The static on the landline in the cramped village office seemed to crackle with a cold, predatory energy the moment Cathy Black took over the conversation. Kevin stood frozen, the plastic receiver slippery in his sweating palm. In the presence of Sienna Westbrook, he had tried to maintain a facade of composure, but as Cathy’s voice cut through the silence, his knees felt weak. He knew better than to lie; you didn't play games with the woman who held the purse strings of global empires. He recounted the afternoon’s events with a stammering, brutal honesty, feeling every bit the Trust Fund Baby being stripped of his borrowed glory in front of the woman he desired.
Once the details were laid bare, Cathy Black’s response was a verbal whip-c***k that echoed off the mud walls. Her instructions
