The silence that followed Vivien’s question felt suffocating, stretching far beyond what could be considered hesitation and into something far more revealing. Maggie stood frozen, her thoughts racing as she tried to reconcile the life she had lived with the reality now unfolding in front of her. Every second that passed without an answer deepened her sense of dread, as if the truth itself was too heavy for her parents to speak aloud.

When her father finally broke the silence, his voice carried none of the confidence he had shown earlier that day. He avoided direct eye contact, choosing instead to speak in fragmented sentences about market conditions, unexpected losses, and decisions that had not gone as planned. The explanation was technical on the surface, but underneath it was unmistakably evasive.

Maggie listened, but the words barely registered as coherent meaning. All she could focus on was what wasn’t being said—no clear number, no straightforward admission, no reassurance that the majority of the trust was still intact. Instead, there was only a growing certainty that whatever remained was far less than what had once been there.

Vivien, however, was not willing to let the moment pass without clarity. She repeated her question, more firmly this time, insisting on a direct answer. It was no longer a conversation—it was an interrogation, and the truth, however uncomfortable, could no longer be delayed.