My husband threw my birthday cake on the floor and told me to eat it like a dog, unaware I owned every single asset he bragged about.

By 8:45 AM, the poison had begun to travel through the Holloway family bloodstream.

My phone rang continuously. When I refused to answer the cellular line, the landline in the hallway chimed. I picked up the receiver and set it on speakerphone while reviewing a sheaf of cross-collateralization deeds spread across the dining table.

"Natalie!" It was Evelyn, my mother-in-law. Her voice possessed the shrill, theatrical vibrato of a woman who had never worked a day in her life and believed manners were meant only for domestic staff. "What is the meaning of this insolence?"

"Good morning, Evelyn," I murmured, turning a page.

"The concierge at The Belle Meade Country Club just called to inform me that my monthly membership renewal has lapsed! My bridge luncheon is in two hours! They told me the direct debit account was dissolved! Dissolved, Natalie! What have you done?"

"I closed the secondary operating trust," I explained calmly. "The one Grant convinced me to set up three years ago to offset your late husband's outstanding tax liens. It cost fourteen thousand dollars a month to keep you in good standing at that club. I decided it was an unnecessary business expense."

"You... you spiteful little clerk!" Evelyn gasped, choking on her indignation. "How dare you speak to me about expenses! Grant built that company from the dirt! He took you out of a dusty accounting cubicle and gave you a life! You owe this family everything!"

"If Grant built the company," I said smoothly, "then Grant can pay your bridge tab. Give him a call. I hear he's currently hitching a ride from the Hermitage Hotel."

Before Evelyn could shriek, a second line beeped. Taryn, his sister.

I placed Evelyn on hold and clicked over.

"Nat, you bitch!" Taryn’s voice was hysterical. "My boutique deposit bounced! The landlord is standing in the doorway of my shop with a lockout notice! I have twenty-two thousand dollars in new inventory sitting on the loading dock, and the courier won't release it without certified funds!"

"Did you reach fifty thousand views on your livestream last night, Taryn?" I inquired pleasantly.

"What?"

"The video you took of my face while your brother told me to eat off the floor. Did it get the engagement you wanted? Did the algorithm reward your family loyalty?"

"That was content!" Taryn screamed. "It was just a trending sound! You're ruining my business over a joke!"

"It wasn't a business, Taryn," I said, my tone as icy as a morgue slab. "It was a tax write-off funded entirely by Arden Sound Capital. And as of midnight, the write-off is canceled. Good luck with the landlord."

I disconnected the call, unplugged the landline cord from the baseboard, and picked up my briefcase.