Chapter 8 - The Visitor in the Rain
Two weeks after the collapse, a cold, steady drizzle fell over the city of Zurich, slicking the cobblestone streets outside our private estate overlooking the lake.
I was sitting in the oak-paneled study, reviewing the preliminary architectural designs for the new community foundation, when Marcus knocked quietly and entered the room.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Sterling,” Marcus said, his expression unusually guarded. “You have a visitor in the ground-floor security lounge.”
I looked up, pausing my pen. “At this hour? Who could possibly know we’re here?”
“It’s not a business associate,” Marcus replied carefully. “It’s Elena Prescott.”
The name hung in the air like a sudden drop in temperature.
Elena Prescott—Prescott’s mother, a woman who had spent five years looking down her nose at me, criticizing my clothes, questioning my background, and whispering condescending remarks to her socialite friends while I quietly balanced her family’s fraudulent ledgers.
“What does she want?” I asked, my voice dropping into an icy register.
“She flew in commercial, economy class,” Marcus said. “She has no money, no security detail, and no friends left in European high society. Her accounts were completely frozen under the RICO forfeiture extensions. She’s standing in our lobby looking for charity.”
I stared at the paperwork on my desk for a long moment, watching the soft amber glow of the desk lamp reflect off the polished wood.
“Bring her up,” I said quietly.
Ten minutes later, the heavy oak doors of the study opened.
Elena Prescott stepped inside. The transformation was staggering. The woman who once wore million-dollar diamonds and custom Chanel gowns now wore a damp, unbranded woolen coat with frayed cuffs. Her hair was unstyled, her face pale, and her eyes—once filled with haughty arrogance—were hollow, red-rimmed, and desperate.
She stopped a few paces inside the door, looking around the palatial study with a mixture of awe and sheer terror before her gaze finally landed on me.
May you like
She didn't speak. She slowly, humiliatingly lowered her knees, sinking down onto the plush carpet until she was kneeling on the floor before my desk.
“Please,” Elena whispered, her voice cracking with suppressed sobs. “Please, I’m begging you. Have mercy.”
