Chapter 7 - An Enraged Chase Storms Out Of Thanksgiving Dinner
Chase stood up abruptly, knocking his wooden chair over backward onto the hardwood floor with a deafening crash.
“You’re all insane! You’re worshiping a woman who flies planes while I run a real business in this city!” Chase screamed.
“Your business is a glorified parking lot scam funded by uncle’s loans, Chase,” I noted coldly.
Chase lunged toward me in a blind, uncontrollable rage, his fists clenched tight enough to split skin.
Before he could take two steps, Miles Kerr stepped between us, blocking his path with immovable authority.
“Take one more step toward a commissioned naval officer, civilian, and you’ll find out what a retired Marine can do,” Miles warned.
Chase glared around the room, realizing every single person at the table viewed him as a pathetic embarrassment.
“I’m leaving! And don't expect me ever to speak to any of you hypocrites again!” Chase snarled viciously.
He spun on his heel, kicking the front door open so hard the glass pane rattled in its wooden frame.
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The heavy front door slammed shut behind him, leaving a profound vacuum of toxic energy in the dining room.
***
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