"That’ll teach you not to make me look like an idiot in front of my family!" Richard Vance yelled, his voice carrying over the manicured lawn.

Forty-eight hours after the gala at the Plaza Hotel, the Vance family name was completely obliterated across the Eastern seaboard.

The suburban rental house in Long Island was seized under court-ordered asset forfeiture. Moving vans had already cleared out the furniture, which was auctioned off to recoup the millions Richard had stolen from the subsidiary.

Olivia Vance sat on the curb outside the empty house, her synthetic fur coat stained and torn, holding a single plastic trash bag containing her personal belongings. The country club had revoked her membership. Her bridge partners had blocked her number. She was penniless, disgraced, and facing eviction from her own retirement apartment.

Inside the Central Booking facility in downtown Manhattan, Richard Vance sat in a gray holding cell, dressed in an oversized orange jumpsuit. His pomade-slicked hair was matted with sweat, and a dark bruise bloomed across his jaw from an altercation with an inmate the night before.

The heavy steel door buzzed open.

"Vance," the guard grunted. "Your visitor is here."

Richard scrambled to his feet, a pathetic spark of hope igniting in his chest. *Maya,* he thought frantically. *She came to make a deal. She has to remember what we had. She’s too soft-hearted to leave me here.*

He hurried into the glass-partitioned visitation room, dropping onto the metal stool.

Sitting on the other side of the bulletproof glass was not Maya.

It was Julian Sterling, accompanied by Arthur Pendelton.

Richard grabbed the plastic telephone handset with trembling fingers. Julian picked up his receiver with slow, deliberate precision.

"Where is she?" Richard demanded, his voice cracking against the glass. "Where is Maya? Tell her I’ll sign whatever she wants! I’ll sign a post-nuptial agreement! I’ll apologize on television! Just drop the charges!"

Julian looked at him through the glass. His eyes were colder than a winter midnight in the Atlantic.

"Maya Sinclair does not speak to criminals, Richard," Julian said, his voice smooth and devastating. "She is currently in the executive boardroom of Sinclair Tower, finalizing the total restructuring of Vance & Cross. Your uncle Donald was forced out of the company this morning. The Vance name has been scrubbed from every vessel, every warehouse, and every document in North America."

"You can't do that!" Richard slammed his palm against the glass. "I have rights! I’m Lily’s legal father!"

Arthur Pendelton slid a single piece of paper against the glass partition.

"The family court finalized the termination of your parental rights two hours ago, Mr. Vance," Arthur said calmly. "Supported by five hundred eyewitness statements from the Plaza, the video recording of you shoving her face into the cake, and your impending ten-to-fifteen-year federal prison sentence for corporate embezzlement. You have no rights. You have no daughter. You have nothing."

Richard’s hands began to shake uncontrollably. "What about Vanessa? She can testify for me! She knew about the funds!"

Julian offered a thin, merciless smile. "Vanessa took a plea deal twenty minutes ago. She traded full testimony against you in exchange for five years of supervised probation. She called you a manipulative fraud who forced her to forge the invoices. You are alone, Richard."

Richard slid off the stool, collapsing onto his knees against the cold concrete floor, tears of pure self-pity streaming down his hollow cheeks. "Please... Sterling... please. Tell Maya I’m sorry. Tell her I didn't know who she was!"

Julian stood up, buttoning his suit coat with effortless grace.

"That was your fatal mistake, Richard," Julian said through the handset before hanging it up. "A real man treats a woman with dignity whether she is a waitress in a cheap diner or an heiress on a throne. You only respect power. And now, you will spend the next fifteen years answering to it."