The Raise of James Morrison.

Chapter 6

The crowd murmured in agreement.

"Yeah, apologize!"

"Who does he think he is?"

"He should be grateful we even let him in!"

James stood frozen, the teapot still in his hands. His mind was racing. He knew the piece was fake. Every instinct, every bit of research he'd done, everything was screaming at him that he was right. But what did it matter? they didn't want the truth. They wanted a scapegoat.

"No," James said quietly.

"What?" David's smile faltered.

"I said no." James set the teapot down carefully. "I'm not going to kneel. And I'm not going to apologize for telling the truth."

For a moment, nobody moved. Then David's face contorted with rage.

"You arrogant piece of—"

He snatched a glass of red wine from a nearby relative's hand and hurled it directly at James's chest.

The wine exploded across James's shirt, deep crimson spreading across the faded blue fabric like blood. The liquid soaked through immediately, cold and sticky against his skin.

The room erupted in laughter loud, cruel, mocking laughter that echoed off the high ceilings.

"HAHAHAHA! Look at him!"

"Oh my God, that's perfect!"

"That's probably the nicest shirt he owns, too!"

"Bet he can't afford to replace it!"

David was grinning triumphantly, his chest heaving. "There. That's what you get for running your mouth. Maybe that'll teach you some respect."

James looked down at his ruined shirt, then back up at David. His expression was unreadable.

Then someone started singing—one of the younger cousins, a girl in her twenties with a cruel smirk.

"Free food, free house, free ride,

James the freeloader's got no pride!

No family, no money, no shame,

Living off Emily's family name!"

The crowd roared with laughter. Others joined in, clapping along.

"Free food, free house, free ride!"

"Oh God, this is too good!"

Marcus was laughing too, his arm casually draped near Emily's shoulder. "Classic. Absolutely classic. You know what, James? Maybe you should go change. You're dripping wine all over Grandma's nice floors."

More laughter.

An older woman Emily's aunt—shook her head with exaggerated sadness. "Old Master Anderson was a brilliant man. A visionary. But getting James into this family? That was his one mistake. His only mistake."

"Amen to that," someone else muttered.

"The old man must have been losing it in his final days."

"Probably felt sorry for the orphan. That's what happens when you let pity override common sense."

James stood there, wine dripping from his shirt, surrounded by mocking faces, and said nothing. What could he say? These people had already made up their minds about him three years ago. Nothing would change that.

Emily finally spoke, her voice strained. "James, maybe you should... go to the bathroom. Clean yourself up."

She couldn't even look at him.

"Yeah, run along," David said, waving dismissively. "Go hide in the bathroom where you belong. We'll call you when it's time to do the dishes."

The laughter intensified.

Then, a voice cut through the noise like a knife.

"What's all this commotion?"

Everyone froze.

At the top of the grand staircase stood Grandma Anderson—Margaret Anderson, eighty years old but with eyes that could freeze Hell itself. She was small, barely five feet tall, but she commanded the room with the presence of a general. Her silver hair was pinned in an elegant updo, her dress was vintage Chanel, and her expression was thunderous.

The crowd parted like the Red Sea as she descended the stairs, her cane clicking against the marble with each step.

"Well?" she demanded, her voice sharp. "Someone answer me. Why is my birthday celebration sounding like a circus?"

"Grandma!" David rushed forward, his tone instantly shifting to syrupy sweetness. "We were just... there was a small disagreement about gifts."

Margaret's eyes swept the room and landed on James, taking in his wine-soaked shirt and the teapot still sitting on the table. Her gaze narrowed.

"James Carter." She pronounced his name like a curse. "What have you done now?"

"Grandma, I—"

"He called David's gift fake!" someone shouted from the crowd.

"He insulted the family!"

"He embarrassed Emily in front of everyone!"

Margaret's face hardened. She walked slowly toward James, her cane clicking ominously with each step. When she was close enough, she looked him up and down with undisguised disgust.

"Fake?" she repeated coldly. "You dare to call a five-million-dollar antique fake? You, who have never owned anything of value in your entire miserable life?"

"Grandma, if you just look at the—"

"SILENCE!" Margaret's voice cracked like a whip. "I don't want to hear another word from your ungrateful mouth! My late husband brought you into this family out of the kindness of his heart, and this is how you repay his memory? By insulting us? By humiliating my granddaughter?"

"I wasn't trying to—"

"You are a PARASITE, James Carter!" Margaret's voice rose, trembling with rage. "A worthless, unemployed, pathetic parasite who has contributed NOTHING to this family! You have no education, no career, no family, no prospects—you are NOTHING! And yet you have the audacity, the sheer GALL, to stand in MY house, at MY birthday celebration, and insult MY family?"

The room was utterly silent now. Even James, who had endured three years of humiliation, felt something crack inside him at the venom in her words.

Margaret turned to Emily. "How much longer are you going to tolerate this embarrassment? Look at him! Wine-stained, pathetic, causing scenes at family gatherings! Your grandfather's will said you had to marry him, but he's been dead for three years. There's no reason you can't divorce this disgrace and marry someone worthy someone like Marcus!"

Marcus smiled slightly, his eyes gleaming.

Emily's face was scarlet. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

"Grandma, please," James said quietly. "Just look at the base of the teapot. Look at the mark. I'm not trying to cause trouble. I just don't want you to—"

"GET OUT."

James stopped mid-sentence.

Margaret pointed toward the door with a shaking finger. "Get out of my house. Now. I will not have you ruin my birthday with your nonsense."

"Grandma—"

"I SAID GET OUT!"

The room erupted in applause and jeers.

"Yeah, get lost, James!"

"Good riddance!"

"Should've kicked him out years ago!"

At that moment James looked at Emily. She was staring at the floor, her fists clenched at her sides, her jaw tight. She didn't meet his eyes. She didn't say a word in his defense.

However that was when the old lady angrily walked closer to James knowing fully well she needed to do something.

immediately her Palm connected to James face.

“Slap!!”