Beatrice let out a gasp of pure indignation on the speakerphone. “Is that a threat? Are you threatening this family?”
“No, I am simply informing you that the ride is over,” I said before hanging up the phone.
Over the next few hours, Chloe sent a barrage of twenty hateful messages calling me “trash” and “peasant,” which I promptly forwarded to Meredith. I also sent my CFO several suspicious logs showing small, frequent withdrawals from the company’s operating budget that had been disguised as vendor fees.
I slept better that night than I had in years.
Three days later, they returned much earlier than they had planned, looking ragged and furious rather than relaxed and tanned. I was waiting for them in the grand foyer, dressed in a sharp white suit with my hair pulled back in a tight, professional bun.
Meredith stood beside me along with two junior associates and a stern-looking process server. Preston slammed the front door so hard the glass rattled, while Beatrice marched in behind him with a face turned beet-red from fury.
“What the hell is this circus doing in my living room?” Preston demanded.