I never told my boyfriend’s snobbish parents that I owned the bank holding their massive debt. To them, I was just a “barista with no future.” At their yacht party, his mother pushed me toward the edge of the boat and sneered, “Service staff should stay below deck,” while his father laughed, “Don’t get the furniture wet, trash.” My boyfriend adjusted his sunglasses and didn’t move. Then, a siren blared across the water. A police boat pulled up alongside the yacht… and the Bank’s Chief Legal Officer stepped aboard with a megaphone, looking directly at me. “Madam President, the foreclosure papers are ready for your signature.” – usnews 0/2

“Please,” Richard wheezed. He fell to his knees. It wasn’t a metaphorical fall; his legs simply gave out. “The embarrassment… the guests… Elena, please. We can work this out. I can get the money.”

“You don’t have the money, Richard,” I said, looking down at him. “I’ve seen the books. You haven’t had the money since 2018. You’ve been cycling debt between shell companies.”

I signed my name—Elena Vance—with a flourish. The ink was dark and permanent.

“This asset is now property of the bank. Effective immediately.”

I handed the papers to the police captain.

“Captain, remove these individuals from my vessel. They are trespassing.”

Richard looked up, tears streaming down his red face. “My house? What about the house?”

I paused. I looked at Henderson. He nodded slightly.

“The house is next,” I said calmly. “I believe the mortgage is ninety days past due. I’m accelerating that debt as well. You have twenty-four hours to vacate the premises before the locks are changed.”