, tragedy often blurred into statistics. A drunk kid dead? Just another na on a report. But here, inside this polished dining room, the fallout was sharper, personal. Their hatred wasn’t loud, but it was steady, united.
In his mind, Rex thought: They don’t just hate the boy. They hate what he represents... chaos, weakness, danger near their own.
He finally spoke, his voice low. "Guess the world keeps its own balance, one way or another."
There was no pity in his tone, no sermon about forgiveness. Just a simple truth. That line... vague, almost philosophical, drew a couple of nods, though the air stayed taut. Rex could feel their anger wasn’t about to fade. To them, the driver wasn’t a tragic figure. He was a threat that had dared to brush against their world. And threats weren’t mourned, they were erased.
Henry gave him one last, lingering look, as though asuring whether Rex’s answer aligned with his own thoughts. Then the patriarch sat back, signaling the conversation could move on.
Henry finally lifted his glass, signaling a shift. "Enough of him. We do not waste our table on shadows. Tonight is for the living."
The others followed, conversation gradually pulling away from the dark subject, though the edge in their voices lingered.
...
The lull didn’t last. Conversation shifted again, naturally, like a current redirecting itself. Leonard Sterling, one of Henry’s brothers, leaned forward. He had slicked-back hair, a precise Windsor knot, and the aura of soone who treated the stock ticker as gospel.
"You seem like a sharp young man," Leonard said, his voice polite but probing. "Tell , what’s your take on the current economy? Tech stocks are shaky, oil’s volatile. Where do you think real strength lies in the decade to co?"
Rex blinked. Internally: Bro. I was just figuring out if I should go for round two on the duck, and you drop an econ exam?
Outwardly, he didn’t miss a beat, he smiled faintly. "That’s... broad."
The uncle smirked, clearly used to people fumbling. "Narrow it down, then."
Rex leaned back, pretending to think longer than he needed. He wasn’t so Wall Street analyst, but he was from another world... one where he’d already lived through a lot of patterns repeating.
He set his glass down carefully, tapping the stem like he was buying ti. "Honestly? People always overestimate the short-term noises and underestimate the long. Right now, everyone’s panicking about quarterly numbers, oil spikes, inflation charts. But the real wave isn’t about quarters. The world doesn’t actually change overnight. What matters is the long run. And all It’s about transitions — energy and tech. The companies that move into renewables or innovate into their business, they’ll be standing long after the rest collapse. Doesn’t matter if they’re bleeding today. Ten years from now, they’ll own the future."
He let it hang there. Simple, not flashy.
The uncle raised a brow, then chuckled. "Practical. You think like a man who plans to hold, not flip."
Henry gave a slow nod, approving in silence.
Noah, anwhile, leaned in dramatically. "Translation: Rex just said people need to stop whining and let the future cook. Did I get that right?"
Rex grinned. "Exactly. See, I knew you were good for sothing."
The table rippled with laughter. And the tension eased, but Rex noticed the thoughtful nods from Henry and Eleanor.
...
From there, the questions ca like casual jabs in a sparring match. Uncles, cousins and aunts mixing curiosity with casual prodding.
One of the younger cousins, stylish and mischievous, tilted his head at him. "Alright, serious talk’s over. Important question: Lakers or Clippers?"
The table chuckled. Even Henry’s lips twitched at the blatant pivot.
Rex didn’t miss a beat. "Neither. I only like sports when I win. Which is why I stick to watching highlights. No losing involved."
For half a second the line hung, then laughter burst across the table. A couple cousins slapped the table, Eleanor shook her head with a smile, and Noah groaned dramatically.
"Highlights? You fraud!" Noah said, pointing accusingly. "That’s like saying you love books because you read the back cover."
"Efficiency," Rex said smoothly, lifting his glass. "Why waste three hours when I can get the best five minutes?"
"Sports, fine," said Aunt Marjorie, another voice entering the current. "But what about travel? Have you seen Europe yet? Or Asia?"
Rex smiled faintly, his tone casual. "Not yet. But I’ve been carrying Europe in my wallet since school... every history book they forced to read. Feels like I’ve walked half of Paris already, just through pages."
The table chuckled. A small comnt, but it landed well... clever without being arrogant, self-deprecating without being dull.
(End of Chapter)
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