Chapter 2: The Sterling Syndicate
High above the Manhattan skyline, in a penthouse boardroom that smelled of espresso and expensive leather, Emily stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows. She had shed the wedding dress, replacing it with a razor-sharp charcoal suit.
Her father, Arthur Sterling, sat at the head of a massive glass table. He was a man who moved markets with a whisper. He didn't offer his daughter pity; he offered her a glass of neat bourbon.
"You played the meek, submissive bride flawlessly," Arthur rumbled, taking a sip of his drink. "I almost believed you were actually heartbroken on that floor."
"I was acting, Dad, not dying," Emily replied smoothly, accepting the glass. "But Victoria’s little speech? Julian’s blatant disrespect? That was all them. They failed the stress test."
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"So, we bleed them dry?" Arthur asked, a dangerous glint in his eye.
"Every last drop," Emily said, turning to face him. "They thought I was a naïve little girl they could control while they spent our money. I want their assets stripped by Friday. I want Victoria’s social clubs notified of their bankruptcy before she even wakes up."
