Chapter 5 - The InvitationBy Friday afternoon, the story of the boardroom coup had swept through Boston’s financial district like a hurricane.
The fall of the Winthrop family was swift and absolute. Within forty-eight hours, their stocks had plummeted, their social connections evaporated like morning mist, and their names were scrubbed from every high-society guest list in the city. No one wanted to be associated with the people who had tried to humiliate the wrong family.
I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Vale penthouse, looking out over the sprawling skyline of Boston. The city looked different from up here. When you’re living on the ground floor, struggling to pay rent and dodging eviction notices, the skyscrapers look like cold, unyielding monuments built to keep people like you out.
Now, I owned a piece of them.
“You’re awfully quiet,” a voice murmured behind me.
I turned to see Adrian walking across the hardwood floor, holding two cups of coffee. He handed me one, his fingers brushing mine briefly.
“Just thinking,” I said, taking a sip. “About my mother. I keep wondering what she would say if she could see me now. Sitting in a penthouse, running a multi-billion-dollar corporation, destroying corporate corruption before lunch.”
Adrian smiled softly, leaning against the glass beside me.
“She’d probably tell you that you’re working too hard and need to take a breath,” he said. “And then she’d sit down at the piano and play that song.”
“Probably,” I laughed softly.
Just then, the double doors of the penthouse opened, and Lucia came skipping in, her small red shoes clicking against the floor. She was wearing a brand-new, beautifully tailored pale-blue dress—one that actually fit her properly, without trailing on the floor—and her hair was tied back with a neat silk ribbon.
Following closely behind her was Margaret, looking happier and more alive than she had in decades.
“Mama! Look what Grandma got me!” Lucia cried out, holding up a sleek, professional-grade digital tablet. “It has a drawing app! And look, she said we can visit the indoor dance studio downstairs anytime we want!”
I smiled, my heart swelling with a warmth I hadn't felt in a very long time. The dark, cold days of the cramped apartment above the old studio were gone. The constant fear of the next bill, the next crisis, the next humiliation—wiped away overnight.
“That’s wonderful, sweetheart,” I said, kneeling down to hug her. “Are you happy here?”
Lucia thought about it for a moment, tilting her head.
“I miss our old floor,” she admitted honestly. “The wood went creak-creak when I spun. This floor is too smooth.”
Margaret laughed, a rich, melodic sound. “Don’t worry, my little dancer. We can replace the floor in the private ballroom downstairs with authentic reclaimed oak if you want.”
I stood up, shaking my head at Margaret’s immediate billionaire solution to everything.
“We don’t need to replace any floors, Grandma,” I said gently. Then, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled it out and glanced at the screen. It was an email notification from an unknown, encrypted sender. The subject line was chillingly simple:
May you like
“You think you won. You only opened the door halfway. Meet me tonight at the old studio on 4th Street, or your daughter pays the price.”
My breath caught in my throat.
