Julian Vance took a slow sip of his champagne as he stepped down the grand marble stairs outside the luxury estate. He did not look worried or ashamed about what had just happened inside the dining room. He tossed his head back and laughed loudly, his voice echoing across the wide concrete driveway. He walked toward the iron gates where Thomas stood near the trunk of his old car. Julian looked at Thomas's grease-stained jeans and faded flannel shirt with total disgust. He thought he was looking at an old man who was helpless and defeated.
Julian: Did your poor little girl run crying to her daddy?
Thomas: Step down here and talk to me face to face, Julian.
Julian: Why would I step down there with trash like you?
Thomas: You struck my daughter inside your house.
Julian: She needed to learn her place before she ruined my family name!
Thomas: You broke your pledge to protect her, boy.
Julian stepped right up to the iron bars of the gate, leaning his face forward with an arrogant grin. He took another slow drink from his crystal glass and then poured the rest of the cold liquid onto the grass near Thomas's boots. The smell of sweet alcohol filled the hot afternoon air. Julian reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills. He threw the money through the bars, letting the crisp green paper scatter across the dirt driveway at Thomas's feet.
Julian: Take that cash and buy her some ice for her face!
Thomas: You think money fixes a bruise, Julian?
Julian: Money fixes everything in Dallas, old man. Didn't you know that?
Thomas: You're wrong. Some things can never be bought back.
Julian: Go ahead! Call whoever you want! Call the police!
Thomas: I don't need the police to settle this account.
Julian: My father owns every divorce lawyer, judge, and officer in this town!
Thomas: Then they won't be able to help you either.
Julian laughed again, a sharp and mean sound that made the birds in the nearby oak trees fly away into the blue sky. From inside the mansion, Julian's father, Richard Vance, stepped out onto the balcony wearing a dark tailored suit. Richard looked down at his son and at the old man by the gate with a look of supreme boredom. He raised his hand in a dismissive gesture, silently telling his son to finish up the trash and come back inside for dinner.
Julian: See my father up there? That's what real power looks like!
Thomas: Your father is just a thief in a expensive suit.
Julian: Say that again and I'll have the security team beat you too!
Thomas: Send them down. Let's see how well they fight for you.
Julian: You're pathetic! You drive a twenty-year-old car and smell like motor oil!
Thomas: Motor oil cleans off, Julian. Cruelty stays on your soul forever.
Julian spat on the ground and turned his back to walk away, fully convinced that he had won the confrontation. He tapped his shiny leather shoes against the marble stairs as he made his way back toward the entrance. Thomas did not yell or scream after him. He stood completely still, his graying beard catching the afternoon light. He turned away from the gate and walked back to the rear of his sedan, his face calm like the surface of a frozen lake. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small brass key that he had carried on his ring for over fifteen years without ever using it.