The strike echoed through the vaulted grand ballroom like the crack of a whip.

The gates of the Vance estate were swarming with paparazzi. The news had leaked with terrifying speed. Vance Dynasty Bankrupt! the headlines screamed. Sterling Sovereign Fund Forecloses on Real Estate Royalty!

Julian, wearing jeans and a wrinkled polo shirt—the only clothes he could throw into a duffel bag in the allotted hour—pushed his way out of the front doors. Beatrice followed, hiding her face behind a massive pair of dark sunglasses, clutching a single Birkin bag.

"Get the car!" Julian yelled at a passing security guard.

"I don't work for you anymore, buddy," the guard sneered, walking away.

Chloe was nowhere to be seen. She had vanished out the back service entrance twenty minutes earlier, taking an Uber to God knows where once she realized Julian was genuinely broke.

"Julian, do something!" Beatrice hissed, swatting at a camera lens that got too close. "Call our friends! Call the Rothchilds, call the DuPonts!"

"I tried!" Julian snapped, his voice breaking. "No one is answering! The moment the Sterling Fund declared war, we became toxic waste. Nobody wants to cross Arthur Sterling."

A sleek black Mercedes van pulled up to the gates. The window rolled down, revealing Marcus, the former CFO.

"Marcus! Thank God," Julian rushed to the window. "Let us in. We need to get to my private accounts in the Caymans."

Marcus looked at him with sheer pity. "Julian, you don't have accounts in the Caymans anymore. The Sterling Fund legally absorbed them to cover your fraud."

"Fraud? What fraud?!" Julian screamed.

"The structural deficits," Marcus said quietly. "The loans you thought you were getting from anonymous angels? They were all structured by your wife. Seraphina."