Chapter 1The Lazy Queen Reclaims Her Throne

My best friend, Sylvia, tells everyone I’m out of my mind.

And maybe she’s right. I am, at my very core, profoundly and unapologetically lazy.

I know my husband is keeping a mistress on the side. I’ve known for years. But honestly? I just couldn’t be bothered to deal with the drama of it all.

For ten years, the two of them have been playing house, playing corporate power couple, while I stayed home, entirely checked out. And the truly miraculous part? These two overachievers actually took my father’s dying, debt-ridden boutique firm and hustled it all the way to a public offering.

I was perfectly content to keep playing the absentee wife and the silent owner until I died. But I suppose greed has a funny way of making people impatient. This year, they finally called a meeting.

My husband slid a legal document across the table. "Ten million dollars. Sign it, and walk away clean."

I looked at the paperwork, then thought about a company with a market cap well over a hundred million. And I smiled.

"I think," I said softly, "you two are fundamentally misunderstanding the situation."

* * *

The air conditioning in the cafe was set to a freezing, artificial chill.

Sitting across from me was my husband, Harley, and his mistress of ten years, Camilla.

They sat close, leaning into each other with the practiced intimacy of seasoned business partners. They were draped in tailored, bespoke wool and silk. Identical limited-edition Rolexes peeked out from their cuffs.

And then there was me. I was wearing a loose, wrinkled linen dress and a pair of slip-on flats, looking every bit like a tired housewife who had accidentally wandered into a Fortune 500 boardroom.

Harley pushed the manila folder toward me.

Next to it rested a cashier’s check. Ten million dollars.

"Betty, let’s be adults about this," Harley said. His voice was deadpan, dripping with that specific brand of condescension reserved for men who think they hold all the cards. "For a decade, you haven’t lifted a finger. Crestview Holdings is what it is today because Camilla and I built it from the ground up. Blood, sweat, and tears."

He paused, generously allowing me a moment to digest his brilliance.

"There hasn’t been anything between us for a long time. Dragging this out isn’t good for anyone’s mental health."

Right on cue, Camilla offered me a soft, apologetic smile. She was the ghost of his idealized first love made flesh—sweet, pristine, and seemingly harmless.

"Betty, Harley really is just looking out for your peace of mind," she cooed, her voice practically dripping with faux-sincerity. "With this money, you can live the rest of your life in total comfort. You’ll never have to stress over a single thing ever again."

Ten years.

Ever since I tossed the keys of my father’s half-dead company at Harley, I had effectively been living in early retirement. I knew he was sleeping with his "indispensable" Vice President. I just lacked the energy to blow up my life over it. As long as they grew the margins and the dividends hit my accounts every quarter, I couldn't care less how many Camillas he entertained on company retreats.

Sylvia used to scream at me over martinis, warning me that I was raising a wolf in my own backyard.

I’d just smile and sip my drink. You have to let the livestock get fat before the slaughter.

I didn't touch the divorce papers. I didn't even glance at the check.

Instead, my fingers slowly, deliberately stirred my coffee. The silver spoon chimed against the porcelain.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

In the suffocating quiet of the private booth, the sound was deafening.

Harley’s brow twitched. My absolute lack of reaction was deeply offensive to him. In the script he had written in his head, I was supposed to have a hysterical breakdown. I was supposed to beg, or scream, or greedily try to negotiate for fifteen million.

I wasn't supposed to be sitting here, completely placid, as if I were listening to a boring podcast about a stranger's life.

"Ten million. Walk away clean," I repeated softly, letting the words roll around on my tongue. "Harley, you've been running a publicly traded company for a decade, and this is the absolute best strategy you could come up with?"

Harley’s face darkened. "Don't get greedy, Betty. Have you ever put a single hour of work into that firm? Do you even know what floor our corporate offices are on?"

Camilla immediately chimed in, a sharp edge of disdain finally bleeding through her sweet facade. "Betty, the company is valued at over a hundred million, but that valuation exists because of our sacrifices. Offering you ten million is an act of grace."

I finally stopped stirring my coffee.

I looked up. I looked right into their eyes.

And then, I laughed.

It wasn’t a bitter laugh, or a mocking one. It was genuine, bubbling amusement.

"I think you two are fundamentally misunderstanding the situation."

My voice wasn't loud, but it made both of them freeze.

"From the day this company was incorporated, I have been the sole legal entity. One hundred percent of the shares sit in a trust with my name on it. You two? One of you is my legally authorized proxy, and the other is a glorified W-2 employee."

I watched the color slowly drain from their faces, and my smile only widened.

"When did I ever give you the impression that my company somehow belonged to you?"

Harley’s face turned an ugly, mottled purple. "You—! Betty, without us, that company is an empty shell!"

"Which is exactly why I should be thanking you," I nodded agreeably. "And as a token of my gratitude, I haven't withheld a single cent of your salaries or your exorbitant bonuses. Camilla, your year-end distribution last December was over three million dollars. I assume that’s what paid for the matching Rolex?"

Camilla went ghostly white.

I stood up and grabbed my purse.

"I'm not signing the divorce papers. And I won't be parting with a single penny of my assets."

I looked down at them, suddenly realizing they were nothing more than a pair of cheap hustlers playing dress-up.

"The annual shareholder meeting is next month. I’ll be attending. As the Chairman of the Board."

"I can't wait to see how you plan to move a single dollar of corporate funds without my signature."

I turned on my heel and walked out, leaving them suffocating in the chilled air.

Stepping out onto the sidewalk, the bright afternoon sun hit my face. My smile vanished instantly. My blood ran ice-cold.

I got into my SUV, locked the doors, and hit a number on my dashboard screen.

"Arthur. It's me."

A deep, gravelly voice answered on the first ring. "Mrs. Fordham. Are we ready?"

"Yes." I stared at the rearview mirror, watching Harley and Camilla burst out of the cafe doors, looking frantically up and down the street. My eyes were dead.

"They played their hand. Initiate the protocol."

The pig had been fattening up for ten years. It was finally time for the slaughter.