I walked back into the sprawling, modern living room. Embedded in the marble wall was a sleek, gas fireplace. I clicked the remote on the coffee table, and the blue flames roared to life.
Without opening a single envelope, I dropped the stack of letters directly into the fire. I stood there, sipping my champagne, watching the thick paper curl, blacken, and turn to fragile ash. I watched the last remaining remnants of my toxic, abusive history burn away into nothingness.
As I watched the paper burn, feeling the immense, empowering weightlessness of absolute freedom, my encrypted phone began to ring. It was Victor, calling to offer me the lead on a new, multi-billion-dollar international acquisition in London.
I smiled, turning my back on the ashes, and answered the call.
Chapter 6: The View from the Top
Two years later.
It was a vibrant, crisp afternoon in late November. A light, misty rain was falling over the city, making the asphalt slick and reflecting the neon lights of the high-end storefronts.
I was driving my own car—a legitimately purchased, slate-grey Aston Martin DBS. The deep, throaty purr of the V12 engine was a comforting symphony as I navigated the downtown traffic. I was heading to the Sterling Tower for an emergency board meeting. Victor was stepping back to an advisory role, and I was expected to be officially named a managing partner of the firm today.
As I approached a major intersection, the traffic light turned red. I eased the Aston Martin to a smooth halt in the right lane, the windshield wipers clicking rhythmically.
Idly, I glanced out the passenger side window at the bus stop on the corner.
Huddled beneath the plexiglass shelter, trying to avoid the blowing rain, stood two people. They shared a single, broken black umbrella. They were wearing cheap, worn raincoats, holding plastic grocery bags because they couldn’t afford the delivery fees.
It was my parents.
They looked incredibly old, their postures stooped and broken by the crushing weight of their own choices. Mia was still sitting in a federal cell, leaving them entirely alone to navigate a world they could no longer afford. They were waiting for a public bus to take them back to whatever small, cramped apartment they had managed to rent after losing the house.
For a fleeting, singular second, my mother looked up from the wet pavement. Her eyes locked onto the sleek, roaring luxury car stopped at the light. She stared at the Aston Martin with a look of profound, aching envy.
