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

The deck fell silent. Even Richard stopped puffing on his cigar.

I looked down at the puddle spreading on the teak. Teak that cost more per square foot than the house I grew up in. Then I looked at Victoria.

“I’ll handle it,” I said, my voice dropping an octave. I pulled my phone back out.

“Good girl,” Victoria said, turning her back to me.

“I’m making a call,” I continued, my thumb hovering over a contact named Henderson – CLO. “To clean up everything.”

Chapter 2: The Edge of the Boat

The sun seemed to sharpen its focus, turning the white deck into a blinding sheet of glare. The smell of the spilled gin was rising in the heat, sickly sweet and cloying.

I didn’t dial immediately. I held the phone, watching them. I needed to be sure. In business, as in war, you do not fire until the target has fully committed to their mistake.