I poured another cup of coffee and murmured to myself, “You wanted a lesson, son. Tomorrow you will receive the greatest lesson of your life.”
My name is Margot Sullivan. I built my fortune from nothing with my late husband Patrick Sullivan, a baker who worked eighteen hours a day before we opened a tiny grocery store in Brooklyn that later grew into a chain of convenience markets.
After Patrick died from a heart attack twelve years ago I sold the company and invested in real estate and funds. I wanted peace. Instead I created a spoiled heir.
Preston grew up surrounded by luxury. He attended elite schools and graduated from Columbia Law School without ever understanding the value of effort. He loved designer suits, luxury watches, and expensive restaurants far more than legal work.
Everything became worse when he met Natalia Brookswell, an online influencer obsessed with glamour and luxury. During her first dinner at my apartment she scanned every object in the room like a financial auditor.
She smiled and asked casually, “Mrs. Sullivan, this apartment must be worth several million dollars, right?”
I answered coldly, “It is my home, not an investment.”