Five hundred people were watching when my future mother-in-law publicly reduced my father to something she thought belonged in the gutter. Some guests chuckled into their palms. Others suddenly found an immense fascination with the bubbles rising in their champagne glasses. I could have looked past the cowardice of strangers eager to stay in the good graces of an influential dynasty, but then Fiona laughed beside me. Softly, dismissively, right into her silk napkin. That was the exact second the ground solidified beneath my feet. I slid the platinum band off my finger, laid it flat on the white linen beside my untouched plate, and ended the wedding in front of everyone.

On Sunday afternoon, a silver Porsche pulled up to the curb outside Bennett Systems' modest two-story office building in downtown Chicago.

I watched from my second-floor office window as Fiona Ashford stepped out of the vehicle. She was wearing oversized dark sunglasses, a cream wool coat, and high heels. She looked around the brick alleyway with deep disdain, as if afraid the concrete might dirty her shoes.

Two minutes later, my office door swung open without a knock.

Fiona walked inside, slamming the door shut behind her. She pulled off her sunglasses, revealing red, swollen eyes and a face tight with furious disbelief.

"Ethan!" Fiona snapped, marching up to my desk, slamming her leather handbag onto the mahogany wood. "Have you completely lost your mind?! Do you have any idea what you did last night?!"

I didn't stand up. I didn't look flustered. I simply closed the folder I was reading, set my fountain pen down, and looked at her.

"I ended an engagement, Fiona," I said mildly. "It took about thirty seconds."

"You embarrassed my family in front of five hundred people!" Fiona shrieked, her voice pitching into a high, hysterical register. "My mother spent six months planning that reception! My father's biggest investors were sitting at table three! Do you know how pathetic I looked standing on that stage while you walked out with your father?!"

"Your mother called my father gutter trash, Fiona," I said, my voice dropping into a quiet, razor-sharp edge. "And you laughed."

Fiona blinked, stepping back slightly, taken aback by the absolute lack of emotion in my face.

"It was a joke, Ethan!" Fiona stammered, putting on a forced, dramatic pout. "You know how my mother is! She comes from old money! She teases people! Your father was wearing a cheap suit and standing near the head table where he didn't belong—"

"My father was wearing a custom suit he bought to honor your family," I interrupted, standing up slowly from my chair, towering over her. "And he belonged at that table far more than any of the thieves sitting beside you."

Fiona’s eyes flashed with anger. "Thieves?! How dare you! My family is worth seventy million dollars!"

"Your family is eighty million dollars in debt, Fiona," I stated flatly.

Fiona let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. "You really are delusional! You're a low-level consultant, Ethan! You fix servers and write basic code! You don't know anything about high finance! My father is signing a forty-million-dollar deal with Apex Capital tomorrow morning! We're expanding our fleet into three new states!"

I looked at her—at the blind, arrogant ignorance that had been bred into her since childhood. She had never checked a bank statement in her life. She had simply spent her father's stolen money, believing she was superior to the people whose labor built the world.

"Fiona," I said, reaching into my desk drawer, pulling out a white business card, and sliding it across the desk toward her. "Give this to your mother before 8:00 AM tomorrow."

Fiona glanced down at the card. It bore the gold emblem of Apex Capital Holdings, listing the office of the Chief Executive Officer.

"What is this?" Fiona sneered, pushing the card away. "A recommendation for a new job? My father doesn't hire contractors from little firms like yours."

"It's the name of the man who owns your house, Fiona," I replied softly. "Now get out of my office."

Fiona stared at me, her chest heaving with rage. She picked up her handbag, put her sunglasses back on, and glared at me from the doorway.

"You're going to regret this, Ethan," Fiona spat, her voice trembling with hatred. "By tomorrow night, my father will make sure no company in Chicago ever gives Bennett Systems another contract! You're going to end up right where your father started—in the gutter!"