Part 1: The Smiling Executioner

Six weeks later, the Monroe empire was completely erased from the map.

Arthur Monroe was sitting in a maximum-security federal holding cell, denied bail and facing thirty years for defrauding his investors.

The government had seized all of their assets.

Their yachts, their overseas accounts, their luxury vehicles, and their sprawling Hamptons estate were all liquidated to pay off their victims.

The largest victim, legally speaking, was my shadow holding company.

Which meant I didn't just destroy them.

I profited from their destruction.

I was sitting in my corner office on the sixtieth floor, looking out over the city through floor-to-ceiling glass windows.

My mother was sitting on the plush leather sofa across from my desk.

She was wearing a stunning, custom-tailored Chanel suit that I had flown a designer in from Paris to make for her.

She looked exactly like what she had always been: royalty.

My desk phone buzzed.

“Sir,” my head of security said through the intercom. “There is a woman at the front desk demanding to see you.”

“Does she have an appointment?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“No, sir. She says her name is Celeste Monroe. Security is ready to escort her off the premises.”

I looked at my mother, who simply raised an eyebrow and took a sip of her tea.

“Send her up,” I commanded.

Five minutes later, the heavy oak doors of my office slowly opened.

Celeste walked in, but she was entirely unrecognizable.

The flawless, arrogant socialite was completely gone.

She was wearing a faded, off-the-rack trench coat that looked like it had been bought at a thrift store.

Her hair was tied back in a messy knot, and there were deep, dark bags under her eyes.

She didn't have her designer handbag.

She didn't have her diamond jewelry.

She looked exactly like the poor, desperate people she used to mock from the balconies of her high-society parties.

“Adrian,” Celeste whispered, her voice cracking as she stepped onto the thick carpet.

She stopped abruptly when she noticed my mother sitting on the sofa.

Celeste flinched, looking away in shame.

“What do you want, Celeste?” I asked, leaning back in my executive chair.

She walked closer, her hands trembling as she clutched the edges of her cheap coat.

“I have nothing,” she choked out, tears spilling down her pale cheeks.

“The government took the penthouse. My credit cards are canceled. My friends won't even answer my phone calls.”

She looked at me, pure desperation burning in her eyes.

“I’m sleeping in a weekly motel in the garment district, Adrian.”

“It has rats.”

I didn't blink.

I just stared at her, feeling absolutely zero pity.

“I grew up with rats, Celeste,” I replied coldly. “They build character.”

She dropped to her knees right in front of my massive mahogany desk.

She was begging.

The woman who used to sneer at the working class was now groveling on my floor.

“Please, Adrian,” she sobbed. “Just a small stipend. Ten thousand dollars a month. Five thousand. Just enough so I don't have to live on the streets.”

“You owe me,” she pleaded desperately. “I was going to be your wife!”

I slowly stood up from my chair and walked around the desk.

I stood right in front of her, forcing her to look up at me.

“I owe you absolutely nothing,” I said, my voice echoing loudly in the massive office.

I turned and looked at my mother.

My mother slowly set her teacup down on the saucer.

She stood up, walked over to where Celeste was kneeling on the floor, and looked down at her.

Celeste was sobbing, staring at the polished tips of my mother’s expensive shoes.

“Apologize to her,” I commanded.

Celeste hesitated, her old pride fighting a pathetic final battle inside her chest.

“Apologize,” I repeated, my voice dropping to a terrifying, lethal whisper. “Or I will make sure you can't even afford the motel.”

Celeste squeezed her eyes shut, heavy tears dripping onto the floor.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered, her voice barely audible. “I’m sorry I pushed you into the fountain. I’m sorry for what I said.”

My mother looked down at her for a long, silent moment.

She didn't look angry.

She just looked incredibly, profoundly disappointed.

“Your cheap tears are ruining my aesthetic,” my mother said quietly.

My mother turned around and walked back to the sofa, completely dismissing Celeste’s entire existence.

I smiled.

I pressed the button on my smartwatch.

Two massive security guards immediately walked into the office.

“Escort Ms. Monroe out of the building,” I instructed them.

“And make sure her picture is given to the lobby desk. She is permanently banned from this tower.”

The guards grabbed Celeste by the arms, hauling her roughly to her feet.

“Adrian, no!” she screamed, fighting against their grip as they dragged her toward the door.

“You can't leave me like this! You ruined my life!”

“You ruined your own life, Celeste,” I said, turning my back to her and looking out the window at my city.

The heavy oak doors slammed shut, cutting off her screams forever.

I stood there, looking out at the sprawling metropolis, the skyscrapers, and the distant, gritty neighborhoods where I had fought my way out of the mud.

Celeste Monroe was finally where she belonged.

At the absolute bottom.