At 8:00 AM, Andrew Whitmore confidently swiped his exclusive titanium card to buy Brenda a celebratory diamond bracelet.
*Declined.*
He scoffed, tossing the terrified cashier a second card.
*Declined.*
Before Andrew could scream, his phone erupted. It was his CFO, his voice trembling on the edge of a panic attack. “Sir… the offshore accounts. The investments. They’re all zeroed out. The bank just foreclosed on the mansion, and the board has locked us out of the building.”
Andrew sped to Whitmore Tower, his chest tight with dread. He barged through the glass doors, ignoring the security guards trailing him, and slammed the boardroom doors wide open.
“Who the hell is responsible for—”
His voice died in his throat.
Sitting at the head of the obsidian table, wearing a flawless pale blue dress and a smile sharp enough to draw blood, was Mariana.
And around her neck rested the “priceless” emerald necklace Margaret had accused her of stealing.
“You?!” Andrew barked, his face turning a furious purple. “Security! Arrest her! She stole my mother’s heirloom!”
The guards didn’t move toward Mariana. Instead, they grabbed Andrew’s arms, forcing him in place.
Mariana slowly stood, her heels clicking like a countdown against the mahogany floor.
“It’s not an heirloom, Andrew,” she purred, tracing the glittering emeralds. “It was collateral. Your father surrendered it to the Escalante family thirty years ago when he begged my father for a bailout. I didn’t steal it. I just finally collected on your debt.”
Andrew’s knees went weak as the realization hit him like a freight train. *Escalante.* The ruthless shadow-billionaires his family had secretly owed for decades.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. A text from Brenda: *Your cards are bouncing. We’re done.*
Mariana stepped forward, her eyes locked onto his, cold and victorious.
“I told you to remember every word,” she whispered, looking down at the shattered man. “Now. Beg for forgiveness. And *kneel*.”