Chapter 4

"If I find even one thing I'm not happy with when the time comes, you won't get a single cent of the balance, and you'll pay me double in damages."

"Don't think I don't know all the tricks you merchants pull."

"I could pick any reason I want and destroy your reputation."

I saved the whole conversation and immediately forwarded it to the business owners' group chat.

"Everyone look at how shameless this guy is."

Anger rippled through the chat.

"That's exactly his line. When he screwed me over, he said the same thing."

Yvette sent an angry emoji.

“He nitpicks everything, doctors the evidence, and pulls every dirty trick in the book."

Zachery piled on.

"That time he ordered office desks and chairs from me, the work was flawless, and he insisted there was a formaldehyde smell and forced me to cough up $30,000." Blake's voice was shaking.

"The man is a straight-up bloodsucker."

"Everyone, hold on." I typed quickly.

"Everyone he's cheated, pull together your transfer records, chat screenshots, and compensation agreements."

"At tomorrow's birthday gala, I'm going to make him pay every last cent back—with interest."

The group lit up at once, everyone immediately scrambling to gather their evidence.

I stared at the screen, my gaze turning cold.

Francis, since you've backed yourself into a corner, don't blame me for being ruthless.

I'd like to see how you get yourself out of tomorrow's mess.

Right then, Francis sent another order.

"Vanessa, go get a big red banner made."

"It needs to say clearly: Welcome, honored guests, to the $1,000,000 luxury birthday gala for one thousand guests across a hundred tables, hosted by Assistant Francis in honor of Chairman Mortimer."

"The letters need to be big and eye-catching, and the banner needs to go in the most prominent spot at the venue."

"I want every guest to see how much of the credit is mine."

I looked at the message and gave a short laugh.

Taking credit?

I'll make sure everyone sees exactly what you've done.

I got on the phone with the print shop right away.

"Sir, I need a rush order on a white banner."

"Black lettering on a white background, using one of those fonts you'd see on a funeral program."

"It should read. Welcome to the $1,000 outdoor funeral, hosted by Assistant Francis in honor of Chairman Mortimer."

"Delivered first thing tomorrow morning."

The print shop owner nearly choked.

"Ms. Armstrong, are you sure you want it worded like that? You really shouldn't put something like that in writing without thinking it through."

"I'm sure. Do it exactly as I said. You'll be paid in full."

By early the next morning, everything was ready.

I sent Francis the location for that outdoor memorial site out in Blake's village.

Francis called immediately, his tone full of suspicion.

"Vanessa, what godforsaken place did you send me? Why is it so out of the way?"

My tone stayed calm.

"Assistant Francis, there's something you don't understand."

"These days, the most exclusive venues are all about privacy."

"A secluded spot in the countryside gives you that back-to-basics feel while still being upscale and refined."

"The chairman is used to the noise of the city. He's sure to love this kind of peaceful, untouched setting."

Francis seemed convinced.

"Smart of you."

"We're leaving now. You'd better have everything set up perfectly."

"If anything goes wrong, I'll make you regret it."

I hung up and turned to look at the venue behind me.

Across the sprawling, overgrown lawn stood several dozen battered banquet tables.

Black tablecloths covered every one of them.

On top sat a grotesque imitation of the hundred-course feast Francis had demanded. The tables were covered with skeletons, grotesque funeral props, and eerily realistic fake food.

Black roses covered the surrounding tables, and on the other side, Zachery's great-uncle and his funeral band stood waiting in black suits.

A portable organ sat beside them, while the brass players held their instruments at the ready.

The funeral choir stood behind them, dressed head to toe in black.

Everything was ready.

It was supposed to be a million-dollar birthday gala.

Instead, I'd turned it into a full-blown nightmare.

In the most conspicuous spot, that enormous white banner hung rolled up and ready to be unfurled at a moment's notice.

Half an hour later, a roar of engines shattered the peaceful countryside.

One luxury car after another, each worth millions, came rolling into the weed-choked field in a long procession.

The motorcade pulled up in front of the memorial lot.

Francis was the first to jump out, a sycophantic grin on his face as he hurried to the Rolls-Royce at the center of the convoy and swung the door open with exaggerated deference.

"Chairman, please step out. We've arrived at the venue for your birthday celebration."

Mortimer stepped out of the car, looking pleased with himself.

Behind him, a swarm of guests, each one wealthy or powerful, climbed out one by one, ready to attend this lavish birthday banquet they'd been promised.

I stood in the shadows, watching Francis fawn over Mortimer. Then I raised a hand.

"Drop it."

The enormous white banner shot skyward in an instant, snapping and whipping in the wind.

Black cloth, black lettering, stark and glaring against the sky.

"Welcome to the $1,000 outdoor funeral, hosted by Assistant Francis in honor of Chairman Mortimer."

At the same moment, Zachery's uncle bellowed.

"Play!"

The mournful blast of brass instruments tore through the air, joined by the deep, haunting notes of a portable organ and the low voices of the funeral choir, their sound carrying across the grounds.