The call came at precisely 9:47 AM on Wednesday morning.
I sat in the cramped servant quarters, nursing a cup of instant coffee that tasted like burnt cardboard, when my encrypted phone buzzed. Arthur Kensington's name appeared on the screen, and I felt the first genuine smile I'd had in days pull at my lips.
"Good morning, Arthur."
"Calista." His voice carried the crisp efficiency that had made him my family's lawyer for over a decade. "Phase one is complete. The stock liquidation went through overnight—Northbridge Industries, the tech portfolio, and the renewable energy investments. Total recovery: forty-seven million."
I closed my eyes, feeling a weight lift from my shoulders. Those stocks had been my mother's legacy, carefully cultivated over decades and foolishly signed over to the pack as part of my "dowry" when I'd moved in with Draven. Getting them back felt like reclaiming a piece of my soul.
"The bonds?"
"Processing as we speak. Should clear by end of business today. Another twelve million, give or take." Arthur's tone grew slightly warmer. "I have to say, Calista, your foresight in structuring these contributions as revocable transfers rather than outright gifts was brilliant. Most people don't think to protect themselves quite so thoroughly."
"Most people don't grow up watching corporate takeovers over breakfast," I replied. "What about the art collection?"
"Ah, that's where it gets interesting." I could hear the smile in his voice. "The Monet alone appraised at eight million. Draven's been telling people it was a pack acquisition, but the provenance documentation clearly shows it was purchased with funds from your trust. We'll have the recovery team there Friday morning."
The Monet. I'd bought it two years ago after a particularly successful quarter for the lumber mill, thinking it would be a beautiful addition to our home. Draven had barely glanced at it when I'd had it installed in the main hallway, too busy with pack politics to appreciate the way morning light caught the water lilies.
Now it would be gone, along with everything else I'd poured into this place.
"Execute everything, Arthur. I want every asset that can be legally reclaimed back in my portfolio by week's end."
"Consider it done. Though I should warn you—this is going to cause some rather immediate cash flow problems for the pack. Are you prepared for the fallout?"
I thought of the dead rat on my doorstep, of Bella's smug smile as she planned to erase every trace of my existence from this house, of Draven's cold dismissal as he reduced me to a servant in front of our guests.
"I'm counting on it."
After ending the call, I made my way to the main house. The morning sun streamed through the windows, illuminating the very artwork that would soon disappear from these walls. Pack members moved through the hallways with their usual routines, oblivious to the financial earthquake that was about to shake their world.
I found Draven in his office, hunched over a stack of papers with a frown creasing his forehead. When I knocked on the doorframe, he looked up with barely concealed irritation.
"What is it, Calista? I'm busy."
"The suppliers are having some issues with payment processing," I said, keeping my voice neutral. "Morrison's Feed called this morning. Their system is showing declined transactions for the last three orders."
Draven waved a dismissive hand. "Probably just a glitch in their system. These small-town businesses, their technology is always breaking down."
"It's not just Morrison's. The fuel company called too, and the medical supply distributor. They're all showing the same thing."
For a moment, something flickered across his features—the first hint of genuine concern I'd seen in weeks. But then his expression hardened again, and he leaned back in his chair with forced confidence.
"Look, I know you're used to micromanaging every penny that goes in and out of this pack, but things are different now. Bella and I will handle the finances going forward." His voice carried that condescending tone I'd grown to hate. "These are just temporary hiccups. The credit lines will sort themselves out."
I nodded slowly, as if accepting his wisdom. "Of course. Though there is one other matter. Bella mentioned she'd like to have a formal Luna coronation ceremony. Something elaborate to properly introduce her to the other packs."
Draven's face lit up at the mention of his precious Bella. "That's a wonderful idea. She deserves a celebration worthy of her status."
"It would be quite expensive," I continued carefully. "The venue, catering, invitations to all the neighboring Alphas. We're talking at least two hundred thousand for something appropriately grand."
"Money well spent." He was already picturing it, I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes. "Bella should have the ceremony she wants. She's carrying the future of this pack."
"Should I organize it then? As my... final service to the pack?"
The words tasted bitter on my tongue, but they had the desired effect. Draven's expression softened slightly, perhaps mistaking my offer for genuine contrition.
"That would be appropriate, yes. Consider it your way of showing respect for the new Luna and ensuring a smooth transition."
I bowed my head in mock submission. "I'll start making calls this afternoon. When were you thinking of holding it?"
"Two weeks from Saturday. That gives us time to send proper invitations and for Bella to find the perfect dress." He turned back to his papers, already dismissing me. "And Calista? Make sure it's perfect. This reflects on all of us."
"Of course, Alpha."
I left his office with my heart racing, but not from fear. Two weeks. In two weeks, I would stand in front of every important werewolf leader in the region and hand over the symbolic keys of my former kingdom to the woman who'd stolen my place.
Except the keys I'd be handing over would be worthless. The locks had already been changed.
I spent the rest of the afternoon making calls, but not the ones Draven expected. Instead of booking the Grandview Country Club or the Riverside Manor, I called the pack's accountant.
"Margaret, it's Calista. I need to access the emergency reserve fund for an upcoming event."
"Of course, Luna—I mean, Calista. How much are we talking about?"
"Two hundred thousand. Maybe a bit more depending on final headcount."
There was a pause on the other end of the line. "That's... that's almost the entire emergency fund. Are you sure this is authorized?"
"Draven specifically requested an elaborate coronation ceremony. He wants it to reflect well on the pack's status." Every word was technically true, even if the implications were carefully crafted. "I can have him call you directly if you need confirmation."
"No, no, that won't be necessary. If Alpha Draven wants it, then we'll make it happen."
As I hung up the phone, I felt that familiar surge of cold satisfaction. The emergency fund—the last financial cushion between Silver Moon and complete bankruptcy—would be gone in two weeks. Spent on a party to celebrate the woman who thought she'd won.
By the time Bella was crowned Luna, there would be nothing left to rule over but debt and empty promises.
The irony was perfect. They wanted me to organize my own replacement ceremony, to smile and play nice while they erased me from the pack's history.
I'd give them exactly what they asked for. A ceremony they'd never forget.
