Part 2: He Thought He Made Me Eat My Birthday Cake Off the Restaurant Floor in Front of Everyone—By the End of the Week I Owned the House, the Software, and the Ruins of His Empire...

At 7:15 AM, the storm hit.

My personal burner phone—the one only my attorney, Marcus Vance, had—began to ring.

Marcus was sixty, sharp as a switchblade, and had represented three of Chicago’s most ruthless corporate families through their divorces. He was also my late father’s closest friend.

"I read the files you uploaded to the secure server at four in the morning, Sophia," Marcus said, his voice gravelly and completely awake. "Are you alright?"

"I’m clean, calm, and ready," I said. "Did you review the Vanguard filings?"

A low chuckle rattled through the receiver. "It’s a masterpiece. He has no idea he’s standing on a trapdoor, does he?"

"None," I replied. "He thinks I'm crying into a pillow at my sister’s house in Michigan. He thinks by noon I’ll come crawling back, apologizing for embarrassing him in front of his board."

"Well, he’s in for an educational morning," Marcus said. "I’ve already filed the emergency petition for temporary exclusive possession of the Winnetka property based on spousal cruelty and assault. The video footage from the restaurant—did you get it?"

"The restaurant manager owes my family a favor from ten years ago," I said calmly. "I had the high-definition security footage of him shoving the cake onto the floor and pushing my head down delivered to your private email at 2:00 AM."

"Good. The judge signed an emergency protective order twenty minutes ago. As of right now, Lucas cannot come within five hundred feet of you, your accounts, or the primary residence. Furthermore, I notified the forensic audit unit at the SEC regarding the unauthorized transfers to the River North apartment."

"Hold off on the SEC for twenty-four hours," I instructed. "I want the board to see it first. I want Arthur Sterling to look Lucas in the eye when the floor drops out."

Arthur Sterling was the lead venture capitalist from Horizon Ridge, the firm putting up the fifty million dollars. He was old-school, ruthless, and despised scandal. More importantly, he valued competence above charisma.

"Understood," Marcus said. "Where are you going now?"

I stood up, walked to the full-length mirror, and smoothed down the front of my charcoal-grey wool pantsuit. My hair was pulled back into a slick, flawless low bun. Not a trace of last night’s tears remained.

"I’m going to the office, Marcus," I said. "I have a nine o'clock meeting with our head of HR and our lead system administrator."

"Give him hell, Sophia."