MY HUSBAND THREW ME TWENTY DOLLARS

The private jet engine roared fiercely as we ascended rapidly through the violent storm clouds over the Atlantic Ocean.

I paced the narrow cabin like a caged tiger, actively watching the catastrophic financial data scrolling across the large monitor on the wall.

Eleanor’s European syndicate hackers were systematically draining our international holding accounts, exploiting a deep architectural flaw she had secretly built into the company mainframe twenty years ago.

Suddenly, my satellite phone vibrated violently in my pocket.

The caller ID showed a highly restricted emergency number from the New York estate.

I answered the call, and the panicked voice of the chief of security flooded the line.

He urgently reported that my father had just collapsed in the middle of an emergency board meeting.

Marcus Sterling, the absolute most feared billionaire on Wall Street, was currently being rushed to an underground trauma center, completely unresponsive and bleeding heavily from his eyes.

The lead toxicologist had already confirmed that a highly synthetic, untraceable poison had been slipped into his morning coffee.

I gripped the edge of the metal table until my knuckles turned completely white.

Eleanor had planted a sleeper agent deep within the penthouse staff.

She knew she could not defeat my father in a direct corporate war, so she had cowardly ordered his assassination to trigger a mandatory change of command.

If Marcus died, the corporate bylaws dictated that the board of directors could immediately freeze my CEO powers and surrender the company to hostile foreign investors.

I looked at Chloe and ordered her to completely sever the transatlantic fiber-optic connections to our main servers.

She hesitated, warning me that cutting the physical cables would cost the company billions in immediate revenue and crash the domestic stock price.

I aggressively yelled that I did not care about the money.