By seven o'clock that evening, the story was everywhere.
I sat in the grand dining room of Sterling Estate, a room so vast it could have hosted fifty guests comfortably, and watched my phone vibrate with notification after notification. Legal blogs. Business journals. Gossip columns. All of them running variations of the same headline. Unknown Sterling Heiress Purchases Major Law Firm in Hostile Takeover. Lawrence Webb Fired Before Dessert.
Anna had printed out three of the articles and left them beside my dinner plate like a proud older sister showing off a report card. Margaret had sent up more outfits for tomorrow, including what she called a power blazer in emerald green. Even Harold, who rarely showed any emotion beyond polite professionalism, had inclined his head at me with someth
