Morning sunlight poured into the formal dining room.
Elliana sat at the head of the long mahogany table. She calmly sliced into a piece of French toast, the silver knife clinking softly against the porcelain plate.
Devontae walked into the room. Dark purple bags hung under his eyes. His shirt was wrinkled.
He pulled out a chair opposite her and dropped his weight into it. He slapped his palms flat on the table.
"Give me the Astor-Wexler invitation," he demanded. His voice was rough and arrogant.
Elliana placed her knife and fork down. She picked up a linen napkin and dabbed the corners of her mouth. She looked at him with dead eyes.
"Why would I give the most exclusive social ticket in New York to a high-end escort?" she asked flatly.
Devontae slammed his fist on the table. The silverware rattled. "Kyle needs this opportunity to network for my company! She has potential. You are just jealous because she is younger and actually useful."
Elliana smiled. It was a cold, terrifying smile. She picked up her black coffee and took a slow sip.
Devontae gritted his teeth. "Give me the invitation, Elliana. I'll buy you that limited edition Birkin bag you've been whining about."
Elliana reached into the leather tote bag resting on the floor beside her. She pulled out a thick stack of legal documents and tossed them across the polished wood. They slid and stopped right in front of him.
"If you want the invitation, sign this," she said.
Devontae frowned. He picked up the first page. His eyes scanned the text, and his jaw dropped.
"Two hundred thousand dollars?" he yelled. "An early transfer from my trust to yours? Are you insane?"
Elliana crossed her arms over her chest. "That is the price. Buy it, or get out of my dining room."
She reached forward, grabbing the edge of the paper. "Actually, never mind. I'll just put the invitation through the paper shredder right now."
Devontae slammed his hand down on top of the documents, pinning them to the table. He glared at her, his chest heaving.
He calculated the risk in his head. Kyle had been begging for this ticket for weeks. If he didn't get it, she would make his life miserable. Two hundred thousand was a hit, but he could hide it in the company expenses.
He pulled a Montblanc pen from his jacket pocket. He flipped to the last page and signed his name so violently the nib tore through the paper.
He shoved the papers back toward her.
Elliana picked them up. She checked the signature, folded the document neatly, and placed it back into her bag.
She opened the small drawer built into the dining table. She pulled out a thick, cream-colored envelope sealed with gold wax.
She flicked her wrist. The envelope flew across the table.
It hit Devontae in the chest, slid down his shirt, and landed squarely in the center of his plate, soaking up a massive puddle of red ketchup.
Devontae gasped. He snatched the ruined envelope from the plate. The grease and ketchup smeared across the gold foil.
"You crazy bitch," he hissed. He kicked his chair back, turned, and marched out of the room.
Elliana watched him leave. Her stomach settled into a calm, satisfying rhythm.
Her phone chimed on the table. She looked at the screen. A notification from her lawyer confirmed the two hundred thousand dollars had cleared into her private account.
She stood up. It was time to pick out a dress for the slaughter.
