Isidora burst out of the service entrance onto the street, gasping for air. Her legs trembled.
The doorman looked at her-sweaty, wearing old jeans, carrying a dirty canvas bag-and looked away. He assumed she was temporary help who had been fired. He didn't open the door for her.
She walked to the curb and raised her hand. A yellow taxi screeched to a halt.
She reached for her phone to open Uber, then stopped. Her credit cards.
She dug into the pocket of her jeans. She found a crumpled wad of cash-maybe eighty dollars. Emergency money she kept in her old wallet.
"Where to?" the driver asked, eyeing her in the rearview mirror. She looked pale.
"Brooklyn," she said. "Bushwick."
The city blurred past the window. The gleaming steel of Manhattan gave way to the graffiti and brick of Brooklyn. The bridge spanned the water like a promise.
When the taxi pulled up to the converted warehouse, Isidora handed the driver almost all her cash.
She buzzed the intercom. "It's me."
Harper opened the door to her loft wearing paint-splattered overalls. She took one look at Isidora and pulled her inside.
The loft smelled of turpentine and old pizza. It was messy. It was loud. It was heaven.
Harper didn't ask questions. She just hugged Isidora so hard Isidora's ribs creaked.
Ten minutes later, they were sitting on the floor, eating cold pizza from a box.
"He locked the elevator," Isidora said, staring at a piece of pepperoni.
"He's a psychopath," Harper said. She tapped her iPad. "Look, legally, he can't starve you out. But practically? He's going to make it impossible for you to hire counsel."
"I won't be using his money for a lawyer," Isidora said, her eyes glinting. "My liquid assets are frozen, but that's a temporary inconvenience. He wants to play dirty? Fine. I'm not just going to short him. I'm going to release a kill report."
Harper stopped chewing. "What?"
"Ferguson Tech. The IPO is built on inflated user metrics. I saw the shadow accounts." Isidora took a bite of the pizza. "I'm going to expose the structural fraud. The market will correct itself. Violently."
Harper's mouth hung open. "You're going to destroy his company?"
"I'm going to correct the market," Isidora said.
Her phone buzzed on the floor. Ferguson Family Office.
Isidora picked it up. She looked at the screen. Then she powered it off.
She removed the back case. She pulled out the SIM card. It was a tiny chip of plastic that connected her to a world she hated.
She stood up and walked to Harper's fish tank. She dropped the SIM card in. It fluttered down like a silver flake of food, settling into the gravel.
"That," Harper said, grinning, "was badass."
"I need a new number," Isidora said. "And a burner laptop."
"Done," Harper said. "But first, we celebrate. Tomorrow. We go shopping. Even if we just window shop."
Isidora smiled weakly. "My accessible cash is limited. I have about five thousand in the bag. It needs to last."
"We'll go to L'Eclat," Harper said. "Torture ourselves with vintage jewelry we can't afford."
L'Eclat.
Isidora froze.
"My mother's brooch," she whispered.
"The emerald one?" Harper asked. "I thought your foster dad kept it."
"Frank said he was keeping it safe," Isidora said. A cold knot formed in her stomach. "But now... I'm free. I can go get it."
That night, Isidora lay on Harper's lumpy sofa bed. Sirens wailed outside, a stark contrast to the soundproof silence of the penthouse.
In London, Cash Ferguson landed. He turned on his phone.
Seven missed calls from Mrs. Higgins.
He listened to the voicemail. She left via the stairs, sir. She took nothing of value. Just old clothes.
Cash frowned. He sat in the back of the town car, watching the rain streak the window. She had actually left.
He felt a flicker of unease. Not regret. Just the annoyance of a man who had misplaced his keys.
"Gavin," he barked.
"Sir?"
"Cancel all her supplementary cards. Freezing the accounts isn't enough. I want the cards declined at the point of sale."
"Yes, sir."
Cash looked out at the grey London sky. "Let's see how long she lasts without a safety net."
