Year five: The fleet of vintage cars was auctioned off.
Year seven: Chad and Brad dropped out of college. They started “businesses” that were really just holes to pour money into—a failed nightclub, a clothing line nobody bought.
Victoria was bleeding out. She was maintaining the illusion of wealth while the foundation rotted away.
By year ten, the estate was mortgaged to the hilt. She needed a job.
She used her last connections to land a position as the Director of Operations at Sterling Interiors, a luxury design firm. It was a high-status role that paid well, allowing her to keep up appearances.
But leopards don’t change their spots. The reports from my PI confirmed that she treated her staff like dirt. She fired assistants for bringing the wrong coffee. She embezzled petty cash to pay for her Botox.
She was vulnerable.
It was a Tuesday evening in November. I sat in my glass-walled office in Manhattan, forty stories above the street where I had once picked up garbage.
My assistant, Sarah, walked in.
“The due diligence on Sterling Interiors is complete, sir,” she said, placing a tablet on my desk. “It’s bleeding money. The management is toxic. The owner is looking for a buyout.”
I smiled. It was the smile of a hunter who has finally cornered the wolf.
“Who is the Director of Operations?” I asked, savoring the moment.
“A Mrs. Victoria Vance,” Sarah replied, checking her notes. “Staff turnover in her department is 40%. There are three pending lawsuits for workplace harassment.”
I spun my chair around to look at the city skyline
