The Downfall Of Grace Griffin

1.

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Grace's P.O.V

"Okay, daddy." I answered him. "I'll see you in ten." I hung up my mobile and checked for traffic before pulling out on to the road.

I frowned. It sounded urgent. I turned towards the street that led to my parents house, my home.

I saw people on the streets, pointing and waving. Taking photos of me. I smiled at them and waved, still concentrating on the road.

Everyone here knew me. I'm Grace Griffin. And I am Miss Popularity. I may not be an heiress, but with the right circle of people, I am at the top of all the other socialites I know in this part of the city.

I don't host parties. I attend parties. Photo shoots, magazine interviews, club openings. Anything to be spotted. But some are rare to be invited to.

But that's all the media covers me for. They don't see me donating money. They don't see me do volunteer work. They don't see me give. If it's not a fancy party, the media doesn't cover it. They don't care what happens on the lower and less wealthy sides of this town.

People spot me all the time, ask to take a picture with me to help gain Instagram or twitter followers.

I have involuntarily shown up in people's YouTube videos, but I've also been invited to them too.

I was planning on changing my status from just a socialite to a known philanthropist. I don't just party all the time.

I work and I work hard, donating my time, my money and my emotions to those in need.

I pulled into my parents property. It was a renovated and refurbished Queenslander and my family home.

I loved the place. I parked the car on the driveway and quickly rushed inside.

"Mum? Daddy? I'm home!" I called out.

"Out on the study deck!" My mother called out. I went through the kitchen and sitting room to the study deck. It was a huge enclosed part of the verandah, the walls were floor to ceiling windows.

"There you are." I smiled at them and sat on the sofa. "What did you want to talk to me about, daddy?" I asked innocently.

"Gracie, sweetheart, there is no nice way of saying this, but, we have to cut back on spending." His dark blonde hair was aging, the stubble on his face had bits of grey and he looked worn.

I looked at my father like he was an alien. "What do you mean?" I kept my smile on my face.

"Well, darling," My mother started. "We know how social you can be..." And the rambling started her repeating a story I heard many times about I always befriended everyone I saw ever since I could crawl.

"We've hit a financial ditch." Dad interrupted mum.

I moved my eyes from my father to my mother. Mum looked really upset.

"Okay." I nodded. "No worries. I can cut back from designer brand names."

"Well, darling..."

My eyes widened. There's more?

"There's no cutting back. It's stopping, completely. I need your credit cards." My father spoke tentatively.

"Daddy!" I squealed. "No! I can't!"

"Gracie. I have no choice. We have no choice."

"But how? What do you mean?"

"Grace. Your father screwed up big time." My mother cut in.