Gustavo stared at her. This was off-script. Mommy was supposed to give him sweets when he broke things.
He crossed his chubby arms. "No! I'll tell Daddy!"
"Daddy isn't here," Gloria said. "I am."
She grabbed his shoulder. It wasn't a gentle maternal touch. It was a firm grip that said I am bigger than you.
She spun him around.
"Naughty corner. Now," she commanded.
She pointed to a small antique stool in the corner of the foyer, facing the blank wall.
Gustavo's eyes went wide. "No!"
He tried to pull away, but Gloria's grip was iron. She marched him to the stool and sat him down.
"You do not move until the timer rings," she said.
She pulled out her phone and set a timer for five minutes. She placed the phone on a nearby table where he could see the countdown but couldn't reach it.
Jones had stopped on the stairs. He was watching, fascinated. He expected Gloria to hit the kid-she had a temper-but this calculated discipline was new.
Gustavo tried to stand up.
Gloria turned on her heel. She unleashed the "Death Glare."
She squatted down so she was eye-level with him.
"If you move off that stool," she whispered, "I will throw away all the iPads."
Gustavo froze.
To a Gen Alpha child, the threat of losing the iPad was worse than death. It was worse than no ice cream. It was the end of the world.
"No..." he whimpered. "Not the iPad."
"All of them," Gloria confirmed. "Even the one with the blue cover."
Horror washed over Gustavo's face. He sat back down, his butt hitting the wood hard. He began to sob quietly, defeated.
Mrs. Higgins stepped forward, trembling. "Madam, he's just a baby. Perhaps a cookie..."
Gloria raised a hand without looking at the nanny. "Silence."
Mrs. Higgins retreated.
Gloria stood up and walked over to where the toy car lay on the floor.
She picked it up. It was heavy. It could have broken a bone.
She walked to the foot of the stairs and looked up at Jones.
He was rubbing his shin. There would be a bruise tomorrow.
"Are you hurt?" she asked.
Jones looked suspicious. He narrowed his eyes. "Why do you care?"
"Because he's your brother, and he assaulted you," she said simply.
Jones scoffed. "Half-brother."
"Blood doesn't justify bruises," she retorted.
Jones stared at her. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.
Ding.
The timer on the phone chirped cheerfully.
Gloria turned back to Gustavo. He was still sitting on the stool, sniffling, terrified of the iPad purge.
"Time's up," she said.
She walked over to him. "Now. Apologize."
