I do not own A Series of Unfortunate Events or any of its characters, likenesses, or places. They belong to Lemony Snicket a.k.a. Daniel Handler. Cora, Maxwell, and Andrew Squalor belong to me.
"I had an interesting conversation with Thomas Snicket this afternoon," announced Maxwell Squalor, as he tapped the ashes of his cigar into the ashtray beside him on the table. "He informed me that he and Linda are in the process of preparing the triplets for their V.F.D. Training School entrance exams. Apparently all three have been thriving under the support of their tutors. Especially that Kit, but you know how bright she is. When Thomas asked if I'd given any thought to the future education the boys, I told him flat out that Andrew could pass the exam blindfolded if he had to."
Cora Squalor's gaze fell away from her husband's and settled on the face of Jerome, their eldest son. He had only recently turned sixteen and still lived in the shadows when it came to his father. At a very young age, Jerome had fallen under the impression that he was not the sort of boy a man of power like Maxwell Squalor would want as an heir. Never did Maxwell make any attempts to conceal the fact that he preferred his youngest son, Andrew, over Jerome. While Jerome was painfully shy and not very clever, Andrew was outgoing and did well in both school and a variety of extracurricular activities. Even at just ten years old, he expressed an interest in economics—whereas at his age, the only economics Jerome had been interested in were those of the home variety. Those associated with the Squalors were constantly asking about Andrew, about how he was faring in his studies and how his latest football game had gone. The only time Jerome ever heard his name mentioned in a conversation between his parents and their friends was when someone asked if he had managed to pull up one or more of his grades.
Cora—who had an older sister she was continuously being compared to in her younger days—sensed her eldest son's feelings at the mention of his younger brother. Giving Jerome a reassuring smile, she turned once more to her husband.
"What about Jerome?" asked Cora, her voice as timid as her son's every time either of them questioned Maxwell.
"Jerome?" Maxwell repeated, and waved his hand in Jerome's direction. "He's sitting right over there, silent as usual."
Cora saw no reason to remind her husband that Jerome's silence was the result of his father failing to take him or his interests into consideration. And besides, the last thing she wanted was to have Maxwell argue with her in front of their two sons. "That wasn't what I meant." Cora bit her lip and continued to tread carefully across the vast waters of her husband's short temper. "What I meant was did you happen to mention to Thomas that Jerome just turned sixteen?"
Maxwell cleared his throat uncomfortably, as if his wife's question had caught him off guard. He dragged on his cigar as he pondered ways to answer her.
Finally, after a moment or two of silence, he lowered his cigar and balanced its tip on the edge of the ashtray. Turning to his wife, he answered as if she thought she'd asked him to stop at the store for ice-cream when she actually hadn't. "No."
Cora seemed to lose her nerve, but then caught sight of the longing expression in Jerome's eyes. Even Andrew looked as though he were expecting something more than just the usual "Oh" from their mother.
Biting her lower lip, she looked her husband in the eye and said, "Well, perhaps when you speak to him again, you can do that."
"What for?" Maxwell asked. "From the sound of it, one might think you're suggesting we sign Jerome up for that exam."
"Well, maybe I am suggesting it," Cora replied in the most argumentative tone she had used on Maxwell in the twenty years they'd known each other.
Their eyes wide, the Squalor siblings exchanged looks of astonishment.
"You know what low self esteem he has," Cora went on. "If he passes this exam and gets into the academy, just think of what it will mean for him—for his future."
"And if he fails?" Maxwell countered. "You know what he's like during tests, Cora. He can study for weeks and weeks and still manage to fail. The only subject he excels in is home economics, and what good will that do him in life?" The billionaire chuckled bitterly, and Jerome felt his heart sink as if someone had tied an anchor to it. Andrew gave his brother a sympathetic look, while Cora lowered her eyes to her plate.
"I just think it will be a good experience for him," she explained, her voice wavering. "I won't deny the possibility that he'll fail, but I refuse to believe that he can't possibly pass."
"Very well." Maxwell's voice was gruff as he stamped out his cigar in the ashtray. "Do what you will, but don't you or Jerome come crying to me when all this blows up in your faces."
Rising from his chair, Maxwell Squalor turned and exited the dining room. A few moments later, his wife and sons heard the thunderous sound of his study door slamming shut.