You will fix this. You will restore my card. You will apologize to me personally. And you will stop poisoning my son against his own mother.
You have no idea what I am capable of when cornered.
P.
I stared at the final line.
Then, almost against my will, I laughed.
Priscilla cornered was not a wounded animal.
She was a chandelier crashing down and blaming the floor.
By noon, Marina arrived at my penthouse with two associates, three folders, and the expression of a woman who had already found blood in the water.
She entered without greeting, placed her bag on my dining table, and opened her laptop.
“I spoke with Ronald’s former counsel,” she said.
“Former?”
“Oh yes. He fired them at 8:03 this morning.”
“That sounds like Ronald.”
“They deny giving him anything improper. I believe them.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re terrified.”
One of Marina’s associates, a quiet man named Theo, slid a printed report toward me.
