Vanessa sat again.
“Yes.”
“Then pitch me.”
Patricia lowered her eyes, but I saw the corner of her mouth twitch.
Vanessa blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“You wanted this meeting.
You told Patricia you had ideas for positioning Belmore with high-end clients.
I’m listening.”
Vanessa’s confidence had always depended on knowing where everyone stood beneath her.
Now she had to speak to the sister she’d dismissed as too poor for the deposit as the owner whose approval she needed.
She reached for the portfolio beside her chair.
Her hand trembled slightly.
“I have relationships with people who expect a certain level of service,” she began.
I said nothing.
She opened the portfolio.
“My concept is to create a planning brand for clients who don’t want to compromise.
People who understand quality.”
The words sounded familiar.
People who understand quality.
People who know what level they belong on.
She heard it too.
Her voice weakened.
“Belmore could become one of my preferred venues.”
“Belmore is already heavily booked,” I said.
“Of course.
I just mean I could bring the right kind of clients.”
“What kind is that?”
Vanessa hesitated.
Mom looked at the floor.
“Clients who can afford it,” Vanessa said finally.
“That’s one requirement.
What else?”
She swallowed.
“People who appreciate the property.”
“And how would you treat clients whose budgets don’t fit Belmore?”
That question stopped her.
Patricia remained very still.
Trevor leaned back slowly.
Vanessa looked at me.
She knew exactly why I had asked.
“Professionally,” she said.
“Would you laugh at their salaries?”
“No.”
“Would you tell them that ordinary people should know their place?”
Mom flinched.
“I didn’t say it like that,” she murmured.
I turned to her.
“You said there was dignity in knowing my budget.
Then you suggested community centers because some have decent air conditioning.”
Mom looked down.
I turned back to Vanessa.
“Would you tell a client’s sister she gets attached to ideas she can’t afford?”
Vanessa shut the portfolio.
“I said I was sorry.”
“You haven’t.”
