Alpha Billionaire Women with Secret Identities

It is Friday night in Seattle. I am in my room, absently scrolling through my i********:. I can see an array of Chanel, Dolce & Gabbana, Louis Vuitton bags on a young woman's feed. Two dozen of them. Bags whose prices, combined, are worth a million dollars. The woman's name is Cassie Clark, she is a nice-looking twenty-five-year-old. How much money does she have if she could spend a million, just on bags? Now I am interested in her and her Insta friends. Cassie shares photos of her beige Ferrari, her designer clothes. Her friends, also in their mid-twenties, have similar feeds. Dior, Chanel, Gucci clothes, shoes, bags. Cartier jewelry. It was a bizarre rivalry: whose feed features the most expensive, finest things? Not for a red carpet event, these girls wear these on a simple weekday, to go to a gym, a restaurant, or shopping. How can they afford the luxury? I come from a wealthy family, we live on Grandma's estate in Windermere, an elegant, upscale neighborhood in Seattle, Grandma runs a newspaper, Seattle Noir, she is one of the city's powerful matriarchs. But we could not afford such luxury items. I recognized the girls' last names. The names of politicians, entrepreneurs. I should write about this. I have a popular newsletter, New Noir, and it is a hit with audiences. But this story might be too big for me. Some could do much better. # The Seattle Influencer Summit is my big opportunity to meet Leslie Milton. I know most of the attendants, not in person, but through their online work. They are known across America, even globally. Probably, they know me, too, some of them greet me with a familiar nod. As I walk across the Hotel Edgewater's Olympic Ballroom, under the chandeliers that emanate warm golden light, I am looking for Leslie. I could have waited until she attends my grandma's Sunday teas and luncheons. Once, in the nineties, Leslie Milton started her career at Seattle Noir, Grandma's newspaper. Then, in the early 2000s, she built her media empire. By now, she is a billionaire. She lives in Windermere, near Grandma's home, and whenever her schedule allows, she still visits Grandma and her old friends. The Mamas, the Seattle matriarchs, love, admire, and envy her, and they are proud of her. And Leslie is friendly and supportive towards them. She has known me from Grandma's teas since I was a kid, but I did not want to meet her there. I do not want Grandma and Mom to know about my newest idea. It is still a secret. And it will probably be a flop. I spot Leslie. She has the best table, in the middle of the ballroom, with an amazing view of Elliot Bay. She is sitting alone, her table is decorated with a cascading electric-purple orchid in a bamboo pot. She is a white woman. Petite, with a ramrod-straight posture. She wears a tailored white linen pantsuit. She has crystal-blue eyes, straight, shoulder-length, light brown hair, and there is a smile on her pretty face. She is sitting alone, and people gravitate toward her. She greets them with small nods, smiles, and there is a glow in her eyes as she mingles with the elegant crowd. Then she notices me. I approach her. "Hi, Leslie. A delight to see you." "Hi, Laelia." "I have a story for you," I tell her. She looks at me with interest.