Dinner was served at seven sharp.

The dining room was cavernous, lit by a crystal chandelier that cost more than Gloria's life insurance policy. The table could seat twenty.

Gloria sat at one end.

Gustavo sat to her right. He was eating his peas with suspicious enthusiasm, occasionally glancing at the fireplace to make sure the Witch wasn't coming.

Jones's chair was empty.

Gloria frowned. "Mrs. Higgins?"

The nanny stepped out of the shadows. "Yes, Madam?"

"Where is Jones?"

"Master Jones is in his room. He said he is not hungry," Higgins said.

Gloria knew he was hungry. He was a teenager. They were always hungry.

She stood up. "Gustavo, come with me."

Gustavo dropped his fork. "Is it the Witch?"

"No. We are going on a rescue mission," Gloria said.

They marched upstairs. Gloria stopped in front of Jones's door. It was plastered with "Keep Out" signs.

She knocked.

No answer.

She opened the door.

The room was dark, illuminated only by the flicker of a large monitor. Jones was sitting in a gaming chair, headphones on, blasting away at virtual enemies.

He saw them in his peripheral vision and pulled the headset down around his neck.

"What?" he snapped. "I said I'm not hungry."

Gloria pushed Gustavo forward gently.

"We are going to have a family dinner. You are family," she said.

Jones scowled. "I'm busy."

Gloria ignored him. "Gustavo, ask your brother to come."

Gustavo remembered the Witch. He remembered the invisible thread.

"Please come, Jones," Gustavo said dutifully.

Jones hesitated. He looked at the paused game.

Gloria decided to push it. She wanted to bridge the gap.

"And give him a hug," she added.

Jones recoiled as if she had slapped him. "No way."

"Hug!" Gustavo yelled. He was an agent of chaos. He launched himself at Jones.

Gustavo wrapped his sticky arms around Jones's waist.

Jones flinched violently.

His body went rigid. His hands hovered in the air, trembling. He looked terrified.

Gloria saw the flinch. It wasn't just annoyance. It was a trauma response.

A cold realization washed over her. The old Gloria hadn't just ignored him. She must have hit him. Or allowed him to be hit. Or made physical contact something to be feared.

Guilt, sharp and acrid, flooded her chest.

She had pushed too hard.

"Okay, that's enough," she said quickly.

She reached out and pulled Gustavo off gently. "Release the hostage."

Gustavo let go.

Jones took a step back, breathing hard. He adjusted his shirt, trying to regain his composure.

"Just dinner, Jones," Gloria said, softening her voice to a whisper. "No hugs required. I promise."

Jones looked at her. He saw a glimmer of genuine regret in her eyes. It confused him.

He nodded slowly. "Fine. I'll come down."

"Go wash your hands, Jones," Gloria said.

As Jones went into the bathroom, Gloria cornered Gustavo in the hallway.

She knelt down for a secret strategy meeting.

"Gustavo, look at me," she said.

He looked at her, eyes wide.

"Do you like toys?" she asked.

"Yes!" he nodded vigorously.

"Do you know who buys the best toys?"

"Daddy?" he guessed.

"Daddy is old," Gloria dismissed with a wave of her hand. "Daddy buys stocks and bonds. Boring stuff."

She pointed toward the bathroom door where Jones was.

"Jones is the future," she whispered. "He is going to be a Tech Mogul."

She used the big words deliberately.

"Like Iron Man?" Gustavo asked.

"Exactly. He will have more money than Iron Man."

Gustavo's jaw dropped.

"If you are nice to him," Gloria continued, weaving her web, "he will buy you islands."

"Islands?"

"Yes. Private islands. Made of candy. And Lego."

"Whoa," Gustavo breathed.

"But only if you stop kicking him," Gloria warned. "Iron Man doesn't buy islands for kids who kick him."

Gustavo nodded solemnly. He was now motivated by the purest force in the Sterling family: greed.

Gloria smiled. It was a dark, twisted lesson, but it was a language they understood.

"Let's go."

They went downstairs. Jones was already at the table, looking sullen.

Gustavo climbed into his chair.

He looked at Jones. He didn't see his brother anymore. He saw a walking ATM. He saw Iron Man.

Gustavo grabbed his bread basket. He pushed it across the table toward Jones.

"For you, Iron Man," Gustavo whispered reverently.

Jones was taking a sip of water. He choked.

He coughed, sputtering water onto his plate. "What?"

"Eat the bread," Gustavo insisted. "It's for the islands."

Jones looked at Gloria, bewildered. "What did you tell him?"

Gloria hid her smile behind a linen napkin. "I just explained the family hierarchy."

She looked down at her empty plate. Her mind drifted to her finances.

She needed five million dollars. Fast.

She looked at her outfit. Vintage Versace. Fashion.

In the real world, she was a fashion editor. Here, Gloria had a closet full of couture but zero taste.

She could start a brand. A real brand. Not the vanity projects the old Gloria did.

But she needed capital.

She looked at the antique silverware. Solid silver, she thought. No. Arthur would notice.

The front door opened.

A heavy gust of wind blew through the hall.

Arthur was back. Unannounced.

Gloria froze. Dinner just got complicated.

Arthur walked into the dining room. He was loosening his tie, the movement slightly stiff, his face a mask of exhaustion.

The atmosphere in the room stiffened instantly. The staff stood straighter.

"Room for one more?" Arthur asked.

It was a rhetorical question. It was his house.

"Of course, sir," the butler rushed to set a place at the head of the table.

Gloria signaled Gustavo with her eyes: Behave.

Arthur sat down. He unfolded his napkin with precise, geometric movements.

"How was the... shopping?" he asked, looking at Gloria.

"Productive," she replied shortly. She cut into her steak, avoiding his gaze.

Gustavo decided this was the moment to impress the "Future Iron Man" Jones. He wanted to show he was part of the conversation.

"Jones!" Gustavo shouted. "Mommy says you will buy me islands!"

Jones turned red. He sank lower in his chair.

Arthur paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. "Islands?"

Gloria kicked Gustavo under the table gently. Shut up.

Gustavo thought it was a game. He giggled.

"Yes! Because Jones is rich! Like Daddy!" Gustavo announced.

He took a breath. "But Daddy is old."

Arthur's eye twitched. The fork lowered slowly to the plate. Clink.

"Old?" Arthur repeated. His voice was dangerously quiet.

Jones actually smirked. He took a bite of bread to hide it.

Gustavo, feeling the attention of the entire room, decided to escalate. He glanced quickly at Gloria, saw that her attention was fixed on his father, and seized the opportunity. He stood up on his chair.

"Mommy pinched me for time-out!" he complained suddenly, changing topics with the erratic logic of a toddler.

"She pinched my butt!"

Silence descended. It was absolute.

Arthur looked at Gloria. His expression was unreadable, but there was a glint in his eye.

Gustavo pointed a chubby finger at Arthur.

"Does Daddy get his butt pinched by Mommy too?"

The staff froze. The butler stared at the ceiling. Jones choked on his steak, coughing violently into his napkin. He hated himself for it, hated that some part of him found her ridiculous situation funny. He was supposed to loathe her, not be entertained by her.

Gloria's face burned hot. She felt the blush rising from her neck to her hairline.

Arthur slowly turned to Gloria. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

A slow, predatory amusement curled the corner of his mouth. Gloria had a sudden, chilling thought: He knows. He saw the security footage. He knows I never touched the boy. This wasn't a question. It was a test.

"I'm waiting for the answer, Gloria," Arthur said. His voice dropped an octave, vibrating through the table.

"Does he?"