I built a billion-dollar empire just to see my mother smile. I came home early from a merger to find her kneeling on the marble floor, scrubbing it with a toothbrush while my wife poured red wine over her head. “Missed a spot, you old peasant!” my wife screamed. My mom just sobbed, “Please, my back…” My wife laughed, “If you tell my husband, I’ll put you in a cage.” She didn’t see me in the doorway. I didn’t say a word. But the revenge I unleashed over the next 24 hours would make her beg for the very mercy she had just denied the woman who gave me life.
Victoria scrambled backward, her back hitting the center island. “You spied on me?” she gasped, attempting to pivot to righteous indignation.
Before I could answer, the heavy oak front doors opened with a heavy thud. The sound of synchronized, heavy footsteps echoed through the foyer. A moment later, Marcus, my lead attorney, stepped into the kitchen, flanked by four massive men in dark suits from my private security detail.
Marcus didn’t waste time with pleasantries. He was holding a thick, black leather dossier.
“Mr. Sterling,” Marcus nodded to me, then turned his shark-like gaze to my wife. He pulled a crisp, white document from the folder and held it out to her. “Mrs. Sterling. Section twelve, paragraph four of your prenuptial agreement. Any physical, emotional, or psychological abuse directed toward the Primary Beneficiary’s family—specifically, Sarah Sterling—results in the immediate and total forfeiture of all marital assets.”
Victoria didn’t take the paper. Her chest was heaving.
“Furthermore,” Marcus continued seamlessly, “we have spent the last three weeks conducting a forensic audit of the Sterling Foundation. We have incontrovertible proof that you have been secretly siphoning funds intended for your mother-in-law’s elder-care charity, routing them through dummy shell corporations, and depositing them directly into your father’s offshore accounts to service his gambling debts.”
The color drained entirely from Victoria’s face. She looked like a corpse.
I looked at my watch. “I have already frozen your black cards. I have revoked your access to the penthouse in Manhattan, the ski lodge in Aspen, and the villa in Como. The jewelry you are wearing will be cataloged and seized by security before you leave.”
Cornered, the animal inside her finally lashed out. Victoria scrambled to her feet, her face twisting into an ugly, desperate snarl.
“You think you can just throw me away?!” she screamed, spittle flying from her lips. “I am a Vanderbilt descendant! You’re just a glorified trash collector with a lucky algorithm! I will drag your name through the mud. I’ll take this to the press! I’ll tell the world how controlling and dictatorial you are. I’ll ruin your stock prices!”
I couldn’t help it. A small, cold smile touched the corner of my mouth.
“Go ahead, Victoria,” I whispered. “Call the press. But before you dial, you should probably know something. Last week, I finalized a shadow acquisition. I bought the parent company of the tabloid conglomerate your father currently owes ten million dollars to. I am now his primary creditor.”
I took a step closer, letting my height shadow her completely.
“You aren’t just going to be homeless, Victoria. You, and your entire bloodline, are about to be blacklisted from every country club, every bank, and every social circle on the Eastern Seaboard.”
Chapter 4: The Eviction
The fight completely left her body. Victoria sagged against the marble island, her eyes glazed, the magnitude of her absolute ruin finally crushing the breath from her lungs. She had played a dangerous game of chess against a man who owned the board, the pieces, and the building the tournament was held in.
I turned away from her, the disgust finally complete, and gave Marcus a slight nod.
“Escort her to the guest quarters,” Marcus instructed the security detail. “Allow her to pack one suitcase of clothing she brought into the marriage. No jewelry. No electronics purchased by Mr. Sterling. Then, escort her off the property.”
Two of the security guards stepped forward, gripping Victoria firmly by the upper arms. She didn’t struggle. She was completely catatonic.
“Get out of my house,” I whispered, not looking back at her.
As they dragged her toward the doorway, she seemed to snap back to reality. She looked around the cavernous, glittering kitchen, the marble halls she had so arrogantly believed she ruled. “You can’t do this!” she whimpered, her voice cracking. “Ethan, please! Where will I go? My family has nothing!”
I slowly pointed a finger at the cheap plastic toothbrush still lying on the floor in a puddle of spilled wine.
“The same place you wanted to send my mother,” I said, my voice echoing off the walls. “To the gutter. The only difference is, she had the strength and the character to climb out of it. You never will.”
As they hauled her out of the kitchen, her wails echoing down the hallway, I immediately dropped to my knees on the cold, hard floor. I didn’t care about the spilled wine. I didn’t care about the wrinkles in my bespoke suit.
I took off my twenty-thousand-dollar blazer, bundled the soft, imported wool in my hands, and gently began to wipe the sticky red wine from my mother’s face and hair. Her skin was freezing. She was still trembling, staring blankly at the spot where Victoria had stood.
